Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II
This unique instruction was still around at the turn of the century.
RMKS 12. Operating authorities are to notify movements carrying pax of Gp Cpt rank or above.
It was some bizarre instruction left over from the days of the infamous 'PCL', dictator of Leeming and loathed by all.
The Avtur in a Basset accident was at RAF Valley in July 1973. Double engine failure on take-off, XS783 of 26 Sqn didn't ditch in Caernarfon Bay, but crashed near the aerodrome, killing the navigator and badly injuring the pilot.
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Not me, Guv !
Fareastdriver and BEagle,
I do not recollect * the infamous Instruction (or the two refuelling park lines) at Leeming in my time (ended Dec '72). Nor does the cryptic "PCL" ring a bell. It is possible that these events came later.
My O.C. (F). was unfortunately named, incurring the (not unkindly meant) obvious nickname "Igno" from his subordinates (but not in his hearing!).
* There appears to be no limit to what I have forgotten and can forget. Conversely, I remember things which simply are not.
Having said that, if the suggestion which led to the Instruction emanated from Leeming, I have a good idea of the source.
ATC has good reason to enquire who (or what !) visitors might be bringing in. I shall tell a good tale of my later days in ATC, but will not shoot my own fox now, but only say that some pax have more than two legs (and no, you'll never guess it in a hundred years).
BEagle, I admire your QFI's quick wit (he can only have been an Irishman). And thank you for the fill-in on the Valley misfuel incident. This would be some months after I retired, but I still have a trace of a lingering memory of a much earlier similar case at Valley where water was involved; this happened when I was still serving, but I can trace nothing now.
Bit of useless information: in 1946 a 1931 car would run on a mixtue of 50% "Pool" petrol (rotten stuff, severely rationed and 1/8 a gallon) and 50% paraffin (unrationed and 9d a gallon), but not from cold. But there was a way round that (ask Grandad). Strictly illegal, of course; the bobby on point duty would sniff suspiciously, but you were away by then.
Sorry, Mr Moderator, but old men ramble,
Danny.
I do not recollect * the infamous Instruction (or the two refuelling park lines) at Leeming in my time (ended Dec '72). Nor does the cryptic "PCL" ring a bell. It is possible that these events came later.
My O.C. (F). was unfortunately named, incurring the (not unkindly meant) obvious nickname "Igno" from his subordinates (but not in his hearing!).
* There appears to be no limit to what I have forgotten and can forget. Conversely, I remember things which simply are not.
Having said that, if the suggestion which led to the Instruction emanated from Leeming, I have a good idea of the source.
ATC has good reason to enquire who (or what !) visitors might be bringing in. I shall tell a good tale of my later days in ATC, but will not shoot my own fox now, but only say that some pax have more than two legs (and no, you'll never guess it in a hundred years).
BEagle, I admire your QFI's quick wit (he can only have been an Irishman). And thank you for the fill-in on the Valley misfuel incident. This would be some months after I retired, but I still have a trace of a lingering memory of a much earlier similar case at Valley where water was involved; this happened when I was still serving, but I can trace nothing now.
Bit of useless information: in 1946 a 1931 car would run on a mixtue of 50% "Pool" petrol (rotten stuff, severely rationed and 1/8 a gallon) and 50% paraffin (unrationed and 9d a gallon), but not from cold. But there was a way round that (ask Grandad). Strictly illegal, of course; the bobby on point duty would sniff suspiciously, but you were away by then.
Sorry, Mr Moderator, but old men ramble,
Danny.
When I was a lad I used to sit on the mudguard of a Fordson tractor that used to have two fuel tanks. A small one with petrol to start and warm up and another with paraffin with which it would run all day.
Just behind me on a bumpy field would be a towed wheat cutter/binder that was a mass of cutting knifes and guiding spikes. If I had fallen off I would have been a goner.
Just behind me on a bumpy field would be a towed wheat cutter/binder that was a mass of cutting knifes and guiding spikes. If I had fallen off I would have been a goner.
Last edited by Fareastdriver; 28th Oct 2012 at 15:27.
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Bit of useless information: in 1946 a 1931 car would run on a mixtue of 50% "Pool" petrol (rotten stuff, severely rationed and 1/8 a gallon) and 50% paraffin (unrationed and 9d a gallon), but not from cold. But there was a way round that (ask Grandad).
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Dark deeds.
Fareastdriver and airborne artist,
Yes, the dual-tank would have been one solution. I remember a yacht, you cranked up on petrol, by the time you cleared the harbour mouth it was warm enough to go over to paraffin until you hoisted sail.
No, it was simpler than that. (Reluctantly shooting another of my foxes) Procedure:- Open (side-opening) "bonnet", very simple carb, fixing bolts (two) off float chamber in a few seconds, remove chamber, chuck out contents, fill with "Ronsonol" lighter fluid (from any tobacconist), replace.
Swing vigorously on bent wire * in front, thing should fire-up from cold. By the time it had worked through the Ronsonol it would (usually) keep running. Of course, you always had to keep a bottle of the stuff in the car.
* Why, oh why, don't we still have 'em ? So useful !
Having confessed to a felony (or at least a misdemeanour !),
Danny.
Yes, the dual-tank would have been one solution. I remember a yacht, you cranked up on petrol, by the time you cleared the harbour mouth it was warm enough to go over to paraffin until you hoisted sail.
No, it was simpler than that. (Reluctantly shooting another of my foxes) Procedure:- Open (side-opening) "bonnet", very simple carb, fixing bolts (two) off float chamber in a few seconds, remove chamber, chuck out contents, fill with "Ronsonol" lighter fluid (from any tobacconist), replace.
Swing vigorously on bent wire * in front, thing should fire-up from cold. By the time it had worked through the Ronsonol it would (usually) keep running. Of course, you always had to keep a bottle of the stuff in the car.
* Why, oh why, don't we still have 'em ? So useful !
Having confessed to a felony (or at least a misdemeanour !),
Danny.
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Avtur vs Avgas
Whilst doing my Advanced Flying Training in Vampires in 1964 at Linton an Anson arrived and was duly refuelled. As Ansons were fairly rare beasts by then we all piled out of the crewroom to watch it depart. It got to about 600' whereupon it disappeared in a cloud of white smoke shortly to re-appear coming back. Yes you've guessed it it had been refuelled with Avtur. An airman was court martialled I seem to recall over the incident. The Anson touched down going downwind on the active runway and was towed in.
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Well, having eagerly devoured this thread since it's inception, I can now make a very small contribution.
Petrol-paraffin marine-engine...Morris VEDETTE. start and warm on petrol and then switch the fuel over. At Leigh on sea, there used to be an old boy working a large open clinker pleasure-boat. I got to know "Snappy" Noakes quite well , The boat, Silver Spray was Vedette powered and every year, a Board Of Trade inspector would check the internal condition of said engine befoer the local engineers were allowed to reassemble it......the sister boat worked off Chalkwell beach but it retained it's large traditional Gaff rig.
Rooting through my late partner's hoards, i have discovered a tiny diary written , I think, by one of her uncles who was in RAF motor transport during the war. the diary only starts Dec 1 1944.
Of interest to the thread:-
Feb. 1st.(1945) based in DURBUY, Ardenne.
"billet now in castle here in forest and mountains. Gun fire going on all day. Germans not long gone.
Feb.2. Site full of mines and dead gerries and yanks,nobody seems to care about them. Bodies perfect in snow.
Feb.3 Have to wear khaky. Yanks shooting at us at night thinking we are jerrys,
Feb.4. getting khaky greatcoats as well as blue. Still at Durbuy.
............................................
Feb 14. had a nice walk thro woods-plenty of mines Hundreds of planes going over tonight...................................
Feb, 22 Went to Verviers near aachen via Bayeux Bomal Liege Vielsalm Saw good show Had on our blue and civvies and yanks could not make us out...........
March7 Halifax crashed in mine field at site. 1 killed outright. 2 died on way to hospital. Went to verviers.................
March 22 Mosquito and Halifax collided in air 8 dead. Only rear gunner escaped. all buried here............
Sorry, that's all the Aviation content there is.
I think he was a Mr. Greenwood who would have been her (my partner's) mother's brother, as her father(and her) were Thomas.
Hope this is of some interest.
Petrol-paraffin marine-engine...Morris VEDETTE. start and warm on petrol and then switch the fuel over. At Leigh on sea, there used to be an old boy working a large open clinker pleasure-boat. I got to know "Snappy" Noakes quite well , The boat, Silver Spray was Vedette powered and every year, a Board Of Trade inspector would check the internal condition of said engine befoer the local engineers were allowed to reassemble it......the sister boat worked off Chalkwell beach but it retained it's large traditional Gaff rig.
Rooting through my late partner's hoards, i have discovered a tiny diary written , I think, by one of her uncles who was in RAF motor transport during the war. the diary only starts Dec 1 1944.
Of interest to the thread:-
Feb. 1st.(1945) based in DURBUY, Ardenne.
"billet now in castle here in forest and mountains. Gun fire going on all day. Germans not long gone.
Feb.2. Site full of mines and dead gerries and yanks,nobody seems to care about them. Bodies perfect in snow.
Feb.3 Have to wear khaky. Yanks shooting at us at night thinking we are jerrys,
Feb.4. getting khaky greatcoats as well as blue. Still at Durbuy.
............................................
Feb 14. had a nice walk thro woods-plenty of mines Hundreds of planes going over tonight...................................
Feb, 22 Went to Verviers near aachen via Bayeux Bomal Liege Vielsalm Saw good show Had on our blue and civvies and yanks could not make us out...........
March7 Halifax crashed in mine field at site. 1 killed outright. 2 died on way to hospital. Went to verviers.................
March 22 Mosquito and Halifax collided in air 8 dead. Only rear gunner escaped. all buried here............
Sorry, that's all the Aviation content there is.
I think he was a Mr. Greenwood who would have been her (my partner's) mother's brother, as her father(and her) were Thomas.
Hope this is of some interest.
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cockney steve,
Of course it's of some interest, Steve ! I must say the tale of our airmen having to disguise themselves as pongos to avert incoming friendly fire is a new one on me. But it makes perfect sense in the circumstances. With the Battle of the Bulge just over, dark winter days in a snowy landscape, and everybody jumpy, it would be easy for anyone (never mind a Yank) to mistake an erk in RAF blue for the field grey of the Wehrmacht.
I was a bit puzzled at the trip from Durbuy (Ardenne) to Verviers via Bayeux (???) (Bayeux is in Normandy at the base of the Cotentin peninsula, miles to the West - home of the famous Tapestry, well worth a visit). Your chap seems a bit off the beam there.
Did he get as far as Aachen ? Went through it many a time from Cologne (Volkspark) to go on watch at Geilenkirchen. Charlemagne's cathedral is the place to see.
Marine engines, not a Vedette in the boat I was in (half-crown trip round the bay, catch a mackerel or two for tea if lucky), probably a Petter or Lister.......D.
ACW418,
With the poor old engines popping and banging in disgust at their fodder, I'd put it down in a hurry downwind (or any other way) - wouldn't you ?
Scandalous story told to me (for which I cannot possibly vouch), by a fellow ATC (ex-wartime pilot) in early '50s. Kicked out (like all of us) in '46, he had got a job on the sales side of Avro's, proved pretty good at it, and was promoted to the point where he negotiated directly with the contracts people in the Air House.
Choosing his man carefully, he fed and watered this chap royally on expenses. They went back to the chap's office: he came out with a contract for Anson spares which would keep the things flying till the end of the century.
Couldn't happen, of course. (But they did last an awfully long time).........D.
Goodnight to you both,
Danny.
Of course it's of some interest, Steve ! I must say the tale of our airmen having to disguise themselves as pongos to avert incoming friendly fire is a new one on me. But it makes perfect sense in the circumstances. With the Battle of the Bulge just over, dark winter days in a snowy landscape, and everybody jumpy, it would be easy for anyone (never mind a Yank) to mistake an erk in RAF blue for the field grey of the Wehrmacht.
I was a bit puzzled at the trip from Durbuy (Ardenne) to Verviers via Bayeux (???) (Bayeux is in Normandy at the base of the Cotentin peninsula, miles to the West - home of the famous Tapestry, well worth a visit). Your chap seems a bit off the beam there.
Did he get as far as Aachen ? Went through it many a time from Cologne (Volkspark) to go on watch at Geilenkirchen. Charlemagne's cathedral is the place to see.
Marine engines, not a Vedette in the boat I was in (half-crown trip round the bay, catch a mackerel or two for tea if lucky), probably a Petter or Lister.......D.
ACW418,
With the poor old engines popping and banging in disgust at their fodder, I'd put it down in a hurry downwind (or any other way) - wouldn't you ?
Scandalous story told to me (for which I cannot possibly vouch), by a fellow ATC (ex-wartime pilot) in early '50s. Kicked out (like all of us) in '46, he had got a job on the sales side of Avro's, proved pretty good at it, and was promoted to the point where he negotiated directly with the contracts people in the Air House.
Choosing his man carefully, he fed and watered this chap royally on expenses. They went back to the chap's office: he came out with a contract for Anson spares which would keep the things flying till the end of the century.
Couldn't happen, of course. (But they did last an awfully long time).........D.
Goodnight to you both,
Danny.
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Danny and the Round the Bend Ski Club. (Part 1)
In recent Posts (#3101, p. 155, & #3107, p. 156), I've told of the establishment of the RAF Ski School in Kashmir at the war's end. Group had passed on my application, and now my number came up for the (second, I think) Course in mid December.
Authority for this detachment came with a very valuable "perk": first-class priority for air movement. With all the travelling going on, I would normally have had very little chance of getting on Transport Command's regular internal flights, and the trip up India from south to north might take me a week or more on rail. Now I would be at the front of every queue for the next plane. The RAF's generosity had limits. The priority was good only for the journey to Kashmir. You're on your own on the way back , chum !
I flew a VV up to Santa Cruz (Bombay) with a pilot to take it back. Air Movements honoured my priority, and I was on the next Dakota to Delhi. I spent the night there, and next morning (as they had nothing going where I wanted ), they put me on Indian National Airways (civil) up to the Frontier. This sounds very grand, but it was only a little Beechcraft "Expeditor", a small light twin with about seven seats (the Navy used them at Sulur). Never mind, it got up there all right and I landed in Rawalpindi, the very town where my father had been born, seventy years before, to an Army familily in the great days of Empire.
There the magic carpet signed off. Rawalpindi (then a RAF parachute school) flew into Srinagar weekly during the summer. But the snows had closed Srinagar until Spring. No helicopters in those days. The only way into Kashmir was by road. And the only vehicle for the trip was the local country bus. With considerable misgiving, a group of us squeezed ourselves and our kit into this ramshackle and malodorous contraption, and headed north into the mountains.
The road grew terrifying. Cut into the hillside, it was barely wide enough for one vehicle, with unguarded drops of hundreds of feet at the edge. Like many of the hill roads, it was "gated". This works like a single-track railway, except that it was a timed system. Northbound traffic is allowed through for two hours, say, then the last vehicle through carries a token and the Northbound gate is closed. When the token gets through to the other end, the Southbound gate is opened for two hours, and so on.
That journey (and the return) lived long in my nightmares. Every mile or so the gruesome remains of a truck or bus which had gone "over the khud" could be seen far down on the riverbed boulders below. The driver chose the most dangerous bends to let go the wheel to relight his "bidi". We died a hundred deaths. The hillmen on the bus were not in the least perturbed. We envied them their Asiatic fatalism.
It was not our destiny to perish that day. At last we reached Srinagar. A night in an Army Mess there, and we were ready for the final leg. Another retrograde step, now we were on ponies. No feat of horsemanship is implied. The ponies were led, it was about as exciting as a donkey ride on the sands. It can't have been far up to Gulmarg, * for I can only recall being in the saddle for two or three hours.
* Wiki tells me that it is 35 km. We must have been trucked for most of the distance, but I can't remember now.
It was December and very cold. We were two or three to a room, the only occupants of the wooden hotel buildings. During the day we were either on skis or in the Mess, keeping fairly warm. In the evenings each room got an allowance of a maund of firewood (82 pounds, the standard load for a porter). Our bearer would light the fire after tea, we'd huddle round the glow, swapping ski stories until the wood ran out. Then we had to bury ourselves under all the blankets and coats we could find, and shiver.
Goodnight all,
Danny42C
(It ain't half cold, Mum!).
Authority for this detachment came with a very valuable "perk": first-class priority for air movement. With all the travelling going on, I would normally have had very little chance of getting on Transport Command's regular internal flights, and the trip up India from south to north might take me a week or more on rail. Now I would be at the front of every queue for the next plane. The RAF's generosity had limits. The priority was good only for the journey to Kashmir. You're on your own on the way back , chum !
I flew a VV up to Santa Cruz (Bombay) with a pilot to take it back. Air Movements honoured my priority, and I was on the next Dakota to Delhi. I spent the night there, and next morning (as they had nothing going where I wanted ), they put me on Indian National Airways (civil) up to the Frontier. This sounds very grand, but it was only a little Beechcraft "Expeditor", a small light twin with about seven seats (the Navy used them at Sulur). Never mind, it got up there all right and I landed in Rawalpindi, the very town where my father had been born, seventy years before, to an Army familily in the great days of Empire.
There the magic carpet signed off. Rawalpindi (then a RAF parachute school) flew into Srinagar weekly during the summer. But the snows had closed Srinagar until Spring. No helicopters in those days. The only way into Kashmir was by road. And the only vehicle for the trip was the local country bus. With considerable misgiving, a group of us squeezed ourselves and our kit into this ramshackle and malodorous contraption, and headed north into the mountains.
The road grew terrifying. Cut into the hillside, it was barely wide enough for one vehicle, with unguarded drops of hundreds of feet at the edge. Like many of the hill roads, it was "gated". This works like a single-track railway, except that it was a timed system. Northbound traffic is allowed through for two hours, say, then the last vehicle through carries a token and the Northbound gate is closed. When the token gets through to the other end, the Southbound gate is opened for two hours, and so on.
That journey (and the return) lived long in my nightmares. Every mile or so the gruesome remains of a truck or bus which had gone "over the khud" could be seen far down on the riverbed boulders below. The driver chose the most dangerous bends to let go the wheel to relight his "bidi". We died a hundred deaths. The hillmen on the bus were not in the least perturbed. We envied them their Asiatic fatalism.
It was not our destiny to perish that day. At last we reached Srinagar. A night in an Army Mess there, and we were ready for the final leg. Another retrograde step, now we were on ponies. No feat of horsemanship is implied. The ponies were led, it was about as exciting as a donkey ride on the sands. It can't have been far up to Gulmarg, * for I can only recall being in the saddle for two or three hours.
* Wiki tells me that it is 35 km. We must have been trucked for most of the distance, but I can't remember now.
It was December and very cold. We were two or three to a room, the only occupants of the wooden hotel buildings. During the day we were either on skis or in the Mess, keeping fairly warm. In the evenings each room got an allowance of a maund of firewood (82 pounds, the standard load for a porter). Our bearer would light the fire after tea, we'd huddle round the glow, swapping ski stories until the wood ran out. Then we had to bury ourselves under all the blankets and coats we could find, and shiver.
Goodnight all,
Danny42C
(It ain't half cold, Mum!).
Last edited by Danny42C; 29th Oct 2012 at 00:58. Reason: Amplify Title.
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Thanks, as ever, for the skiing post Danny.
It would have been army boots (ammo), cable bindings and wooden skis. Add in open piste (chop and slop), telemark turns (free the heel) and battledress. My guess is there would have been a lot of walking uphill and falling down. How was it for you?
me culpa. It was me who came up with the 1:750,000 map scale, not an opinion, simply the number I calculated in my head. (My lower thumb knuckle is 1 5/8").
It would have been army boots (ammo), cable bindings and wooden skis. Add in open piste (chop and slop), telemark turns (free the heel) and battledress. My guess is there would have been a lot of walking uphill and falling down. How was it for you?
me culpa. It was me who came up with the 1:750,000 map scale, not an opinion, simply the number I calculated in my head. (My lower thumb knuckle is 1 5/8").
Danny, I think we can all breathe a sigh of relief to learn that you survived the penultimate leg of your multi-modal journey to Gulmarg. To have come to grief during a civilian bus ride up an Alpine-like gorge having emerged (almost) unscathed from the war in the Far East would have taken some explaining, I would suggest.
As it is I struggle to see the appeal of this ordeal, particularly as your warmth stemmed from an all too limited bundle of sticks per day. But we have learned enough of your willingness to embrace any new experience to know that once the establishment of the RAF Ski School in Kashmir was announced, Danny's presence there was a forgone conclusion.
However, the casualty rate on the Alpine slopes every season is well known. How much more hazardous were the underdeveloped runs in Kashmir? I have a dreadful premonition that we are about to find out. Is it too late to beg you to take care, Danny? Probably!
As it is I struggle to see the appeal of this ordeal, particularly as your warmth stemmed from an all too limited bundle of sticks per day. But we have learned enough of your willingness to embrace any new experience to know that once the establishment of the RAF Ski School in Kashmir was announced, Danny's presence there was a forgone conclusion.
However, the casualty rate on the Alpine slopes every season is well known. How much more hazardous were the underdeveloped runs in Kashmir? I have a dreadful premonition that we are about to find out. Is it too late to beg you to take care, Danny? Probably!
Danny,
I have returned from my trip 'down under' and have access to the copy of the log book I mentioned in a previous post . But first I must make it clear that although I have permission to quote from it I cannot divulge the name. Should anyone be astute enough to work it out then I would ask that they respect the anonymity as requested. The person who is the subject of the log book died many years ago. If you will bear with me I will post the information in stages.
He qualified in 1941 as an Air Observer Armament after finishing his course at No 5 Bombing and Gunnery School at Jurby. His entire flying training , including Navigator training having taken 5 months. His training was undertaken in Ansons and Blenheims. From there it was to No 10 OTU at Abingdon for more training on the Anson and Whitley before his first operational posting to 78 Sqn at Middleton St George on the Whitley. I served at Middleton in 1961 on 33 Sqn (Javelins). More next time.
I have returned from my trip 'down under' and have access to the copy of the log book I mentioned in a previous post . But first I must make it clear that although I have permission to quote from it I cannot divulge the name. Should anyone be astute enough to work it out then I would ask that they respect the anonymity as requested. The person who is the subject of the log book died many years ago. If you will bear with me I will post the information in stages.
He qualified in 1941 as an Air Observer Armament after finishing his course at No 5 Bombing and Gunnery School at Jurby. His entire flying training , including Navigator training having taken 5 months. His training was undertaken in Ansons and Blenheims. From there it was to No 10 OTU at Abingdon for more training on the Anson and Whitley before his first operational posting to 78 Sqn at Middleton St George on the Whitley. I served at Middleton in 1961 on 33 Sqn (Javelins). More next time.
Aircrew and 'death planks'?
Never a terribly safe combination!
W.r.t an earlier post, 'PCL' stood for 'Power-Crazed Loony'. Which was most apt!
Never a terribly safe combination!
W.r.t an earlier post, 'PCL' stood for 'Power-Crazed Loony'. Which was most apt!
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Thanks all round.
Yamagata Ken, Chugalug, ancientaviator and BEagle,
Deeply touched as I am by all your tender concerns for my wellbeing, I fear I must just let the story unfold. Then all will be made clear. Reflect that, whatever else may have happened, I'm still here !
YK,
Telemark ? - us ? You jest ! I suppose we could have put "skins" on and got uphill that way, but there was a better idea.
1:750,000 ? You are quite forgiven........D.
Chug (if I may),
Be of good heart ! (My Guardian Angel had to work hard, though)........D.
aa,
Welcome home ! Your secrets are safe with us. Certainly we will bear with you - get typing.......D.
BEagle,
Too true..... PCLs ? Which one ? (I've met quite a lot - wasn't at Shawbury, was it?).........D.
Part 2 RTB SkiClub on the stocks. Thank you all for your interest so far,
Danny.
Deeply touched as I am by all your tender concerns for my wellbeing, I fear I must just let the story unfold. Then all will be made clear. Reflect that, whatever else may have happened, I'm still here !
YK,
Telemark ? - us ? You jest ! I suppose we could have put "skins" on and got uphill that way, but there was a better idea.
1:750,000 ? You are quite forgiven........D.
Chug (if I may),
Be of good heart ! (My Guardian Angel had to work hard, though)........D.
aa,
Welcome home ! Your secrets are safe with us. Certainly we will bear with you - get typing.......D.
BEagle,
Too true..... PCLs ? Which one ? (I've met quite a lot - wasn't at Shawbury, was it?).........D.
Part 2 RTB SkiClub on the stocks. Thank you all for your interest so far,
Danny.
Well Danny, you certainly started a fashion.
Gulmarg is a nice little place in the Baramla district of Jammu and Kashmir. Popularly known as the “Heartland of winter sports like skiing in India” the place is the 7th best skiing destination of Asia
Danny,
'my' Observer flew Ops to the usual places in the Whitley until April 1942 when 78 appears to have converted to the Halifax. He flies on Ops on the Halifax until Jan 1943 when he becomes an instructor at 1658 CU at Riccall.
Six months later he is back on Ops with 78 Sqn and is on amongst others the Peenemunde raid. At some stage he must have been commissioned (I do not have his Record of Service) as by Nov 1944 his logbook has him as the 'A' Flight Commander on 78. By the start of 1945 he is a squadron commander with the DFC. All of this in 4 Group. Not bad for HO Observer. But 4 Group had a habit of appointing non pilots as Sqn Commanders. Witness W/C 'Lofty' Lowe who was OC 77 Sqn in 1944. He was an Air Gunner. More later. Trust me we are on track towards Danny's India with only minor deviations !
'my' Observer flew Ops to the usual places in the Whitley until April 1942 when 78 appears to have converted to the Halifax. He flies on Ops on the Halifax until Jan 1943 when he becomes an instructor at 1658 CU at Riccall.
Six months later he is back on Ops with 78 Sqn and is on amongst others the Peenemunde raid. At some stage he must have been commissioned (I do not have his Record of Service) as by Nov 1944 his logbook has him as the 'A' Flight Commander on 78. By the start of 1945 he is a squadron commander with the DFC. All of this in 4 Group. Not bad for HO Observer. But 4 Group had a habit of appointing non pilots as Sqn Commanders. Witness W/C 'Lofty' Lowe who was OC 77 Sqn in 1944. He was an Air Gunner. More later. Trust me we are on track towards Danny's India with only minor deviations !
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Fareastdriver,
I don't think the RAF Ski School actually started the fashion. I think the Army had done a bit up there in earlier years, right back to the Norfolk Jacket and Deerstalker days - and the Victorians were pretty adventurous, too. How much business they're managing to do now in current semi-war conditions, I can't imagine......D.
ancient aviator,
Your chap certainly had a meteoric career ! But in those days the trick was to be lucky and stay alive, promotion was then a matter of "filling dead mens' shoes" (literally). "Don" Bennett was an AVM before he was 30, I think. There were 25 year old Group Captains. (Nothing in this detracts in any way from your man's gallantry and ability, of course, it's just the way it was).........(What was an "HO observer" ?).........D.
Cheers,
Danny.
I don't think the RAF Ski School actually started the fashion. I think the Army had done a bit up there in earlier years, right back to the Norfolk Jacket and Deerstalker days - and the Victorians were pretty adventurous, too. How much business they're managing to do now in current semi-war conditions, I can't imagine......D.
ancient aviator,
Your chap certainly had a meteoric career ! But in those days the trick was to be lucky and stay alive, promotion was then a matter of "filling dead mens' shoes" (literally). "Don" Bennett was an AVM before he was 30, I think. There were 25 year old Group Captains. (Nothing in this detracts in any way from your man's gallantry and ability, of course, it's just the way it was).........(What was an "HO observer" ?).........D.
Cheers,
Danny.
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Danny and the Round the Bend Ski Club (Part 2).
Mornings were torture. Everything froze. The ink froze in our pens. Shaving was quite out of the question; a Standing Order of the unit allowed us to grow beards for the duration of the Course (I believe this concession was unique in the RAF at that time). The results were very mixed.
Shared hardship bound us together, we formed a "Round the Bend Ski Club" for alumni of the School. The locals were good woodcarvers, they turned out a Club tankard with a metal liner (beaten out of old tin cans). It was embellished with a carving of a bearded figure hurtling down a slope on skis. *
We had a Club song, but all I can remember of it now was the refrain (to the tune of the "Camptown Races"):
"Oh, Suzannah, why don't you marry me ?
For I'm comin' down the Red Run with a bandage on my knee !"
They'd laid out a nursery slope close to the hotel. We kept ourselves warm and developed our ski muscles herring-boning up and snow-ploughing down with varying degrees of success. None of us had skied before, and I don't think our "instructors" had done much. We worked it out as we went along. They'd prepared a booklet of helpful hints, most of which described the various kinds of avalanches and how not to start one. It was not encouraging.
After the first ten days, we graduated to the upper slopes of the mountain. I can't remember its name, but it went up to about 10,000 ft. There were no skilifts, ** so how did we get up to the top of the aforesaid "Red Run" ? (I think it was the only run).
* I have it still somewhere, together with a set of "liar" dice (the prince of all bar counter games - it has the added advantage of greatly slowing down the rate of drinking).
** There are now. Gulmarg has been developed into a proper ski resort.
Ponies again. You rode the pony, the pony-wallah shouldered your skis (matchsticks for a hillman to carry), and led his beast. These mountain ponies needed to be very sure-footed, for in places they had to climb an ice staircase hacked out of the slope. Every so often a pony would slip, and you had to bale out smartly before your beast rolled on top of you.
At the top of the run the pony went down to pick up the next man (there were several ponies in the chain, of course). IIRC, the pony-wallah got As2 per trip, which was nothing to you, but would mean that he would gross As4 per hour. Reckoning a six-hour day, this was Rs1 As8 per day, or Rs45 per month. His beast got well fed for the first time in its life; the rest was an absolute fortune to the owner in an area where normally there was nothing coming in during the winter at all. In summer they herded their goats and tilled the tiny terraced fields, and of course there was the "tourist trade" of chaps on leave and a few civilians. But in winter they lived on their fat - until we came along.
There is no point in going into detail about the techniques taught on our descent, and in any case I've forgotten. Wisely, the "instructors" made sure that our cable bindings weren't screwed up too tight (was there a little turnbuckle ? - can't remember). Then when disaster struck (as it always did before long), the heel could rise a few inches before the safety strap at the back pulled the cable spring out of the boot groove and released the ski. This would be on the end of a bit of line attached to you to prevent it from escaping and reaching Mach unity on its lonely way down.
There was a sunny, sheltered spot somewhere at the bottom where you were pretty well on the direct line of the final schuss. Warmed with a mug of chai in a deck chair, you watched in growing amusement as a stick figure appeared from the trees at the the top of the last slope, and was now accelerating to the finish line. Body language can be interpreted from afar. Even foreshortened, you could see confidence melt into uncertainty, then doubt followed by apprehension, then the inevitable disaster, with arms, legs and skis flailing round in a cloud of snow and ice fragments.
Last part to follow. Goodnight, chaps,
Danny42C.
Many are cold, but few are frozen.
Shared hardship bound us together, we formed a "Round the Bend Ski Club" for alumni of the School. The locals were good woodcarvers, they turned out a Club tankard with a metal liner (beaten out of old tin cans). It was embellished with a carving of a bearded figure hurtling down a slope on skis. *
We had a Club song, but all I can remember of it now was the refrain (to the tune of the "Camptown Races"):
"Oh, Suzannah, why don't you marry me ?
For I'm comin' down the Red Run with a bandage on my knee !"
They'd laid out a nursery slope close to the hotel. We kept ourselves warm and developed our ski muscles herring-boning up and snow-ploughing down with varying degrees of success. None of us had skied before, and I don't think our "instructors" had done much. We worked it out as we went along. They'd prepared a booklet of helpful hints, most of which described the various kinds of avalanches and how not to start one. It was not encouraging.
After the first ten days, we graduated to the upper slopes of the mountain. I can't remember its name, but it went up to about 10,000 ft. There were no skilifts, ** so how did we get up to the top of the aforesaid "Red Run" ? (I think it was the only run).
* I have it still somewhere, together with a set of "liar" dice (the prince of all bar counter games - it has the added advantage of greatly slowing down the rate of drinking).
** There are now. Gulmarg has been developed into a proper ski resort.
Ponies again. You rode the pony, the pony-wallah shouldered your skis (matchsticks for a hillman to carry), and led his beast. These mountain ponies needed to be very sure-footed, for in places they had to climb an ice staircase hacked out of the slope. Every so often a pony would slip, and you had to bale out smartly before your beast rolled on top of you.
At the top of the run the pony went down to pick up the next man (there were several ponies in the chain, of course). IIRC, the pony-wallah got As2 per trip, which was nothing to you, but would mean that he would gross As4 per hour. Reckoning a six-hour day, this was Rs1 As8 per day, or Rs45 per month. His beast got well fed for the first time in its life; the rest was an absolute fortune to the owner in an area where normally there was nothing coming in during the winter at all. In summer they herded their goats and tilled the tiny terraced fields, and of course there was the "tourist trade" of chaps on leave and a few civilians. But in winter they lived on their fat - until we came along.
There is no point in going into detail about the techniques taught on our descent, and in any case I've forgotten. Wisely, the "instructors" made sure that our cable bindings weren't screwed up too tight (was there a little turnbuckle ? - can't remember). Then when disaster struck (as it always did before long), the heel could rise a few inches before the safety strap at the back pulled the cable spring out of the boot groove and released the ski. This would be on the end of a bit of line attached to you to prevent it from escaping and reaching Mach unity on its lonely way down.
There was a sunny, sheltered spot somewhere at the bottom where you were pretty well on the direct line of the final schuss. Warmed with a mug of chai in a deck chair, you watched in growing amusement as a stick figure appeared from the trees at the the top of the last slope, and was now accelerating to the finish line. Body language can be interpreted from afar. Even foreshortened, you could see confidence melt into uncertainty, then doubt followed by apprehension, then the inevitable disaster, with arms, legs and skis flailing round in a cloud of snow and ice fragments.
Last part to follow. Goodnight, chaps,
Danny42C.
Many are cold, but few are frozen.
Danny,
my apologies, HO was Hostilities Only, and referred to the alleged length of time personnel could be required to serve. His last trip was in April 1945 to Wangerooge. Interestingly all his trips as 'boss' are logged as Air Bomber' A full circle back to his initial qualification. In July his log book has the entry 'Transferred to Transport Command' and the Halifax entries are replaced by those of the Dakota.But they are still flying from his bomber base. Then in August the squadron moves to Broadwell in preparation for the move to India. Confusingly by this time all his Dakota entries are as 'Co-Pilot' ! More next time but I must make it clear that all spellings are as they are recorded in his log book. I am sure Danny will know better than anyone the pitfalls that can befall anyone when it comes to Indian names.
my apologies, HO was Hostilities Only, and referred to the alleged length of time personnel could be required to serve. His last trip was in April 1945 to Wangerooge. Interestingly all his trips as 'boss' are logged as Air Bomber' A full circle back to his initial qualification. In July his log book has the entry 'Transferred to Transport Command' and the Halifax entries are replaced by those of the Dakota.But they are still flying from his bomber base. Then in August the squadron moves to Broadwell in preparation for the move to India. Confusingly by this time all his Dakota entries are as 'Co-Pilot' ! More next time but I must make it clear that all spellings are as they are recorded in his log book. I am sure Danny will know better than anyone the pitfalls that can befall anyone when it comes to Indian names.
Danny, the more you relate of your "jolly" at the RAF Ski School, the more I suspect that it was in reality a Winter Survival School! Could it be that "they", having moved everyone out to the Far East and seeing that requirement end unexpectedly , now planned moving them all back again to the European Theatre for the probable next fixture as predicted by Churchill at Fulton Missouri? Fanciful perhaps, but how else can we explain the dreadful ordeals that were visited upon you at an alleged recreational facility? I suspect that the Iron Curtain might have cast its shadow over Gulmarg, half a world away. On the other hand of course, it might just be yet another example of the seriousness with which the British have always taken their leisure pursuits!