Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II
I remember pool petrol even though I wasn't old enough to enjoy it, the premium grades came in mid-50s I think: remember Esso Golden with its brilliant Tiger in the Tank campaign?
Pool was the 'utility' fuel of wartime and used for pretty well everything except aviation. It was about 70 octane while the avgas grades were leaded up to 100/130 octane, though the low-compression Gipsy Major (TM, Magister etc) would run on it.
I was mightily impressed when shown over a DB601 as used in many German aircraft. It had a small lever which retarded the ignition to enable the use of low-octane motor fuel albeit with reduced power. I've read that the development of fuels was as important as engine development in the quest for more horsepower.
Pool was the 'utility' fuel of wartime and used for pretty well everything except aviation. It was about 70 octane while the avgas grades were leaded up to 100/130 octane, though the low-compression Gipsy Major (TM, Magister etc) would run on it.
I was mightily impressed when shown over a DB601 as used in many German aircraft. It had a small lever which retarded the ignition to enable the use of low-octane motor fuel albeit with reduced power. I've read that the development of fuels was as important as engine development in the quest for more horsepower.
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Well cut with paraffin, the stuff was - and on ration! Yet it could be further diluted (50/50) by more paraffin (9d a gallon), but off ration. at any ironmongers.
Old no-compression Standard longstroke would run on this mixture if it were warm. To cold start, take float chamber off carb, chuck away contents, fill with Ronsonol (any tobacconist), put back, crank, (usually) action !
By the time the mixture had worked through to the carb, with any luck, the thing would keep running (but the bobby on point duty would sniff suspiciously when you chugged past with a haze of blue smoke behind). But as everything else on the road was doing the same, it was only the aroma of paraffin stove that marked you out.
Happy days! (1946)
Danny.
Old no-compression Standard longstroke would run on this mixture if it were warm. To cold start, take float chamber off carb, chuck away contents, fill with Ronsonol (any tobacconist), put back, crank, (usually) action !
By the time the mixture had worked through to the carb, with any luck, the thing would keep running (but the bobby on point duty would sniff suspiciously when you chugged past with a haze of blue smoke behind). But as everything else on the road was doing the same, it was only the aroma of paraffin stove that marked you out.
Happy days! (1946)
Danny.
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Low Observable,
Not to mention that (pre-Bomb), it was soberly estimated that the coming invasion of Japan (mounted from Okinawa ?) would cost a million (Allied forces) lives, most of which would be American, and the rest British Empire (including, very possibly, yours truly). The Japanese home armies would have to be destroyed to the last man (as we knew from experience all round SE Asia in the last few years). Japanese civilian casualties would be horrendous, as the conquest of Okinawa had just shown.
All this must be put in the balance against the terrible consequences of the Bomb in Japan. And, to remind ourselves, they did start it (at Pearl Harbor); so when all's said and done, they were responsible for their own misfotune.
That there are people (including, it would seem, some Associated Press editors and caption writers), who are still unaware of the distinction between the word "gay" (in the old, happy "toujours gai" sense) and the modern re-worked meaning, makes one despair. Was it for this that we have had compulsory elementary education in the Western world these last 100 years?
Danny42C
Not to mention that (pre-Bomb), it was soberly estimated that the coming invasion of Japan (mounted from Okinawa ?) would cost a million (Allied forces) lives, most of which would be American, and the rest British Empire (including, very possibly, yours truly). The Japanese home armies would have to be destroyed to the last man (as we knew from experience all round SE Asia in the last few years). Japanese civilian casualties would be horrendous, as the conquest of Okinawa had just shown.
All this must be put in the balance against the terrible consequences of the Bomb in Japan. And, to remind ourselves, they did start it (at Pearl Harbor); so when all's said and done, they were responsible for their own misfotune.
That there are people (including, it would seem, some Associated Press editors and caption writers), who are still unaware of the distinction between the word "gay" (in the old, happy "toujours gai" sense) and the modern re-worked meaning, makes one despair. Was it for this that we have had compulsory elementary education in the Western world these last 100 years?
Danny42C
"That there are people (including, it would seem, some Associated Press editors and caption writers), who are still unaware of the distinction between the word "gay" (in the old, happy "toujours gai" sense) and the modern re-worked meaning, makes one despair. Was it for this that we have had compulsory elementary education in the Western world these last 100 years?"
I think I'm well aware of the distinction between the two connotations Danny, I rather think I'm happy with the "toujours gai", but no fan of the modern derogation of the word. Perhaps I am the result of the failure of our education system.
Smudge
I think I'm well aware of the distinction between the two connotations Danny, I rather think I'm happy with the "toujours gai", but no fan of the modern derogation of the word. Perhaps I am the result of the failure of our education system.
Smudge
Seeing that things are getting a bit slack on this thread I will continue with my experiences in China. I mentioned Wenzhou on my post describing my trip from Tanguu to Shenzhen. I had been there before; flying to the first of that area’s exploration rigs.
There is a ridge of mountains inland from the coast of Eastern China that acts as a barrier to the flat lands of the Yangzte flood plain. This, over the centuries, has resulted in a population that is different from the rest of China. The have different languages, i.e. Hakka and Min, they have also been heavily influenced by western traders and missionaries. We were, for the first time since the Communist takeover of the country, the only foreigners there. We had, as normal, interpreters to sort out various problems with the locals but this led to difficulties as they could not understand the local language. Luckily there were sufficient who had learned Mandarin to be able to operate normally.
Wenzhou, over the past two hundred years or so had been heavily influenced by Jesuit missionaries. This was apparent by the number of churches; as from the Air Traffic cupola seven spires could be seen. Not all operating as during the Cultural Revolution Christianity was virtually wiped out and churches became police stations or similar.. However, there was, just a few miles from the airfield, a brand new cathedral sized church nearing completion which illustrated the new tolerance that had taken place. Years of lonely Jesuit missionaries had also impinged on the population. There were more redheads in Wenzhou than the rest of China put together. The area was famous throughout China for the beauty of its women and believe me, there were some real stunners.
The Chinese company had organised their part of the airfield. A temporary two storey office block with a passenger departure lounge and beside it was a blister hangar with associated engineering accommodation. This with a concrete taxi track from the main apron took a couple of weeks to put up. There was a brand new hotel behind the brand new terminal building and we were virtually the first guests. The standard was about UK 3* but there were a few shortcomings in the construction. There was a leak in the water system somewhere so the corridor carpets squelched a bit and the wallpaper had been applied before the plaster had cured so it was peeling up from the floor. It was supposed to be to international standard, the menus were in English and Chinese, but it was dreadfully expensive. No English tea or toast, unknown in that part of the world. We were paid a monthly allowance for food and suchlike and back in Shenzhen in our company apartments this was sufficient but not for hotel living. Just outside the airport were what were known as the garages; open fronted chop houses where all the raw materials were on display and you selected your choice and they cooked it for you there and then. Papst beer was only 4 yuan (30p at that time) a 485ml bottle so living became very affordable. They were very basic; no toilet, the midden out at the back was where you gave the rats a warm shower and as I have mentioned before the entertainment was watching a mother rat chasing and recovering her brood back to her nest under the freezer.
It did not take us long to have an international incident. The rig that we were going to service was being towed from Singapore through the Taiwan Straight, the sea between Taiwan and China. We had a request to put the survey party on boards who were going to position it on its drilling site. No problem; we got the lat/long, time, course and speed and the GPS forecast the position on arrival. The helicopter launched (I wasn’t flying it) and everybody was happy. Approaching the rig Taiwan Air Defence radar picked it up and launched their QRA. When their F15s punched into the stratosphere the Chinese Air Defence launched their Shenyang J8s so whilst our hero was changing over on the helideck the two sides were stalking each other from the respective borders of their ADIZs. There was a bit of a stink when they got back but I think ATC were in it deeper than we were. A day or so later the rig was in position and we could get started……………………………………….
There is a ridge of mountains inland from the coast of Eastern China that acts as a barrier to the flat lands of the Yangzte flood plain. This, over the centuries, has resulted in a population that is different from the rest of China. The have different languages, i.e. Hakka and Min, they have also been heavily influenced by western traders and missionaries. We were, for the first time since the Communist takeover of the country, the only foreigners there. We had, as normal, interpreters to sort out various problems with the locals but this led to difficulties as they could not understand the local language. Luckily there were sufficient who had learned Mandarin to be able to operate normally.
Wenzhou, over the past two hundred years or so had been heavily influenced by Jesuit missionaries. This was apparent by the number of churches; as from the Air Traffic cupola seven spires could be seen. Not all operating as during the Cultural Revolution Christianity was virtually wiped out and churches became police stations or similar.. However, there was, just a few miles from the airfield, a brand new cathedral sized church nearing completion which illustrated the new tolerance that had taken place. Years of lonely Jesuit missionaries had also impinged on the population. There were more redheads in Wenzhou than the rest of China put together. The area was famous throughout China for the beauty of its women and believe me, there were some real stunners.
The Chinese company had organised their part of the airfield. A temporary two storey office block with a passenger departure lounge and beside it was a blister hangar with associated engineering accommodation. This with a concrete taxi track from the main apron took a couple of weeks to put up. There was a brand new hotel behind the brand new terminal building and we were virtually the first guests. The standard was about UK 3* but there were a few shortcomings in the construction. There was a leak in the water system somewhere so the corridor carpets squelched a bit and the wallpaper had been applied before the plaster had cured so it was peeling up from the floor. It was supposed to be to international standard, the menus were in English and Chinese, but it was dreadfully expensive. No English tea or toast, unknown in that part of the world. We were paid a monthly allowance for food and suchlike and back in Shenzhen in our company apartments this was sufficient but not for hotel living. Just outside the airport were what were known as the garages; open fronted chop houses where all the raw materials were on display and you selected your choice and they cooked it for you there and then. Papst beer was only 4 yuan (30p at that time) a 485ml bottle so living became very affordable. They were very basic; no toilet, the midden out at the back was where you gave the rats a warm shower and as I have mentioned before the entertainment was watching a mother rat chasing and recovering her brood back to her nest under the freezer.
It did not take us long to have an international incident. The rig that we were going to service was being towed from Singapore through the Taiwan Straight, the sea between Taiwan and China. We had a request to put the survey party on boards who were going to position it on its drilling site. No problem; we got the lat/long, time, course and speed and the GPS forecast the position on arrival. The helicopter launched (I wasn’t flying it) and everybody was happy. Approaching the rig Taiwan Air Defence radar picked it up and launched their QRA. When their F15s punched into the stratosphere the Chinese Air Defence launched their Shenyang J8s so whilst our hero was changing over on the helideck the two sides were stalking each other from the respective borders of their ADIZs. There was a bit of a stink when they got back but I think ATC were in it deeper than we were. A day or so later the rig was in position and we could get started……………………………………….
more . . more . . give me more. . . so went the old song
Last week in Canberra, was getting some photo prints done at Harvey Norman, when a big young bloke called John who runs the shop noticed my prints had planes. Geese said he, there was a bloke in here a year or so back with a stack of prints to copy. They were all RAAF wartime subjects. Lots of squadron line ups of crews etc... When I asked if he knew the customer's name, he said it was Laddy Hindley. Well I looked up the name in the phone book straight away. Spoke to the man himself who said come over now if you like. That was at 1100. At 1200 we were having lunch together in his retirement village. By 1400 he'd told a lot of his life story. I finally left clutching a signed copy of his memoir called 'Joys and Dangers of an Aviation Pilot'.
Laddy enlisted in 1942. He joined 80 SQN in 1944 on P40s. Saw service in PNG and the SW Pacific islands. He later trained on choppers. Instructed on Hueys with 9 SQN at Canberra. Went to Vietnam. Awarded his DFC for service there.
Discharged, went back to PNG and Bougainville, flying choppers for civvie survey outfits. Gave it all away in 1988.
Last month the RAAF invited Laddy and his wife Lesley to fly Auckland return on a commorative flight in one of their Boeing C17s.
His book is a joy to read. He is forthcoming about many detailed aspects of a very full life. From a lusty young fella growing up in Goulburn . . . busting at the seams with adolescent testosterone. . . finding an older shiela who took down behind a hay shed . . to finding huge satisfaction flying a wide assortment of types . It is an explicit memoir, well illustrated, one of which is probably the first to be published showing three naked airman holding a black swan they have just shot with the wings spread to barely cover their wedding tackle. Laddy said he is not proud of the things he shot in his younger days, as after the war he became a hobby farmer with the a strong attachment to all the causes related to conservation and wildlife protection.
Last week in Canberra, was getting some photo prints done at Harvey Norman, when a big young bloke called John who runs the shop noticed my prints had planes. Geese said he, there was a bloke in here a year or so back with a stack of prints to copy. They were all RAAF wartime subjects. Lots of squadron line ups of crews etc... When I asked if he knew the customer's name, he said it was Laddy Hindley. Well I looked up the name in the phone book straight away. Spoke to the man himself who said come over now if you like. That was at 1100. At 1200 we were having lunch together in his retirement village. By 1400 he'd told a lot of his life story. I finally left clutching a signed copy of his memoir called 'Joys and Dangers of an Aviation Pilot'.
Laddy enlisted in 1942. He joined 80 SQN in 1944 on P40s. Saw service in PNG and the SW Pacific islands. He later trained on choppers. Instructed on Hueys with 9 SQN at Canberra. Went to Vietnam. Awarded his DFC for service there.
Discharged, went back to PNG and Bougainville, flying choppers for civvie survey outfits. Gave it all away in 1988.
Last month the RAAF invited Laddy and his wife Lesley to fly Auckland return on a commorative flight in one of their Boeing C17s.
His book is a joy to read. He is forthcoming about many detailed aspects of a very full life. From a lusty young fella growing up in Goulburn . . . busting at the seams with adolescent testosterone. . . finding an older shiela who took down behind a hay shed . . to finding huge satisfaction flying a wide assortment of types . It is an explicit memoir, well illustrated, one of which is probably the first to be published showing three naked airman holding a black swan they have just shot with the wings spread to barely cover their wedding tackle. Laddy said he is not proud of the things he shot in his younger days, as after the war he became a hobby farmer with the a strong attachment to all the causes related to conservation and wildlife protection.
Last edited by Fantome; 5th Jun 2015 at 16:51.
A bit to add on VVs, in this case the RAAF, target towing at Tocumwal, and on the colour vision discussed a month or two back.
There are buried in the cemetery at TOC two pilots who died in the crash of their VV in 1944. The story is told by a veteran of that time that the two deceased were the perpetrators of sabotage that was going on round the base in the dead of night. Instead of being arrested, the CO of the base hatched a little plan about which he said not a word to a soul.
He ordered a gunnery exercise in which he alone would practice on the drogue towed by the pilots he knew were guilty as all get out.
How he managed to report the crash of the VV without implicating himself
in any way remains a mystery, although as ever various theories are advanced.
Colour vision - Maurice Brearley was a son of pioneer West Australian airman Norman Brearley. Maurice was an aeronautical
engineering graduate who went to enlist in the RAAF as a pilot in 1942. He failed the Ishihara colour vision test.
What he did to get round that little hurdle was to memorize all the plates in the book then re-enlist under an assumed name.
He passed his medical and a year later passed out at the wings parade at Narrandera EFTS. Maurice had not been in touch with his family for the past year or so. They were worried of course about his silence having no idea where he was or what he was doing. Who should take the passing out parade but his dad, Group Captain Norman Brearley. Pinning on his son's wings, the father muttered, 'I get the picture now son. But your mother, she's been worried sick'.
from connectweb.com -
Mini bio: former Pilot and Professor Emeritus remembered Lana Wilson / May 31, 2013
Who’s Who in Australia is deeply saddened to learn the passing of Professor Emeritus Maurice Brearley.
Born to Fly: The Story of Wayne Blackmore' by Maurice Brearley
Maurice Norman Brearley was best known in the Australian education spheres for his academic work as Emeritus Professor of Mathematics at The University of Melbourne.
Professor Brearley held the Emeritus position for more than 20 years, taking the role in 1985, following a long stint as a Professor of Mathematics with the University as well as the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) Academy of Victoria that started in 1966.
Professor Emeritus Brearley began his career as a Pilot with the Royal Australian Air Force during the Second World War and shortly after became a Research Engineer with de Havilland Aircraft Company in the United Kingdom, before returning to Australia.
The Who’s Who in Australia entrant noted his recreations as piano and musical composition.
In 1981, he published a book ‘Born to Fly: The Story of Wayne Blackmore’.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Danny . . . .. . no idea whether Alex and Leigh Oxley (Laddy) Hindley are related. Stand by for what Laddy has to say.
There are buried in the cemetery at TOC two pilots who died in the crash of their VV in 1944. The story is told by a veteran of that time that the two deceased were the perpetrators of sabotage that was going on round the base in the dead of night. Instead of being arrested, the CO of the base hatched a little plan about which he said not a word to a soul.
He ordered a gunnery exercise in which he alone would practice on the drogue towed by the pilots he knew were guilty as all get out.
How he managed to report the crash of the VV without implicating himself
in any way remains a mystery, although as ever various theories are advanced.
Colour vision - Maurice Brearley was a son of pioneer West Australian airman Norman Brearley. Maurice was an aeronautical
engineering graduate who went to enlist in the RAAF as a pilot in 1942. He failed the Ishihara colour vision test.
What he did to get round that little hurdle was to memorize all the plates in the book then re-enlist under an assumed name.
He passed his medical and a year later passed out at the wings parade at Narrandera EFTS. Maurice had not been in touch with his family for the past year or so. They were worried of course about his silence having no idea where he was or what he was doing. Who should take the passing out parade but his dad, Group Captain Norman Brearley. Pinning on his son's wings, the father muttered, 'I get the picture now son. But your mother, she's been worried sick'.
from connectweb.com -
Mini bio: former Pilot and Professor Emeritus remembered Lana Wilson / May 31, 2013
Who’s Who in Australia is deeply saddened to learn the passing of Professor Emeritus Maurice Brearley.
Born to Fly: The Story of Wayne Blackmore' by Maurice Brearley
Maurice Norman Brearley was best known in the Australian education spheres for his academic work as Emeritus Professor of Mathematics at The University of Melbourne.
Professor Brearley held the Emeritus position for more than 20 years, taking the role in 1985, following a long stint as a Professor of Mathematics with the University as well as the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) Academy of Victoria that started in 1966.
Professor Emeritus Brearley began his career as a Pilot with the Royal Australian Air Force during the Second World War and shortly after became a Research Engineer with de Havilland Aircraft Company in the United Kingdom, before returning to Australia.
The Who’s Who in Australia entrant noted his recreations as piano and musical composition.
In 1981, he published a book ‘Born to Fly: The Story of Wayne Blackmore’.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Danny . . . .. . no idea whether Alex and Leigh Oxley (Laddy) Hindley are related. Stand by for what Laddy has to say.
Last edited by Fantome; 5th Jun 2015 at 20:57.
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Small world.
Fantome,
Any relation to Alex Hindley (Wing Commander [Retd] OBE, AFC, who was my Boss at Valley (20 Sqn, '50 -'51) ?, - and a better Boss never lived !
Danny,
EDIT: Not hard to cook up a story when the witnesses are all dead ! Many VVs speared in with no known cause. D.
Any relation to Alex Hindley (Wing Commander [Retd] OBE, AFC, who was my Boss at Valley (20 Sqn, '50 -'51) ?, - and a better Boss never lived !
Danny,
EDIT: Not hard to cook up a story when the witnesses are all dead ! Many VVs speared in with no known cause. D.
Last edited by Danny42C; 5th Jun 2015 at 17:19. Reason: Addn.
The rig was about 140 Nautical miles out. There was nothing en route so it was a straight line out from one of the airfield’s beacons. The beginning would track you over the small islands that were scatted off the coast. These were like little mountains with the land coming out of the sea at 45 degrees. It was then terraced all the way to the top and the inhabitants would live in clusters of boats in little harbours at the bottom. The GPS would keep you on the straight and narrow so there was little problem finding the rig. Despite that it was nice seeing it come up on the radar where it was supposed to be. We were well clear of Taiwan but for the last thirty or so miles I would duck down to 100 ft so as to be out of range of any radar, especially the US Navy.
The rig was the Nan Hai 5. Nan-South, Hai-Sea. It was an ex Pacesetter rig that was owned by a Chinese company. The Chinese had little experience in offshore drilling then so it was run by a mixture of American and British contractors. It was only fourteen years old so it had all the latest drilling kit, topdrives etc, incorporated. There had been a fair amount of seismic work done and the indications were very optimistic. The rig was supplied with hardware and victualling from Wenzhou. They had built a harbour capable of handling six supply boats in three months but their Western food still had to come from Hong Kong. We couldn’t get any in Wenzhou so this is where a long tradition between helicopter pilots and rig crews came in.
We supplied them with blue movies and they supplied us with goodies.
Getting blue movies was easy. In Shenzhen there was a stall that sold pirated VCDs that included everything from the latest blockbusters to the best that the Californian grunters and groaners could manage. You couldn’t miss the stall; it was outside the police station. A message went down, the necessary were purchased, converted to VHS because that was all the rig had and we could run a programme change ever five days. In return we got freshly baked bread, real bu’’er, jam and stacks of choccies of all sorts. The ultimate was on Christmas day where they laid on a trip in the morning and it came back with a full roast turkey dinner for all the Brits on the site.
There were two helicopters involved; one British registered and one Chinese. They flew with a national crew on alternate days; the other crew and aircraft on stand-bye for SAR, there being nothing else. In fact about half way out was the main shipping route between Japan, Korea and Singapore so there was a multitude of massive container ships crossing your route. The ships were so big that it was difficult to count how many containers they had on the superstructure in the time available to count them. Should you have a problem and ditch in the shipping lane the first worry was getting run over by one of them. Should they see you then they would probably just pass your position to a maritime authority. They would require several miles to stop and there was an awful lot of money tied up in the containers. However, we would still be able to launch the stand-bye and be there with a winch before they could turn it round and steam back.
Our dispersal was just off the main apron and when the Chinese aircraft was en route our British one would stand outside ready to go. The company logo and the G- registration would attract instant interest from the fixed wing airliner crews passing through. Many a time my eyes would flutter as the slender scarlet shapes of Shanghai Airlines stewardesses were coming over for a look see. Sometimes there would be some problem on the airway with the Air Force so everybody was grounded for a couple of hours. We would then have the whole lot, Air China, China Southern, Shenzhen Airlines, to name a few. It was hell, believe me, it was hell.
We only did about three trips a week so we weren’t rushed off our feet. Our free time was more interesting for us than for our Chinese pilots and engineers. Foreigners were a rarity so when you sat at a table in a teahouse people would practise their English on you. I would regularly have about seven schoolchildren with their books going through their lessons with me to get the pronunciation correct. You couldn’t do that in the UK, you would have to be vetted first. The Chinese crews had a language problem. As I mentioned before they couldn’t understand the locals so they ended up in their, separate hotel, playing non-stop Mah Jong………………………………..
The rig was the Nan Hai 5. Nan-South, Hai-Sea. It was an ex Pacesetter rig that was owned by a Chinese company. The Chinese had little experience in offshore drilling then so it was run by a mixture of American and British contractors. It was only fourteen years old so it had all the latest drilling kit, topdrives etc, incorporated. There had been a fair amount of seismic work done and the indications were very optimistic. The rig was supplied with hardware and victualling from Wenzhou. They had built a harbour capable of handling six supply boats in three months but their Western food still had to come from Hong Kong. We couldn’t get any in Wenzhou so this is where a long tradition between helicopter pilots and rig crews came in.
We supplied them with blue movies and they supplied us with goodies.
Getting blue movies was easy. In Shenzhen there was a stall that sold pirated VCDs that included everything from the latest blockbusters to the best that the Californian grunters and groaners could manage. You couldn’t miss the stall; it was outside the police station. A message went down, the necessary were purchased, converted to VHS because that was all the rig had and we could run a programme change ever five days. In return we got freshly baked bread, real bu’’er, jam and stacks of choccies of all sorts. The ultimate was on Christmas day where they laid on a trip in the morning and it came back with a full roast turkey dinner for all the Brits on the site.
There were two helicopters involved; one British registered and one Chinese. They flew with a national crew on alternate days; the other crew and aircraft on stand-bye for SAR, there being nothing else. In fact about half way out was the main shipping route between Japan, Korea and Singapore so there was a multitude of massive container ships crossing your route. The ships were so big that it was difficult to count how many containers they had on the superstructure in the time available to count them. Should you have a problem and ditch in the shipping lane the first worry was getting run over by one of them. Should they see you then they would probably just pass your position to a maritime authority. They would require several miles to stop and there was an awful lot of money tied up in the containers. However, we would still be able to launch the stand-bye and be there with a winch before they could turn it round and steam back.
Our dispersal was just off the main apron and when the Chinese aircraft was en route our British one would stand outside ready to go. The company logo and the G- registration would attract instant interest from the fixed wing airliner crews passing through. Many a time my eyes would flutter as the slender scarlet shapes of Shanghai Airlines stewardesses were coming over for a look see. Sometimes there would be some problem on the airway with the Air Force so everybody was grounded for a couple of hours. We would then have the whole lot, Air China, China Southern, Shenzhen Airlines, to name a few. It was hell, believe me, it was hell.
We only did about three trips a week so we weren’t rushed off our feet. Our free time was more interesting for us than for our Chinese pilots and engineers. Foreigners were a rarity so when you sat at a table in a teahouse people would practise their English on you. I would regularly have about seven schoolchildren with their books going through their lessons with me to get the pronunciation correct. You couldn’t do that in the UK, you would have to be vetted first. The Chinese crews had a language problem. As I mentioned before they couldn’t understand the locals so they ended up in their, separate hotel, playing non-stop Mah Jong………………………………..
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Fareastdriver,
"Far away places with queer sounding names......." How these old names tug at the heartstrings of us chaps "well stiricken in years" when we look back on the days of our not-misspent-enough youth.
This is wonderful stuff. You have the "Gift of the Gab", Sir! Keep it up!
Danny.
"Far away places with queer sounding names......." How these old names tug at the heartstrings of us chaps "well stiricken in years" when we look back on the days of our not-misspent-enough youth.
This is wonderful stuff. You have the "Gift of the Gab", Sir! Keep it up!
Danny.
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The Men Who Went to Warsaw
From today's Sunday Mirror
Two RAF(VR) veterans who served on attachment with SAAF Liberator Squadrons during WWII reunited after some 70 years
World War Two RAF heroes reunited after 70 years after finding each other on Facebook - Mirror Online
Ken Todd was rear gunner on Liberator VI KH150 'R' on night 10/11 September 1944 with my late father Ken Crossley (mid upper) in Capt Keith Carter's crew
PZU - Out of Africa (Retired)
Two RAF(VR) veterans who served on attachment with SAAF Liberator Squadrons during WWII reunited after some 70 years
World War Two RAF heroes reunited after 70 years after finding each other on Facebook - Mirror Online
Ken Todd was rear gunner on Liberator VI KH150 'R' on night 10/11 September 1944 with my late father Ken Crossley (mid upper) in Capt Keith Carter's crew
PZU - Out of Africa (Retired)
Going downtown was easy, you caught a trishaw. This was a three wheeler bicycle with a settee between the rear wheels. As long as you driver didn’t break wind you were OK. We would catch one just outside the airport and it was about 2 yuan to Longwan, a small town between the airport and Wenzhou proper. He would drop us off at the bridge leading into the town and in this area were a few stalls telling bits and pieces. I had an interpreter with me for the first time and I noticed an old man in a stall that was shaped like a sentry box. Just room for him with the bottom closed and a small shelf in front of him. It what was on the shelf that stopped me. I had seen it before when I visited the Singapore CID when I was stationed in Singapore……
It was cut ball of raw opium.
I asked my interpreter to confirm it. He only replied that it was bad stuff. I went over to the box; the interpreter was having nothing to do with it; you can get a sudden headache being caught with opium. I knew that before the Revolution in 1949 opium use was widespread; they had a war named after it. Come 1949 it was banned but I also knew that because so many people were addicted to it, including a few very senior members of the politburo, a licence could be obtained to continue buying and using it. What I had stumbled on was the last of the old dope peddlers serving at that time a rapidly diminishing band of customers.. He was an old boy with the biggest smile I had seen on a Chinese man; so opium must be good for you. As I approached him he waved both palms of his hands to indicate that I could not buy any. I wasn’t interested so tactfully I turned away and proceeded towards the town. As an posrscrpt he wasn’t there three months later so he must have joined his customers in that big opium den in the sky.
The town centre was absolute bedlam. These were the days when all Chinese drove with one hand on the horn. The vehicles were small buses that followed a route but stopped anywhere to pick up and let down. Moving out onto the road again was merely a signal and a long blast on the horn, followed by a orchestral sounding of horns by all the others trying to stop him coming out. The were no modern shops, they had only just started in Wenzhou itself, so they looked exactly like they did a hundred years before. You could, however, get just about anything you wanted. Wenzhou wasn’t known as the counterfeit capital of China for nothing. There was a Philishave there which was, apart from the weight, identical to my own. What gave it away was a normal plug and wire to the 220 volt motor in the shaver as opposed to the transformer plug and 9 volt of the Philishave. You would find out the difference if you did a wet shave.
The task I had that day was to find a toaster. This was for the bread that we were being supplied with by the rig. I didn’t hold out much hope, it was bad enough trying to get one in Shenzhen, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. The interpreter wasn’t a lot of use; he didn’t know what a toaster was either so I had to draw pictures to show them how it worked. I went from electrical shop to electrical shop and was getting nowhere and then we came a second hand goods shop with old extractors, water heaters etc. I went through my spiel again with the same blank looks but on this occasion they called to the back of the shop and out came granddad.
He was like something out of a Chinese Opera without any makeup. He was old, incredibly old with a thin moustache and beard that drooped down to his waist. Behind him was a fully waxed pigtail that was just as long. He wore a full length black silk embroidered gown and it was topped off with a small silk bonnet. I couldn’t see his feet but it sounded as if he was walking with clogs or wooden sandals. I put my hands together and bowed to him as a sign of respect for his age and tried to explain as before. He thought for some time and then gave directions to his minions. They disappeared into the back, out again for more directions, in, out, in again and then they found it.
It was in a tatty brown box without any manufacturers name on it. I lifted it out and it weighed as if it had been made out of armour plate. It looked the part; two slots for bread with the elements inside and a variable control knob on the outside. It had an American flat pin plug which was normal for China but I didn’t try it out as it was full of dust and it would probably cause more harm than good. 10 yuan (70p) was all that they wanted so without further ado I bought it and returned to my hotel.
The next day I presented out engineers with the toaster. They took one look, took it outside and blew it out with a nitrogen bottle. There were no instructions so we set the dial to one quarter point and with careful use of a hacksaw, no breadknife, we cut two slices to fit. We didn’t do a dry run first; if we had we would have noticed the intensity of the elements. We dropped in the bread, gravity did it all so it wasn’t necessary to push down the handles and we plugged it in. Some thing was happening and in a short time came the aroma of toasting bread. The time reached zero, a buzzer sounded and we started collecting together the butter and jam. Our backs were turned for only a few seconds but that was enough for it to start turning it into charcoal biscuits. A panic stricken unplug before the Chinese called the fire brigade and we went to plan B.
This involved a strip down and circuit analysis. The first problem was finding a flat bladed screwdriver the correct size to unscrew the bottom. All the tools we have were cross head or small flats for instruments. Once that was done the detective work started:
There were no springs on the handles; they were there just to lift the bread out.
The timer had a push in/out function that switched it on/off and the rotating timer just rang a buzzer but did not switch it off.
The size of the wiring indicated that it was rated for 110 volts.
How it got to Wenzhou we had no idea. It was probably a 1940s American model but being Wenzhou it may well have been a counterfeit copy that wasn’t exported.
Once we had established this we did a dry run. This is when we noticed that the elements were almost incandescent. However, our greeny (aircraft electrics) stated that they would probably last until a replacement arrived. We phoned back to Shenzhen, declared TOS (Toaster Out of Service) and they promised that the next person going into Hong Kong would buy another and it would be dispatched tout suite………………………………………..
It was cut ball of raw opium.
I asked my interpreter to confirm it. He only replied that it was bad stuff. I went over to the box; the interpreter was having nothing to do with it; you can get a sudden headache being caught with opium. I knew that before the Revolution in 1949 opium use was widespread; they had a war named after it. Come 1949 it was banned but I also knew that because so many people were addicted to it, including a few very senior members of the politburo, a licence could be obtained to continue buying and using it. What I had stumbled on was the last of the old dope peddlers serving at that time a rapidly diminishing band of customers.. He was an old boy with the biggest smile I had seen on a Chinese man; so opium must be good for you. As I approached him he waved both palms of his hands to indicate that I could not buy any. I wasn’t interested so tactfully I turned away and proceeded towards the town. As an posrscrpt he wasn’t there three months later so he must have joined his customers in that big opium den in the sky.
The town centre was absolute bedlam. These were the days when all Chinese drove with one hand on the horn. The vehicles were small buses that followed a route but stopped anywhere to pick up and let down. Moving out onto the road again was merely a signal and a long blast on the horn, followed by a orchestral sounding of horns by all the others trying to stop him coming out. The were no modern shops, they had only just started in Wenzhou itself, so they looked exactly like they did a hundred years before. You could, however, get just about anything you wanted. Wenzhou wasn’t known as the counterfeit capital of China for nothing. There was a Philishave there which was, apart from the weight, identical to my own. What gave it away was a normal plug and wire to the 220 volt motor in the shaver as opposed to the transformer plug and 9 volt of the Philishave. You would find out the difference if you did a wet shave.
The task I had that day was to find a toaster. This was for the bread that we were being supplied with by the rig. I didn’t hold out much hope, it was bad enough trying to get one in Shenzhen, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. The interpreter wasn’t a lot of use; he didn’t know what a toaster was either so I had to draw pictures to show them how it worked. I went from electrical shop to electrical shop and was getting nowhere and then we came a second hand goods shop with old extractors, water heaters etc. I went through my spiel again with the same blank looks but on this occasion they called to the back of the shop and out came granddad.
He was like something out of a Chinese Opera without any makeup. He was old, incredibly old with a thin moustache and beard that drooped down to his waist. Behind him was a fully waxed pigtail that was just as long. He wore a full length black silk embroidered gown and it was topped off with a small silk bonnet. I couldn’t see his feet but it sounded as if he was walking with clogs or wooden sandals. I put my hands together and bowed to him as a sign of respect for his age and tried to explain as before. He thought for some time and then gave directions to his minions. They disappeared into the back, out again for more directions, in, out, in again and then they found it.
It was in a tatty brown box without any manufacturers name on it. I lifted it out and it weighed as if it had been made out of armour plate. It looked the part; two slots for bread with the elements inside and a variable control knob on the outside. It had an American flat pin plug which was normal for China but I didn’t try it out as it was full of dust and it would probably cause more harm than good. 10 yuan (70p) was all that they wanted so without further ado I bought it and returned to my hotel.
The next day I presented out engineers with the toaster. They took one look, took it outside and blew it out with a nitrogen bottle. There were no instructions so we set the dial to one quarter point and with careful use of a hacksaw, no breadknife, we cut two slices to fit. We didn’t do a dry run first; if we had we would have noticed the intensity of the elements. We dropped in the bread, gravity did it all so it wasn’t necessary to push down the handles and we plugged it in. Some thing was happening and in a short time came the aroma of toasting bread. The time reached zero, a buzzer sounded and we started collecting together the butter and jam. Our backs were turned for only a few seconds but that was enough for it to start turning it into charcoal biscuits. A panic stricken unplug before the Chinese called the fire brigade and we went to plan B.
This involved a strip down and circuit analysis. The first problem was finding a flat bladed screwdriver the correct size to unscrew the bottom. All the tools we have were cross head or small flats for instruments. Once that was done the detective work started:
There were no springs on the handles; they were there just to lift the bread out.
The timer had a push in/out function that switched it on/off and the rotating timer just rang a buzzer but did not switch it off.
The size of the wiring indicated that it was rated for 110 volts.
How it got to Wenzhou we had no idea. It was probably a 1940s American model but being Wenzhou it may well have been a counterfeit copy that wasn’t exported.
Once we had established this we did a dry run. This is when we noticed that the elements were almost incandescent. However, our greeny (aircraft electrics) stated that they would probably last until a replacement arrived. We phoned back to Shenzhen, declared TOS (Toaster Out of Service) and they promised that the next person going into Hong Kong would buy another and it would be dispatched tout suite………………………………………..
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FED,
Another winner ! It sounds as if the perils of War were as nothing compared to the likelihood of electrocution in postwar China !
In the early days of married life, I bought a 9d booklet on some market stall about "Home Electical Ideas" (or some such). My imagination was fired by a suggested design for a DIY electric kettle, which was high on our wish-list, but which cost good money, and that was tight at the time.
The idea was based on a 9" flan tin, which you filled with fireclay cement, into which you embedded the spiral wire element of a 1kw electric fire (you could get these coils loose in those days). A thin "pie crust" of fireclay over the top was the final stage, smoothed level to form a base for the standard tin whistling kettle which completed the ensemble. All depended on adequate insulation from the (dried) fireclay. I think we were still on 2-pin plugs then. I connected up and hoped for the best.
It was not a success. Whether I had allowed sufficent time for the "filling" to dry out, or the coil had wriggled down to make contact with the flan tin, I know not, but I produced some truly spectacular flashes and blew every fuse in the house. After which I acceded to the despairing pleas of Mrs D, binned the lot, and we saved up our pennies for a Morphy-Richards.
D.
Another winner ! It sounds as if the perils of War were as nothing compared to the likelihood of electrocution in postwar China !
In the early days of married life, I bought a 9d booklet on some market stall about "Home Electical Ideas" (or some such). My imagination was fired by a suggested design for a DIY electric kettle, which was high on our wish-list, but which cost good money, and that was tight at the time.
The idea was based on a 9" flan tin, which you filled with fireclay cement, into which you embedded the spiral wire element of a 1kw electric fire (you could get these coils loose in those days). A thin "pie crust" of fireclay over the top was the final stage, smoothed level to form a base for the standard tin whistling kettle which completed the ensemble. All depended on adequate insulation from the (dried) fireclay. I think we were still on 2-pin plugs then. I connected up and hoped for the best.
It was not a success. Whether I had allowed sufficent time for the "filling" to dry out, or the coil had wriggled down to make contact with the flan tin, I know not, but I produced some truly spectacular flashes and blew every fuse in the house. After which I acceded to the despairing pleas of Mrs D, binned the lot, and we saved up our pennies for a Morphy-Richards.
D.
Danny, et al (regarding "petrol", etc): I recall my Dad, in the early 50s I guess, talking about "Russian petrol" and "TVO" (tractor vapourising oil) (funny, cannot remember breakfast). What were they?
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Russian petrol - don't know but possibly just a low octane/poor quality import
TVO - when I started with Shell in the late '60's, we used to stock TVO, it was just a lighter cut/grade of Paraffin used in motor vehicles that normally started on petrol/mogas and then switched to TVO, was Dyed to differentiate for HMC and commonly used in Tractors etc
PZU - Out of Africa (Retired)
TVO - when I started with Shell in the late '60's, we used to stock TVO, it was just a lighter cut/grade of Paraffin used in motor vehicles that normally started on petrol/mogas and then switched to TVO, was Dyed to differentiate for HMC and commonly used in Tractors etc
PZU - Out of Africa (Retired)
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Agricultural & marine petrol was dyed red. So perhaps called "Russian petrol".
Can't remember tvo being dyed but can recall "Esso Blue" adverts for domestic paraffin.
Can't remember tvo being dyed but can recall "Esso Blue" adverts for domestic paraffin.