Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II
Well at least ours was ASTUTE enough to avoid belly-landings! - Danny
Goodness gracious how AUDACIOUS! Looks like the ARTFUL Danny has set up an AMBUSH.....
Jack
Goodness gracious how AUDACIOUS! Looks like the ARTFUL Danny has set up an AMBUSH.....
Jack
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cornish-stormrider,
Ju87 or Corsair ? Recognition Feature: the Ju87 has a fixed u/c !
*******
Lyneham Lad and Nutloose,
Lovely pics ! The "Buried Spitfires in Burma" seem to have been fictional, but I can tell you where to find 24-odd Corsairs, brand new, CKD in their crates.
About 30 miles off the Malabar coast at approx 11 degrees N. Lat, they are on the seabed where (as deck cargo) they were bulldozed off an RN escort carrier which was taking them out to Ceylon. (Perhaps the Navy could look up the ship's log [I don't know its name] and find the exact position, do you think, Union Jack ?)
VJ day (15.8.45.) came while they were in transit; as Lend-Lease supplies they had to be dumped as neither the USN or RN wanted them any more. They'll be a bit rusty now, 70 years on.
Should be on the Continental Shelf: all you need is a trawler and a lot of time and dosh.
********
Jack,
But Danny's not casting any ASPERSIONS !
Danny
Ju87 or Corsair ? Recognition Feature: the Ju87 has a fixed u/c !
*******
Lyneham Lad and Nutloose,
Lovely pics ! The "Buried Spitfires in Burma" seem to have been fictional, but I can tell you where to find 24-odd Corsairs, brand new, CKD in their crates.
About 30 miles off the Malabar coast at approx 11 degrees N. Lat, they are on the seabed where (as deck cargo) they were bulldozed off an RN escort carrier which was taking them out to Ceylon. (Perhaps the Navy could look up the ship's log [I don't know its name] and find the exact position, do you think, Union Jack ?)
VJ day (15.8.45.) came while they were in transit; as Lend-Lease supplies they had to be dumped as neither the USN or RN wanted them any more. They'll be a bit rusty now, 70 years on.
Should be on the Continental Shelf: all you need is a trawler and a lot of time and dosh.
********
Jack,
But Danny's not casting any ASPERSIONS !
Danny
But Danny's not casting any ASPERSIONS! - Danny
Casting NASTURTIUMS? Of course not - I'm just sorry I couldn't work the planned names of AGAMEMNON, ANSON, and AJAX into my earlier post....
Jack
Casting NASTURTIUMS? Of course not - I'm just sorry I couldn't work the planned names of AGAMEMNON, ANSON, and AJAX into my earlier post....
Jack
I had seen the film ‘South Pacific’. I had also been to Fiji so I had no illusions about lying under palm trees by a golden beach being fanned by nubile dusky maidens in grass skirts. The road to the hotel was as I expected, lines of shelters with makeshift counters displaying various vegetables for sale being fumigated by the smoke from battered minibuses plying their trade. It got better as we approached the hotel with the residential properties either built on stilts or walls so as to keep the living area at first floor level. The hotel was run by Taiwanese Chinese, as were most of the businesses in Honiara. Fairly basic, the rooms had painted breeze block walls and a small balcony overlooking Ironbottom Sound where fairly large ships of the US and Australian Navy had been sent to the bottom by Japanese warships.
Honiara is in the island of Guadalcanal. The battle of Guadalcanal was where the Japanese were finally stopped and forced back during the Pacific war. It was all about an airfield that got the name Henderson Field, latterly Honiara International. The famous watchtower was still there as were the traces of 16 in. shell holes dug by the Japanese bombardments. Still sitting forlornly in the middle of the Honiara River estuary was a Japanese tank that was stopped half way across.
The operation itself was in support of the Australian and Kiwi police that were running law and order. There were new police stations built in various parts of the islands and they had to be supported much in the way that would be expected in a military operation,; ie, being supplied with food fuel and staff changeovers. The other task was SAR cover for the entire nation that was spread over hundreds of square miles. For this the aircraft had to be able to reach any point and return without refuelling. This was enabled by sponson tanks and a 300 litres crashproof tank in the cabin which gave it a 300 mile radius of action. In addition there was a winch, a night sun searchlight and the ability to carry 4,500 kilos under slung. One of the first things I had to do was précis my considerable winching and load carrying experience and send it off to Canberra so that they could add those qualifications to my licence. There were two other Bell 212s belonging to a different company which used to look after the police stations in Guadalcanal itself. We were tasked by a civilian company that was contracted by the various governments to organise transportation for the whole RAMSI project.
Something new for me was GPS approaches. We had GPS for navigation but with a GPS approach there was slightly different equipment.
When one wished to carry out a GPS approach one would select the approach from the route library. The GPS would then check the there were at least four satellites in view during the whole approach and fifteen minutes after. On the final approach the beam bar sensitivity would be increased by a factor of four so that full scale was down to .25 of a mile. There were advisory heights being given to you but as the aircraft was not fitted with a three axis autopilot the Decision Height was as for a non precision approach. There was on airstrip in Malaita where the pattern was in a lagoon with 4,500 ft. hills on the shore. As you flew the crosswind pattern of the leg the top half of the radar would be red with ground returns until you got the command to turn on to the finals heading,
Honiara itself had one effective shopping street. The clothing stores were just a mass of clothing on hangers arranged in some sort of potential wearer’s sex and age. They were again run by Chinese and had a strange system of stock procurement. They would buy bales of clothing, by weight, from Taiwan. When the bale arrived it would be sorted into different items and then placed on the rails. One of the staff would be in a chair almost at ceiling level to ensure that any items were not nicked. Everything was incredibly cheap; a T shirt was about 10p, so there was this continuous rugby scrum until the stock was exhausted. The next day they would start again. There was one civilised coffee shop which was crammed with expats most of the day.
The longest regular trip we did was to Rennel Island. This was about 135 nm. south of Honiara. It had a few roads and an airstrip where the police camp was. They had a huge appetite for diesel and we used to take four of five drums there every week. Because there was no aviation fuel there we had to have round trip fuel plus all their rations and suchlike. This made us quite heavy; in fact, heavier than I had ever flown one before. The normal maximum weight in offshore service was 18,960 lbs. (8600 kg). For this trip we would depart at 20,000 lbs (9100 kg) which was still below its maximum USL weight of 9,200 kg but it was +30 degrees outside. Four or five drums would be in a net on the end of an eighty foot strop so that you could lose an engine up to pulling the load off the ground and still recover. After that I can still remember my brief to the co-pilot.
“If we lose a engine before 45 knots we bin the load and land straight ahead. If we lose the load after 45 knots but before 70 we bin it and fly off. If we lose it after 70 knots we fly over the sea and then we bin it.”
We would hover with about 97-98 % input torque which gave little power to go anywhere. However, talking nicely to the aircraft would persuade it to go in the right direction and once you got decent airspeed you were off. You then had to start a climb to 7,000 ft. get over the mountains to the south of the airfield. A clean aircraft would cruise at 125 knots at 7,000; with this lot hanging on underneath it could only manage 70 knots. Nature would sense which valley you were aiming to go through and would immediately block it with a cumulus cloud. There would than follow this game resembling enormous conkers where you were weaving between clouds and the mountain tops finding a way through. This is where my experience in Borneo paid off; in spades.
Once over the top one could descend to 1,000 ft. and get about 90 knots or so, so it was autopilot in, feet up and have a fag…………………………..
Honiara is in the island of Guadalcanal. The battle of Guadalcanal was where the Japanese were finally stopped and forced back during the Pacific war. It was all about an airfield that got the name Henderson Field, latterly Honiara International. The famous watchtower was still there as were the traces of 16 in. shell holes dug by the Japanese bombardments. Still sitting forlornly in the middle of the Honiara River estuary was a Japanese tank that was stopped half way across.
The operation itself was in support of the Australian and Kiwi police that were running law and order. There were new police stations built in various parts of the islands and they had to be supported much in the way that would be expected in a military operation,; ie, being supplied with food fuel and staff changeovers. The other task was SAR cover for the entire nation that was spread over hundreds of square miles. For this the aircraft had to be able to reach any point and return without refuelling. This was enabled by sponson tanks and a 300 litres crashproof tank in the cabin which gave it a 300 mile radius of action. In addition there was a winch, a night sun searchlight and the ability to carry 4,500 kilos under slung. One of the first things I had to do was précis my considerable winching and load carrying experience and send it off to Canberra so that they could add those qualifications to my licence. There were two other Bell 212s belonging to a different company which used to look after the police stations in Guadalcanal itself. We were tasked by a civilian company that was contracted by the various governments to organise transportation for the whole RAMSI project.
Something new for me was GPS approaches. We had GPS for navigation but with a GPS approach there was slightly different equipment.
When one wished to carry out a GPS approach one would select the approach from the route library. The GPS would then check the there were at least four satellites in view during the whole approach and fifteen minutes after. On the final approach the beam bar sensitivity would be increased by a factor of four so that full scale was down to .25 of a mile. There were advisory heights being given to you but as the aircraft was not fitted with a three axis autopilot the Decision Height was as for a non precision approach. There was on airstrip in Malaita where the pattern was in a lagoon with 4,500 ft. hills on the shore. As you flew the crosswind pattern of the leg the top half of the radar would be red with ground returns until you got the command to turn on to the finals heading,
Honiara itself had one effective shopping street. The clothing stores were just a mass of clothing on hangers arranged in some sort of potential wearer’s sex and age. They were again run by Chinese and had a strange system of stock procurement. They would buy bales of clothing, by weight, from Taiwan. When the bale arrived it would be sorted into different items and then placed on the rails. One of the staff would be in a chair almost at ceiling level to ensure that any items were not nicked. Everything was incredibly cheap; a T shirt was about 10p, so there was this continuous rugby scrum until the stock was exhausted. The next day they would start again. There was one civilised coffee shop which was crammed with expats most of the day.
The longest regular trip we did was to Rennel Island. This was about 135 nm. south of Honiara. It had a few roads and an airstrip where the police camp was. They had a huge appetite for diesel and we used to take four of five drums there every week. Because there was no aviation fuel there we had to have round trip fuel plus all their rations and suchlike. This made us quite heavy; in fact, heavier than I had ever flown one before. The normal maximum weight in offshore service was 18,960 lbs. (8600 kg). For this trip we would depart at 20,000 lbs (9100 kg) which was still below its maximum USL weight of 9,200 kg but it was +30 degrees outside. Four or five drums would be in a net on the end of an eighty foot strop so that you could lose an engine up to pulling the load off the ground and still recover. After that I can still remember my brief to the co-pilot.
“If we lose a engine before 45 knots we bin the load and land straight ahead. If we lose the load after 45 knots but before 70 we bin it and fly off. If we lose it after 70 knots we fly over the sea and then we bin it.”
We would hover with about 97-98 % input torque which gave little power to go anywhere. However, talking nicely to the aircraft would persuade it to go in the right direction and once you got decent airspeed you were off. You then had to start a climb to 7,000 ft. get over the mountains to the south of the airfield. A clean aircraft would cruise at 125 knots at 7,000; with this lot hanging on underneath it could only manage 70 knots. Nature would sense which valley you were aiming to go through and would immediately block it with a cumulus cloud. There would than follow this game resembling enormous conkers where you were weaving between clouds and the mountain tops finding a way through. This is where my experience in Borneo paid off; in spades.
Once over the top one could descend to 1,000 ft. and get about 90 knots or so, so it was autopilot in, feet up and have a fag…………………………..
Went to Honiara several times when I was on 48 at Changi. Lots of WW2 debris visible then like the pic above.
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Seeing that this our "Brevet" Thread is about to slip into the Slough of Despond (Page 2, Military Aviation), I give all and sundry due warning that a New Star is about to burst upon the firmament - Danny is about to open a New Thread. (Advt.)
As the subject matter is of very limited appeal, I expect it to sink quickly into the obscurity it deserves, but it gives me an opportunity to "get it off my chest", and air this bee I have in my bonnet.
Stand by one ! (Rome wasn't built in a day),
Danny42C.
As the subject matter is of very limited appeal, I expect it to sink quickly into the obscurity it deserves, but it gives me an opportunity to "get it off my chest", and air this bee I have in my bonnet.
Stand by one ! (Rome wasn't built in a day),
Danny42C.
Vicarious memories
The possibility that this most wonderful thread might slip onto Page 2 has stirred me out of the lurkerdom to which I have most properly confined myself as an earth-bound former part-time cavalryman, from a militarily neutral nation to boot.
Even if the prospect of *cough* unearthing another Danny of comparable narrative skills is slight, there must be two further sources of memories to nudge the thread back towards something approaching its original course.
One is veterans who may lack the computer skills (and/or lifelong learner determination to master them in their 90s) that would enable them to post here in their own name, but whose anecdotes could be written down and posted here on their behalf by some stripling in his 60s or less.
The second is stories told by veterans who are sadly no longer with us, but which are remembered by their families and/or friends.
I have a couple of such anecdotes to share, having heard them at first hand when the person in question was still alive. I'll post them here shortly, but am glad to share the information that I hope to have persuaded his two sons to join the forum and share their much fuller vicarious memories with us. I mentioned the thread to them when I saw both last week: one told me that he had his father's logbook, and the conversation jogged some memories for both of them.
For now, I'll just leave you with a little Dannyesque teaser, by noting that I found this thread many thousands of virtual flying hours ago with a Google search that began by entering the words "Pensacola" and "Catalina".
Even if the prospect of *cough* unearthing another Danny of comparable narrative skills is slight, there must be two further sources of memories to nudge the thread back towards something approaching its original course.
One is veterans who may lack the computer skills (and/or lifelong learner determination to master them in their 90s) that would enable them to post here in their own name, but whose anecdotes could be written down and posted here on their behalf by some stripling in his 60s or less.
The second is stories told by veterans who are sadly no longer with us, but which are remembered by their families and/or friends.
I have a couple of such anecdotes to share, having heard them at first hand when the person in question was still alive. I'll post them here shortly, but am glad to share the information that I hope to have persuaded his two sons to join the forum and share their much fuller vicarious memories with us. I mentioned the thread to them when I saw both last week: one told me that he had his father's logbook, and the conversation jogged some memories for both of them.
For now, I'll just leave you with a little Dannyesque teaser, by noting that I found this thread many thousands of virtual flying hours ago with a Google search that began by entering the words "Pensacola" and "Catalina".
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Location: Often in Jersey, but mainly in the past.
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OMG, Danny42C, surely not "Gaining an ATC Certificate of Competency post-WW2"? 
Again I wasn’t rushed off my feet. With the SAR standbye it meant that you only flew every third day. For the co-pilots it was not a good appointment. They were all self improvers and, as a first officer, hours gained are most important. In normal offshore environment they would expect to have the requisite hours to obtain a command after five or six years. Here they were only getting ten to fifteen hours a month. One of them told me that after three years he might have enough hours to get a job. It was a three week stint and I averaged less than an hour a day.
I still had my Chinese licence to do so after that I went back to China. Two of us went to CAAC at Guangzhou and did the general ATPL exam. They must have put the contract out to CASA because the exam was so similar to the ones I had taken before; a computer with multiple choice answers. The questions were similar but the answers had been translated from Chinese and some answers were all right and some were all wrong. In this case you called the invigilator over and he told you which one to select. Again, like the Australian programme it flagged up a pass when you had finished.
The first hurdle being over then came the flight check. One of out junior captains had been nominated as the company flight checker. He hadn’t any training as a trainer or checker so he sat on the jump seat whilst my Aussie checker ran another test and then he signed me off.
I then had to do an English Comprehension Test. All expat pilots had to do this even if they were English. The reason why the test had to be taken was that English was the only language allowed in a mixed crew cockpit and some of the South American pilots had severe shortcomings in this department. The test was to be held at Xiaoshangou, close to Chengdu, as there was only one person who could mark the test and that was where he was. Everything was arranged and I was at the company awaiting transport to take me to the airport when the message came through that it had been cancelled for that month. The examiner had decided to go on holiday. Nothing could be done about it so a couple of days later I flew to the Solomons disappointed that I had not finally cleared up my Chinese licence.
I had been a away from home for a couple of months now so it was time to bring the wife out. Always, everywhere I worked, I would bring my wife to see how it was where I lived and worked. I arranged her flight out via Brisbane giving her a full briefing of where to go at Brisbane and she arrived in Honiara on time and in the right aeroplane. I had been there for a week and I planned a week in Honiara and then a week for her on the Brisbane Gold coast. I knew a week was enough because I know how she appreciates foreign countries. I was right. She summed up the Solomons on the first night with.
“Thank Christ I’m only here for a week.”
Strangely this time on completion I was routed Honiara-Brisbane-Sydney-HK instead of Brisbane-Singapore-HK and we met in Sydney terminal as she was enroute to the UK.
Back in China the priority was to clear up the Chinese exam. Whilst waiting for the English test I did the Law Exam. This was a farce. The examiner didn’t speak English I didn’t speak Chinese so one of out senior captains acted as interpreter. Basically I was prompted through the exam. Another hurdle crossed.
Then the time came to fly up to do the exam. I was accompanied by one of our Chinese captains who was doing the same exam as he wanted a Chinese ICAO licence and this exam counted as Level 4. We flew to Chengdu and he organised the taxi to Xiaoshangou and the hotel.
Xiaoshangou was a major PLA Air Force transport training base. The days when the Chinese aviations companies could cherry pick their students had gone. The PLA were now getting some seriously advanced equipment and training costs were being budgeted. They too required English in the cockpit because the Air Force was going international so this was where the test was held.
I had been to Sichuan before. I had friends there so I was familiar with Chongqing, Chengdu and Luzhao. When we went out for lunch we came to this small restaurant. The menu was in Chinese, English not spoken so I asked for my favourite Sichuan dish; Sichuan Boiled Beef.
It is easy to do. A handful of bruised chillies, a handful of bruised cloves of garlic, a handful of finely sliced beef plus a leaf or two Chinese cabbage or choy sum all boiled together for about fifteen minutes. It’s quite spicy. Captain Fei was not from Sichuan and he looked at it in horror. Even the kitchen staff came out not believing that this gweilo could manage it; but I did, easily.
The next day I did the exam. It was an ergonomical disaster. During the vocal bit you were supposed to wait until a blip thing counted down before you started speaking. I wasn’t told so half of mine was not recorded. At the end the machine counted down and I had FAILED. Do not worry, said the invigilator, we shall review it. So they did and two days later came the message that I had passed. I had, at sixty six, got a Chinese ATPL(H).
I still had my Chinese licence to do so after that I went back to China. Two of us went to CAAC at Guangzhou and did the general ATPL exam. They must have put the contract out to CASA because the exam was so similar to the ones I had taken before; a computer with multiple choice answers. The questions were similar but the answers had been translated from Chinese and some answers were all right and some were all wrong. In this case you called the invigilator over and he told you which one to select. Again, like the Australian programme it flagged up a pass when you had finished.
The first hurdle being over then came the flight check. One of out junior captains had been nominated as the company flight checker. He hadn’t any training as a trainer or checker so he sat on the jump seat whilst my Aussie checker ran another test and then he signed me off.
I then had to do an English Comprehension Test. All expat pilots had to do this even if they were English. The reason why the test had to be taken was that English was the only language allowed in a mixed crew cockpit and some of the South American pilots had severe shortcomings in this department. The test was to be held at Xiaoshangou, close to Chengdu, as there was only one person who could mark the test and that was where he was. Everything was arranged and I was at the company awaiting transport to take me to the airport when the message came through that it had been cancelled for that month. The examiner had decided to go on holiday. Nothing could be done about it so a couple of days later I flew to the Solomons disappointed that I had not finally cleared up my Chinese licence.
I had been a away from home for a couple of months now so it was time to bring the wife out. Always, everywhere I worked, I would bring my wife to see how it was where I lived and worked. I arranged her flight out via Brisbane giving her a full briefing of where to go at Brisbane and she arrived in Honiara on time and in the right aeroplane. I had been there for a week and I planned a week in Honiara and then a week for her on the Brisbane Gold coast. I knew a week was enough because I know how she appreciates foreign countries. I was right. She summed up the Solomons on the first night with.
“Thank Christ I’m only here for a week.”
Strangely this time on completion I was routed Honiara-Brisbane-Sydney-HK instead of Brisbane-Singapore-HK and we met in Sydney terminal as she was enroute to the UK.
Back in China the priority was to clear up the Chinese exam. Whilst waiting for the English test I did the Law Exam. This was a farce. The examiner didn’t speak English I didn’t speak Chinese so one of out senior captains acted as interpreter. Basically I was prompted through the exam. Another hurdle crossed.
Then the time came to fly up to do the exam. I was accompanied by one of our Chinese captains who was doing the same exam as he wanted a Chinese ICAO licence and this exam counted as Level 4. We flew to Chengdu and he organised the taxi to Xiaoshangou and the hotel.
Xiaoshangou was a major PLA Air Force transport training base. The days when the Chinese aviations companies could cherry pick their students had gone. The PLA were now getting some seriously advanced equipment and training costs were being budgeted. They too required English in the cockpit because the Air Force was going international so this was where the test was held.
I had been to Sichuan before. I had friends there so I was familiar with Chongqing, Chengdu and Luzhao. When we went out for lunch we came to this small restaurant. The menu was in Chinese, English not spoken so I asked for my favourite Sichuan dish; Sichuan Boiled Beef.
It is easy to do. A handful of bruised chillies, a handful of bruised cloves of garlic, a handful of finely sliced beef plus a leaf or two Chinese cabbage or choy sum all boiled together for about fifteen minutes. It’s quite spicy. Captain Fei was not from Sichuan and he looked at it in horror. Even the kitchen staff came out not believing that this gweilo could manage it; but I did, easily.
The next day I did the exam. It was an ergonomical disaster. During the vocal bit you were supposed to wait until a blip thing counted down before you started speaking. I wasn’t told so half of mine was not recorded. At the end the machine counted down and I had FAILED. Do not worry, said the invigilator, we shall review it. So they did and two days later came the message that I had passed. I had, at sixty six, got a Chinese ATPL(H).
Last edited by Fareastdriver; 19th Apr 2016 at 15:16.
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FED,
(Your #7268) It's quite a feat, failing a test in English in a foreign land, isn't it ! Reminds me of a scrap of dialogue: Visitor to the States is welcomed by a local "And where're yo'all from ?..England ? ....Gosh, yo'all do speak good English !"
"Xiaoshangou" - there's a mouthful !
But can cap it with "Kyathwengyaungywa" (Burma) in my log. Shall we throw the competition open to all comers ? (and I don't want "Llanfair PG", or any other wild welsh names !)
Am quite partial to a bowl of Chow Mein myself.
Danny.
(Your #7268) It's quite a feat, failing a test in English in a foreign land, isn't it ! Reminds me of a scrap of dialogue: Visitor to the States is welcomed by a local "And where're yo'all from ?..England ? ....Gosh, yo'all do speak good English !"
"Xiaoshangou" - there's a mouthful !
But can cap it with "Kyathwengyaungywa" (Burma) in my log. Shall we throw the competition open to all comers ? (and I don't want "Llanfair PG", or any other wild welsh names !)
Am quite partial to a bowl of Chow Mein myself.
Danny.
The Romanised form of Chinese writing is called Pinyin. The pronunciation is in general similar to English but some are different; especially 'Q' and 'X'.
A common mistake is with Chongqing, the largest city in China. People try to say it treating the 'Q' as in 'Queen' or QANTAS' but the Q is pronounced 'ch' as in child. The locals cannot understand them when they say Chongkwing instead of Chongching.
The 'X' is pronounce 'sh' as in 'she' so a city like Xiamin is pronounced Shiarmin; Exiamin, doesn't work.
Shiao-shan-gou. Simples
A common mistake is with Chongqing, the largest city in China. People try to say it treating the 'Q' as in 'Queen' or QANTAS' but the Q is pronounced 'ch' as in child. The locals cannot understand them when they say Chongkwing instead of Chongching.
The 'X' is pronounce 'sh' as in 'she' so a city like Xiamin is pronounced Shiarmin; Exiamin, doesn't work.
Shiao-shan-gou. Simples
Last edited by Fareastdriver; 4th Aug 2015 at 18:26.
The there was nothing for me to do. They didn’t need me in China.
This was the reason that I had gone to the Solomon Islands in there first place so I graciously consented to go out there again for another stint. However things had changed.
There was a small riot outside the Government Offices and because of mishandling this broke out into a BIG riot. The rioters turned on to whom they imagined to be the source of all their troubles; the Chinese. They started burning and looting the shops in the main street with the few national shopkeepers hanging signs outside their shops declaring that the shop was owned by Solomon Islanders. After that they went into the Chinese quarter causing general mayhem with our helicopter circling overhead shining its Nite Sun on them so as to assist the police to restore order. In the space of a few hours half of them destroyed their livelihood and the other half destroyed any chance of a job because most of their employers, the Chinese, went back to Taiwan.
Our hotel had been burned down. This gave rise to a priceless article in my possession.
When I had first arrived in the Solomons I looked a bit out of place. I was dressed in white shirt, long black trousers, black shoes and four rings on my shoulders. The other pilots were in company issue Tshirts, with the company name on the back, and shorts. They ordered some for me but that was going to take a week or so.
I had been allocated the chief pilots bedroom as he was on leave and in the corner was a large box of Tshirts. These were the same colour and style as the company ones except the logo emblazoned on the back had Solomon Islands printed on it. The only other difference was that it had the brand name of the local beer on one sleeve. I already had some suitable shorts so I selected one that fitted, left a note that I would pay and went to work in it.
Shock: Horror!
The company had heard about the shirts and on discovering that they had a beer advert on the sleeve went ballistic. They were immediately banned, recalled and the fear of death instilled to any staff that wore one. I was all right, I wasn’t staff, I was contract. However I only wore it for a couple of days before my official one came through.
When the hotel was burned down most of everybody’s possessions, clothes, computers, etc went up with it because they were at the airport manning the helicopter. With it went all the Tshirts. This meant that mine was the only survivor so mine is now totally unique and priceless.
Our new hotel was the other side of town and hadn’t suffered from the riots. It was a slightly better (the staff were quite tasty) hotel but the biggest advantage was that it was just over a breakwater to the yacht club. Whilst I was there there was a sudden influx of the United States Air Force.
On one of the smaller islands somebody had come across a cache of rusting cylinders. He had heaved one into his boat ad presented it to the scrap merchant in Honiara. This one was used to bombs, shells etc of either Japanese, American or British parentage but he had not seen these before. He notified the relevant authorities and research established that they were chemical or gas munitions. The Solomons government asked for help in disposing of them and the Americans answered the call. A small team arrived at Honiara in the back of a C5 Galaxy.
It was the largest aeroplane ever to arrive in Honiara. In fact it was the largest metal object in the Solomon Islands. They had obviously calculated that the runway and apron could take the wheel loads so they were marshalled into the corner of the apron so as not to interfere with the scheduled traffic. All went well and after two or three days the job had been done and everybody was ready to go back to Hawaii. They all got into their C5 and called for pushback.
Pushback?? The airport didn’t have anything that could push back a C5. In fact they didn’t have anything that could pushback anything.
It is possible for a C5 to taxi backwards using reverse thrust. However, there is a high probability of FOD damage doing this in a small apron as in Honiara so they required permission from the Pentagon. This permission was refused. In the end they launched a C17 Globemaster from Hawaii with a large aircraft tug in the back. This landed at Honiara, unloaded the tug which then repositioned both aircraft so that they faced the right way, reloaded the tug and hurled off to Hawaii.
It was my last three weeks in the Solomons and after a spot of leave in the UK I was back on the line in China. The wheels had turned a circle as far as the British part of the operation was concerned. We were down to one G reg aircraft with all the rest being on the Chinese register. More and more Chinese pilots were getting their command requiring less expat pilots, the typhoon season’s extra requirements being made up of myself and pilots from Australia. The company had changed hands and was effectively taken over by an American company and their wheels came out to have a look see at the operation. We didn’t know it at the time but this was going to be a pivotal point of the China operation.
Come January I was off to Australia again, this time to Karratha, on the coast of Western Australia.
Before I could fly offshore on an Australian licence I had to do the Australian Dangerous Goods course and the Huet (Helicopter Underwater Escape Course). I had done both courses in the UK but not flying on an endorsement that didn’t count. The DGC was easy enough and so was the HUET.
I had done my first underwater escape course at HMS Vernon in 1967 or thereabouts. There they used the submarine escape tower which was a tank of seawater about one hundred feet high. The submariners do their tricks at the bottom, helicopter crews do theirs at the top. This one was done at a facility using a swimming poll in Freemantle.
All HUETS are much the same. A facsimile of a helicopter fuselage complete with doors, windows, seats and belts that is immersed in the water. Easy escapes a first culminating with a steep insert and a full rollover. In Vernon’s tank when you roll over you only see an inky black void. Civvy ones are done in swimming pools so you can see the tiling on the bottom so things are relatively easy. On my last rollover at this one my door wouldn’t release as expected. Using my Vernon, not the local, training, I immediately went for the door on the other side where the other pilot had exited. When I surfaced I was immediately ballocked for using the wrong door. I explained that it had jammed and fortunately it jammed on them too.
Everything signed up I flew to Karratha…………….
This was the reason that I had gone to the Solomon Islands in there first place so I graciously consented to go out there again for another stint. However things had changed.
There was a small riot outside the Government Offices and because of mishandling this broke out into a BIG riot. The rioters turned on to whom they imagined to be the source of all their troubles; the Chinese. They started burning and looting the shops in the main street with the few national shopkeepers hanging signs outside their shops declaring that the shop was owned by Solomon Islanders. After that they went into the Chinese quarter causing general mayhem with our helicopter circling overhead shining its Nite Sun on them so as to assist the police to restore order. In the space of a few hours half of them destroyed their livelihood and the other half destroyed any chance of a job because most of their employers, the Chinese, went back to Taiwan.
Our hotel had been burned down. This gave rise to a priceless article in my possession.
When I had first arrived in the Solomons I looked a bit out of place. I was dressed in white shirt, long black trousers, black shoes and four rings on my shoulders. The other pilots were in company issue Tshirts, with the company name on the back, and shorts. They ordered some for me but that was going to take a week or so.
I had been allocated the chief pilots bedroom as he was on leave and in the corner was a large box of Tshirts. These were the same colour and style as the company ones except the logo emblazoned on the back had Solomon Islands printed on it. The only other difference was that it had the brand name of the local beer on one sleeve. I already had some suitable shorts so I selected one that fitted, left a note that I would pay and went to work in it.
Shock: Horror!
The company had heard about the shirts and on discovering that they had a beer advert on the sleeve went ballistic. They were immediately banned, recalled and the fear of death instilled to any staff that wore one. I was all right, I wasn’t staff, I was contract. However I only wore it for a couple of days before my official one came through.
When the hotel was burned down most of everybody’s possessions, clothes, computers, etc went up with it because they were at the airport manning the helicopter. With it went all the Tshirts. This meant that mine was the only survivor so mine is now totally unique and priceless.
Our new hotel was the other side of town and hadn’t suffered from the riots. It was a slightly better (the staff were quite tasty) hotel but the biggest advantage was that it was just over a breakwater to the yacht club. Whilst I was there there was a sudden influx of the United States Air Force.
On one of the smaller islands somebody had come across a cache of rusting cylinders. He had heaved one into his boat ad presented it to the scrap merchant in Honiara. This one was used to bombs, shells etc of either Japanese, American or British parentage but he had not seen these before. He notified the relevant authorities and research established that they were chemical or gas munitions. The Solomons government asked for help in disposing of them and the Americans answered the call. A small team arrived at Honiara in the back of a C5 Galaxy.
It was the largest aeroplane ever to arrive in Honiara. In fact it was the largest metal object in the Solomon Islands. They had obviously calculated that the runway and apron could take the wheel loads so they were marshalled into the corner of the apron so as not to interfere with the scheduled traffic. All went well and after two or three days the job had been done and everybody was ready to go back to Hawaii. They all got into their C5 and called for pushback.
Pushback?? The airport didn’t have anything that could push back a C5. In fact they didn’t have anything that could pushback anything.
It is possible for a C5 to taxi backwards using reverse thrust. However, there is a high probability of FOD damage doing this in a small apron as in Honiara so they required permission from the Pentagon. This permission was refused. In the end they launched a C17 Globemaster from Hawaii with a large aircraft tug in the back. This landed at Honiara, unloaded the tug which then repositioned both aircraft so that they faced the right way, reloaded the tug and hurled off to Hawaii.
It was my last three weeks in the Solomons and after a spot of leave in the UK I was back on the line in China. The wheels had turned a circle as far as the British part of the operation was concerned. We were down to one G reg aircraft with all the rest being on the Chinese register. More and more Chinese pilots were getting their command requiring less expat pilots, the typhoon season’s extra requirements being made up of myself and pilots from Australia. The company had changed hands and was effectively taken over by an American company and their wheels came out to have a look see at the operation. We didn’t know it at the time but this was going to be a pivotal point of the China operation.
Come January I was off to Australia again, this time to Karratha, on the coast of Western Australia.
Before I could fly offshore on an Australian licence I had to do the Australian Dangerous Goods course and the Huet (Helicopter Underwater Escape Course). I had done both courses in the UK but not flying on an endorsement that didn’t count. The DGC was easy enough and so was the HUET.
I had done my first underwater escape course at HMS Vernon in 1967 or thereabouts. There they used the submarine escape tower which was a tank of seawater about one hundred feet high. The submariners do their tricks at the bottom, helicopter crews do theirs at the top. This one was done at a facility using a swimming poll in Freemantle.
All HUETS are much the same. A facsimile of a helicopter fuselage complete with doors, windows, seats and belts that is immersed in the water. Easy escapes a first culminating with a steep insert and a full rollover. In Vernon’s tank when you roll over you only see an inky black void. Civvy ones are done in swimming pools so you can see the tiling on the bottom so things are relatively easy. On my last rollover at this one my door wouldn’t release as expected. Using my Vernon, not the local, training, I immediately went for the door on the other side where the other pilot had exited. When I surfaced I was immediately ballocked for using the wrong door. I explained that it had jammed and fortunately it jammed on them too.
Everything signed up I flew to Karratha…………….
Last edited by Fareastdriver; 4th Aug 2015 at 19:17.
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Circuits and bumps
My father was a bomber pilot in WW2, first Wellingtons in the Med, then Lancs in 100 Squadron 44-45. Also had an earlier stint on Halifaxes. So he had a lot of flying experience ( two and a half tours) but couldn't drive a car, unlike my mum.
He (or rather my mum) told me that, when he eventually learnt to drive in the late 50's, he could not get used to stopping on the road to turn right, and automatically did another left, left, left, left circuit until the right turn was clear! He certainly had the circuit and bump mentality.
In fact he became one of the worst drivers I have ever seen. He could never really get used to braking, and frequently scared me compost-less at roundabouts! He was pretty useless with rear-view mirrors too! However his WW2 survival skill or luck held out until 1995, having never actually having a crash (but probably causing a few).
He (or rather my mum) told me that, when he eventually learnt to drive in the late 50's, he could not get used to stopping on the road to turn right, and automatically did another left, left, left, left circuit until the right turn was clear! He certainly had the circuit and bump mentality.
In fact he became one of the worst drivers I have ever seen. He could never really get used to braking, and frequently scared me compost-less at roundabouts! He was pretty useless with rear-view mirrors too! However his WW2 survival skill or luck held out until 1995, having never actually having a crash (but probably causing a few).
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New Boy in Town.
Pirategh,
Welcome aboard the finest Thread in the finest Forum in PPRuNe (or anywhere else for that matter) !
We run this as as an old Crewroom in cyberspace, and as almost all the Old Hairies have gone on to the Great Crewroom in the Sky, we are dependent on the next generations to keep up the good work. So if your Dad has left you his logbooks, or any notes or diaries, or there are any tales of his escapades you remember, this is the place to tell us all about them. Who knows ? any snippet of information may be just what somebody else is waiting for to finish the jigsaw for his Dad.
I once had a pilot with me in Burma who couldn't ride a bike !
Cheers, Danny.
We are suffering from elephantiasis of the Page again. Can anyone fix it ?
Welcome aboard the finest Thread in the finest Forum in PPRuNe (or anywhere else for that matter) !
We run this as as an old Crewroom in cyberspace, and as almost all the Old Hairies have gone on to the Great Crewroom in the Sky, we are dependent on the next generations to keep up the good work. So if your Dad has left you his logbooks, or any notes or diaries, or there are any tales of his escapades you remember, this is the place to tell us all about them. Who knows ? any snippet of information may be just what somebody else is waiting for to finish the jigsaw for his Dad.
I once had a pilot with me in Burma who couldn't ride a bike !
Cheers, Danny.
We are suffering from elephantiasis of the Page again. Can anyone fix it ?
FED,
my apologies but I have resized (or so I thought) all my pics to fit. Anyone else have problems with it ? Does the WW2 vehicle chime with your memories of similar things in Honiara ?
my apologies but I have resized (or so I thought) all my pics to fit. Anyone else have problems with it ? Does the WW2 vehicle chime with your memories of similar things in Honiara ?