Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II
OLD RED DAMASK
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I did have a vague thought about starting a Thread about ATC in the 60's, and then gave myself a stern talking-to.
Catalinas in Pensacola
Talk of doldrums leads me to make a very modest and vicarious contribution to this thread of threads, which I discovered – oh, shortly after the end of the War, it now seems - by googling “Catalina Pensacola”.
I was only dimly aware that my brother'-in-law's Dad had been in the RAF. On the occasions when we would meet, it never occurred to me to ask him more about this, because these were family events and holidays.
It was only when I saw him one day assembling an Airfix model of a Wellington that the subject came up. His son needed it as a prop for a photograph to be used in a poster for an amateur production of the play “Flarepath”.
He mentioned that he had trained as a pilot in Pensacola during the war (I hadn't even realised that he had served during the War).
He said he had trained on Catalinas, and that part of the training included practising for a violent ditching: all the trainees had to take turns being strapped into a seat in a mock-up of a cockpit which was on rails and which plunged them into a water tank; they would have to practise releasing themselves from their harnesses under water, exiting from the mockup and swimming up to the surface.
I did see some mention of Pensacola some time back on this thread, and wonder if this anecdote might trigger more recollections.
I'll put up another post shortly on what he was happy to admit was his relatively brief operational experience in wartime.
I was only dimly aware that my brother'-in-law's Dad had been in the RAF. On the occasions when we would meet, it never occurred to me to ask him more about this, because these were family events and holidays.
It was only when I saw him one day assembling an Airfix model of a Wellington that the subject came up. His son needed it as a prop for a photograph to be used in a poster for an amateur production of the play “Flarepath”.
He mentioned that he had trained as a pilot in Pensacola during the war (I hadn't even realised that he had served during the War).
He said he had trained on Catalinas, and that part of the training included practising for a violent ditching: all the trainees had to take turns being strapped into a seat in a mock-up of a cockpit which was on rails and which plunged them into a water tank; they would have to practise releasing themselves from their harnesses under water, exiting from the mockup and swimming up to the surface.
I did see some mention of Pensacola some time back on this thread, and wonder if this anecdote might trigger more recollections.
I'll put up another post shortly on what he was happy to admit was his relatively brief operational experience in wartime.
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I did both ... does that make me a bad person? 
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In later years I often yearned for my three wartime ones in India/Burma, where we had no ATC at all - we just flew where, when and as far as we wanted (I had the Authorisation Book !) You could land at any military airfield you liked - no one would challenge you - and get refuelled, serviced and sent on your way with no questions asked. (And a bed for the night if needed).
The other side of the coin was that you were on your own from take off to landing. As there were no Flight Plans, no one was expecting you and so did not worry if you didn't turn up. And of course there were no nav aids of any kind, at least not for the single-engined people with only rudimentary R/T and no CW.
We survived - or most of us did.
Danny.
The other side of the coin was that you were on your own from take off to landing. As there were no Flight Plans, no one was expecting you and so did not worry if you didn't turn up. And of course there were no nav aids of any kind, at least not for the single-engined people with only rudimentary R/T and no CW.
We survived - or most of us did.
Danny.
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And now ... the guys in UK are over-controlled, over-managed ... and then have to do over-there.
I can only make a contribution to this thread by repeating what I thought was an excellent anecdote told to me by an ex RAF bomb aimer recently.
He had trained as a pilot, but by that stage of the war we were doing ok, and so he ended up as a bomb aimer in a Lancaster squadron.
As he was trained as a pilot he said his skipper (is that the correct term? I cannot remember for definite the term he used) would let him fly home after a raid, he said this kept him current incase they lost their pilot whilst in the air (if you get my meaning)
So, on to something I've not heard before, and the sort of gem that shouldn't be forgotten.
He said he never landed a Lancaster on the ground, but what his skipper did do was train him to land one, just so he in theory could. How did he do this ? They practised landing on clouds !
I love that, imagine practising landings by putting a Lancaster down on the top of a cloud!
He had trained as a pilot, but by that stage of the war we were doing ok, and so he ended up as a bomb aimer in a Lancaster squadron.
As he was trained as a pilot he said his skipper (is that the correct term? I cannot remember for definite the term he used) would let him fly home after a raid, he said this kept him current incase they lost their pilot whilst in the air (if you get my meaning)
So, on to something I've not heard before, and the sort of gem that shouldn't be forgotten.
He said he never landed a Lancaster on the ground, but what his skipper did do was train him to land one, just so he in theory could. How did he do this ? They practised landing on clouds !
I love that, imagine practising landings by putting a Lancaster down on the top of a cloud!
Change of title?
2 points,
a) what to ?
My suggestion:
Gaining an R.A.F Pilots Brevet and further adventures.
b) why on earth isn't this thread a sticky? It should be open to all, AND be sticky.
Anyone asked the mods about this ?
a) what to ?
My suggestion:
Gaining an R.A.F Pilots Brevet and further adventures.
b) why on earth isn't this thread a sticky? It should be open to all, AND be sticky.
Anyone asked the mods about this ?
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Them were the Days !
Keeffro (your #8527),
"The Cat was a Dandy, the Cat was a Yank - it was known by its aircrew as 'The
Flying Plank". (Good story about them: p.152 #3030 this Thread).
We had (in the States in '41-'42) CocaCola, PepsiCola, Royal Crown Cola * - "Amapola" @, and Pensacola.
* (unfortunate name when abridged to "R.C.Cola").
We'll hold you to that - no backsliding now !
Danny42C.
EDIT @ : "What did the White Bear say to the Brown Bear ?" ... .........."Ah'm a Polar...."
(All right, I'll go quietly, Officer).
"The Cat was a Dandy, the Cat was a Yank - it was known by its aircrew as 'The
Flying Plank". (Good story about them: p.152 #3030 this Thread).We had (in the States in '41-'42) CocaCola, PepsiCola, Royal Crown Cola * - "Amapola" @, and Pensacola.
* (unfortunate name when abridged to "R.C.Cola").
...I'll put up another post shortly on what he was happy to admit was his relatively brief operational experience in wartime...
Danny42C.
EDIT @ : "What did the White Bear say to the Brown Bear ?" ... .........."Ah'm a Polar...."
(All right, I'll go quietly, Officer).
Last edited by Danny42C; 28th Apr 2016 at 09:09. Reason: Afterthought.
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My history of No. 35 Squadron project (non commercial / educational) covers the period 1916 to 1982, so I would love to hear about post war training to enable me to have a complete picture of basic, trade (technical) and operational training "through the ages".
Obviously, with so many individual stories being told, it will be necessary to find a way of identifying the era we are talking about, otherwise it may become a little confusing ..... but I am in full support of widening the thread to cover post war training
Regards
Pete
Obviously, with so many individual stories being told, it will be necessary to find a way of identifying the era we are talking about, otherwise it may become a little confusing ..... but I am in full support of widening the thread to cover post war training
Regards
Pete
Last edited by Petet; 29th Apr 2016 at 08:24.
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A Rose by any other name.......?
kghjfg (your #8532),
No experience in Bomber Command, but I believe it was the practice for all Flight Engineers to be allowed to fly the aircraft for a while to give the 'skipper' a break. After all, he's up there with him in front and had (I think) a dual yoke.
When the two man crew policy came in Civil, many displaced F/Es retrained as pilots and were re-employed as such by their Companies (or so I was told - in an Air Malta "glossie", if memory serves)
We, too, in our VVs, taught our back seat men (who could be navs or wop/ags) to fly the things S&L, and hold a Course (all right, a Heading). That way, if we were dead or incapacitated, he could (with luck) get the thing back over our side, bale out and leave me to crash and die. On no account should he attempt to belly-land (the VV had no u/c controls in the back), as he would certainly kill us both (this actually happened with a Beau on a strip next to us in Burma. Shot up over Rangoon, and with a dead or dying pilot, the nav got the thing 200 miles home, tried to crash-land; they both died).
Post-war, I often took one of my C.O.s (an Auxiliary Wing Commander Fighter Controller - and ex-war Air Gunner with a DSO - think of that) for a ride in the Station Harvard, and on trips to Conferences and the like. Whiled away the time teaching him to fly (no, I'm not a QFI). He was very good; I used the "Cloud" trick to teach circuits, but of course, "landing" on a bit of stratus is only fanciful.
(your #8533),
My suggestion:
"Gaining a R.A.F Flying Brevet".
Not so sure about a "Sticky". This Thread has always stood on its own merits from Day One eight years ago - and long may it do so - until, like all Old Soldiers, it never dies - it only fades away.....
As for the protocol for name changes and "Stickies", I leave that to those more skilled at this game than I.
Open to suggestions.......
Danny42C.
...He had trained as a pilot, but by that stage of the war we were doing ok, and so he ended up as a bomb aimer in a Lancaster squadron.
As he was trained as a pilot he said his skipper (is that the correct term? I cannot remember for definite the term he used) would let him fly home after a raid, he said this kept him current in case they lost their pilot whilst in the air (if you get my meaning)...
As he was trained as a pilot he said his skipper (is that the correct term? I cannot remember for definite the term he used) would let him fly home after a raid, he said this kept him current in case they lost their pilot whilst in the air (if you get my meaning)...
When the two man crew policy came in Civil, many displaced F/Es retrained as pilots and were re-employed as such by their Companies (or so I was told - in an Air Malta "glossie", if memory serves)
We, too, in our VVs, taught our back seat men (who could be navs or wop/ags) to fly the things S&L, and hold a Course (all right, a Heading). That way, if we were dead or incapacitated, he could (with luck) get the thing back over our side, bale out and leave me to crash and die. On no account should he attempt to belly-land (the VV had no u/c controls in the back), as he would certainly kill us both (this actually happened with a Beau on a strip next to us in Burma. Shot up over Rangoon, and with a dead or dying pilot, the nav got the thing 200 miles home, tried to crash-land; they both died).
Post-war, I often took one of my C.O.s (an Auxiliary Wing Commander Fighter Controller - and ex-war Air Gunner with a DSO - think of that) for a ride in the Station Harvard, and on trips to Conferences and the like. Whiled away the time teaching him to fly (no, I'm not a QFI). He was very good; I used the "Cloud" trick to teach circuits, but of course, "landing" on a bit of stratus is only fanciful.
(your #8533),
My suggestion:
"Gaining a R.A.F Flying Brevet".
Not so sure about a "Sticky". This Thread has always stood on its own merits from Day One eight years ago - and long may it do so - until, like all Old Soldiers, it never dies - it only fades away.....
As for the protocol for name changes and "Stickies", I leave that to those more skilled at this game than I.
Open to suggestions.......
Danny42C.
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Old Lang Syne.
Petet (your #8535),
So would we all !
I have often thought that it should be mandatory for Members to state their true ages - for that enables the rest of us to place them in their correct time-frames.
Another hare running !
Danny.
...so I would love to hear about post war training so that I have a complete picture of basic, trade (technical) and operational training "through the ages"...
...with so many individual stories being told, it will be necessary to find a way of identifying the era we are talking about otherwise it may become a little confusing ..... but I am in full support of widening the thread to cover post war training...
Another hare running !
Danny.
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kghjfg
My late father was a Stirling pilot and he had in his crew a Flt Sgt who was his Flight Engineeer (F/S Lee was his name). F/S Lee had been washed out late on as a pilot and re-mustered as a F/E.
Unlike other four-engine bombers and flying boats the Stirling was flown single-pilot so my father felt himself fortunate to have an F/E who could also act as a co-pilot. He said that he always made full use of his crew and this included use of his unofficial co-pilot. Dad said that the elsan was a long way down the back and would not have been an option for him without a second pilot even with "George" the rudimentary automatic pilot working properly.
Looking at his log book, his longest trip in a Stirling was 9.15 but that was after the war re-patriating 22 former P.O.W.'s via Castel Benito in Libya. On ops his longest trip was 7.15 with a comment that he landed at Tempsford on 3 engines so I think he must have been grateful for any help he could get! I would imagine the practice of employing navs and other crew as co-pilots was pretty widespread.
MB
My late father was a Stirling pilot and he had in his crew a Flt Sgt who was his Flight Engineeer (F/S Lee was his name). F/S Lee had been washed out late on as a pilot and re-mustered as a F/E.
Unlike other four-engine bombers and flying boats the Stirling was flown single-pilot so my father felt himself fortunate to have an F/E who could also act as a co-pilot. He said that he always made full use of his crew and this included use of his unofficial co-pilot. Dad said that the elsan was a long way down the back and would not have been an option for him without a second pilot even with "George" the rudimentary automatic pilot working properly.
Looking at his log book, his longest trip in a Stirling was 9.15 but that was after the war re-patriating 22 former P.O.W.'s via Castel Benito in Libya. On ops his longest trip was 7.15 with a comment that he landed at Tempsford on 3 engines so I think he must have been grateful for any help he could get! I would imagine the practice of employing navs and other crew as co-pilots was pretty widespread.
MB
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There were Giants in Those Days.
Madbob,
Don't know about flying boats, but as they had enormous endurance (I believe the Catalina had 24 hours), clearly two pilots would be needed for the sortie.
As for "the other four-engine bombers", I was never in Bomber Command, but understand that the RAF had to fly them all single-pilot, as we just didn't have enough pilots (unlike our USAAF cousins, who could provide two pilots for any of their aircraft which had two seats in front). But there are yet several of our old heroes active on this Thread who could confirm/deny/qualify and generally tell this story better than I.
What that must have meant in practice I have described at length on Page 388, #7433 of this Thread. If you meet such a man, salute and take your hat off to him - for he is worth it - and you may not see his like again !
JENKINS,
And then you cap my story ! What a family record to be proud of !
Cheers, both. With respect. Danny.
...Unlike other four-engine bombers and flying boats the Stirling was flown single-pilot...
As for "the other four-engine bombers", I was never in Bomber Command, but understand that the RAF had to fly them all single-pilot, as we just didn't have enough pilots (unlike our USAAF cousins, who could provide two pilots for any of their aircraft which had two seats in front). But there are yet several of our old heroes active on this Thread who could confirm/deny/qualify and generally tell this story better than I.
What that must have meant in practice I have described at length on Page 388, #7433 of this Thread. If you meet such a man, salute and take your hat off to him - for he is worth it - and you may not see his like again !
JENKINS,
And then you cap my story ! What a family record to be proud of !
Cheers, both. With respect. Danny.
Last edited by Danny42C; 29th Apr 2016 at 15:48. Reason: How the Hell did that Smiley get in ?
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kghjfg:
I think most prudent Bomber Command crews did some rudimentary cross training. Dad too was given some stick time on the Lanc; while he had soloed a Tiger Moth before being washed out, being able to control it at night on instruments( and during the Battle of Berlin all ops were at night) is speculation. The Nav would tell the crew of a broad heading to fly that would stand a good chance of hitting England somewhere, where they could get assistance. He also worked close with Dad, who, as Bomb aimer, assisted the Nav. All the crew knew how to send out a basic distress call on the wireless.
Even Dad admitted a lot of it was more to give everyone a sense of hope ( invincibility? ) to cope with the staggering losses of the day.
Jeff
I think most prudent Bomber Command crews did some rudimentary cross training. Dad too was given some stick time on the Lanc; while he had soloed a Tiger Moth before being washed out, being able to control it at night on instruments( and during the Battle of Berlin all ops were at night) is speculation. The Nav would tell the crew of a broad heading to fly that would stand a good chance of hitting England somewhere, where they could get assistance. He also worked close with Dad, who, as Bomb aimer, assisted the Nav. All the crew knew how to send out a basic distress call on the wireless.
Even Dad admitted a lot of it was more to give everyone a sense of hope ( invincibility? ) to cope with the staggering losses of the day.
Jeff
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jeffb,
I have often wondered how the Bomber Command crews (never having been one of them myself) managed to "screw their courage to the sticking point", and keep it there, night after fearful night, in full knowledge of the odds against them, for thirty long nights (and sometimes come back for more).
I suppose they may have rationalised that "sense of hope" by reflecting that losses ran around 3% a night, on average, so on any one operation the odds in your favour could be reckoned as 97:3. And, as a tossed coin which has landed "heads" nine times still has only a 50% chance of landing "heads" a tenth time, so those encouraging odds on any one "trip" may have been of comfort to them each time (until their luck ran out !)
At least I would have thought along those lines.
That goes to the heart of it. We all thought: "I'ts going to happen to the other chap - never to me".
Your Dad was a brave man, and I salute him.
Danny.
...Even Dad admitted a lot of it was more to give everyone a sense of hope (invincibility?) to cope with the staggering losses of the day...
I suppose they may have rationalised that "sense of hope" by reflecting that losses ran around 3% a night, on average, so on any one operation the odds in your favour could be reckoned as 97:3. And, as a tossed coin which has landed "heads" nine times still has only a 50% chance of landing "heads" a tenth time, so those encouraging odds on any one "trip" may have been of comfort to them each time (until their luck ran out !)
At least I would have thought along those lines.
...invincibility?...
Your Dad was a brave man, and I salute him.
Danny.
The late Don Charlwood of Melbourne in Victoria OZ. . . .flew as a nav on many many missions. In the end he was the only survivor of his course from the Edmonton training days. Don was the thorough gentleman. Having visited him with a copy of one of his books, it was a great privilege to meet him and his Canadian wife and experience the silver service, so unaccustomed to a rough pleb.
In his books NO MOON TONIGHT and MARCHING AS TO WAR he delves into the question of fate and the attitudes of the crew he was close to. While the strain he described was obviously horrendous at times he seems to have had the ability to switch off, on his days off enjoying the English countryside with great empathy and sensitivity. He certainly was an author of exceptional talent.
google Don Charlwood for a photo file spanning his many years.
Danny . . . just found that email from you twisting my wrist to post some
fragments of an unreliable memoir. I will inflict upon you a smattering. Stand-by.
In his books NO MOON TONIGHT and MARCHING AS TO WAR he delves into the question of fate and the attitudes of the crew he was close to. While the strain he described was obviously horrendous at times he seems to have had the ability to switch off, on his days off enjoying the English countryside with great empathy and sensitivity. He certainly was an author of exceptional talent.
google Don Charlwood for a photo file spanning his many years.
Danny . . . just found that email from you twisting my wrist to post some
fragments of an unreliable memoir. I will inflict upon you a smattering. Stand-by.
When I was a youngster, growing up in Canberra, I developed, like a good many kids, a passion for all things aeronautical. Whenever one of dad’s friends was around, talking about air force exploits or describing seeing some famous arrival from overseas, such as Charles Kingsford Smith, I was spellbound, hanging on every word. My bicycle was only useful to get me out to the airport where I found wonderful work cleaning the oily bellies of aero club planes in return for credit towards the day when I could start taking flying lessons. Sometimes, when I wagged school, I’d score a trip down to Bankstown or over to some NSW country town such as Cootamundra, the pilot every so often handing over the controls for a while. Magic!
Once a year the aero club hosted an airshow. The one staged in April 1959 particularly stands out for me. The first visiting plane to come in was a gleaming former RAAF fighter, the Mustang, privately owned by an airline pilot from Tamworth. He emerged from the cockpit, a tall, lean bloke, more like James Stewart than James Stewart. His routine for the show, to the crowd’s delight, was a series of loops and rolls performed with consummate smoothness and grace. Small wonder that the photos I took of him that day checking his plane over before flying off home are ones I greatly treasure. Little could I know then that I’d get to know this man rather well. Our friendship lasted 32 years, until his death in 1998.
He was Chris Braund, a native of Griffith, NSW. He left school early and went down to the Hawkesbury Agricultural College just out of Sydney. But he had little heart for farming. It was flying and the draw of Sydney’s airport at Mascot that proved irresistible. When war broke out he enlisted in the RAAF, learned to fly and served in North Africa and the Pacific. After the war Chris flew DC-3s and Fokker Friendships on airline services, also doing a stint in Tasmania cloud-seeding. Despite the passage of years and the passing of Chris, whenever certain fliers from the fifties and sixties gather today, more often than not Chris’s name comes up and folk fall about recalling the peculiarly lateral humour that sustained Chris and amused others all his flying life. His stammer only added to the mystique.
There was a radio jingle for a brand of flour that went “S . .Sydney Flour is our f..flour. We use it every day. For scones and c..cakes that m..mother bakes, we say it is OKAY.” Well Chris had his version which he’d sing on first contact with the control tower at Sydney Airport on his way in from Tamworth of a morning. “S. .Sydney Tower is our t..tower, we c..call you every day. This is Echo Whisky Alpha, over B..Broken Bay.” And he’d get away with it, time after time. When on final approach to Mascot one day and waiting for a landing clearance the tower told him “Continue approach - there are two of dogs crossing the runway”. Now this was at a time when the phonetic alphabet had just undergone an international revision and for instance A- Able became A -Alpha and D- Dog became D- Delta, so what could the mercurial Chris reply with but “D..Don’t you mean t.t. two Deltas?” ?
On leaving school I went down to Sydney to the old flying boat base at Rose Bay, becoming an apprentice engineer there. One night over on Lord Howe Island one of our Short Sandringhams was blown off it’s mooring and damaged beyond repair. Back then the communication networks were not what they are today. The only workable radio link to Lord Howe the next day was poor and calls between the government Flight Service Unit in Sydney and the one over on the island were difficult to read as messages about the foundered flying boat were relayed back and forth. One of our skippers at Rose Bay later told me how hard it was to copy anything. It so happened that at the time Chris was flying somewhere out in the back blocks of NSW, trying to raise Sydney Flight Service with a routine HF call, but due to the stream of calls “Lord Howe this is Sydney” and “Sydney this is Lord Howe”, having little joy. Finally Chris got a few words in edgeways, as it were, emphasised by the slight stammer that was another of his trademarks, “L-Lord Howe I wish you’d sh-shut up!”
Chris eventually quit his job in Tamworth and seeking warmer climes moved to Cairns were he flew DC-3s for the pioneer firm Bush Pilots Airways and on occasions filled in for pilots on leave from the Royal Flying Doctor Service. When he finally metaphorically hung up his cap and his goggles he found a place to live in Terrigal on the NSW central coast, near to his family and his adored granddaughter Erin. (“M-my p-pride of Erin”). I only saw him once in those twilight years, staying the night and hearing many stories of a full and fulfilling flying life till dawn’s early light flushed the sky: the sky where his spirit most times dwelled. A week later Chris’s son Murray rang to say that his dad had just passed on to “the great holding pattern in the sky.” If there is an airmen’s Valhalla, I imagine Chris breasting a bar saying “A b-beer b-barman. P-put it where you like. Th-there’s no im-p-pediment in my reach.”
Once a year the aero club hosted an airshow. The one staged in April 1959 particularly stands out for me. The first visiting plane to come in was a gleaming former RAAF fighter, the Mustang, privately owned by an airline pilot from Tamworth. He emerged from the cockpit, a tall, lean bloke, more like James Stewart than James Stewart. His routine for the show, to the crowd’s delight, was a series of loops and rolls performed with consummate smoothness and grace. Small wonder that the photos I took of him that day checking his plane over before flying off home are ones I greatly treasure. Little could I know then that I’d get to know this man rather well. Our friendship lasted 32 years, until his death in 1998.
He was Chris Braund, a native of Griffith, NSW. He left school early and went down to the Hawkesbury Agricultural College just out of Sydney. But he had little heart for farming. It was flying and the draw of Sydney’s airport at Mascot that proved irresistible. When war broke out he enlisted in the RAAF, learned to fly and served in North Africa and the Pacific. After the war Chris flew DC-3s and Fokker Friendships on airline services, also doing a stint in Tasmania cloud-seeding. Despite the passage of years and the passing of Chris, whenever certain fliers from the fifties and sixties gather today, more often than not Chris’s name comes up and folk fall about recalling the peculiarly lateral humour that sustained Chris and amused others all his flying life. His stammer only added to the mystique.
There was a radio jingle for a brand of flour that went “S . .Sydney Flour is our f..flour. We use it every day. For scones and c..cakes that m..mother bakes, we say it is OKAY.” Well Chris had his version which he’d sing on first contact with the control tower at Sydney Airport on his way in from Tamworth of a morning. “S. .Sydney Tower is our t..tower, we c..call you every day. This is Echo Whisky Alpha, over B..Broken Bay.” And he’d get away with it, time after time. When on final approach to Mascot one day and waiting for a landing clearance the tower told him “Continue approach - there are two of dogs crossing the runway”. Now this was at a time when the phonetic alphabet had just undergone an international revision and for instance A- Able became A -Alpha and D- Dog became D- Delta, so what could the mercurial Chris reply with but “D..Don’t you mean t.t. two Deltas?” ?
On leaving school I went down to Sydney to the old flying boat base at Rose Bay, becoming an apprentice engineer there. One night over on Lord Howe Island one of our Short Sandringhams was blown off it’s mooring and damaged beyond repair. Back then the communication networks were not what they are today. The only workable radio link to Lord Howe the next day was poor and calls between the government Flight Service Unit in Sydney and the one over on the island were difficult to read as messages about the foundered flying boat were relayed back and forth. One of our skippers at Rose Bay later told me how hard it was to copy anything. It so happened that at the time Chris was flying somewhere out in the back blocks of NSW, trying to raise Sydney Flight Service with a routine HF call, but due to the stream of calls “Lord Howe this is Sydney” and “Sydney this is Lord Howe”, having little joy. Finally Chris got a few words in edgeways, as it were, emphasised by the slight stammer that was another of his trademarks, “L-Lord Howe I wish you’d sh-shut up!”
Chris eventually quit his job in Tamworth and seeking warmer climes moved to Cairns were he flew DC-3s for the pioneer firm Bush Pilots Airways and on occasions filled in for pilots on leave from the Royal Flying Doctor Service. When he finally metaphorically hung up his cap and his goggles he found a place to live in Terrigal on the NSW central coast, near to his family and his adored granddaughter Erin. (“M-my p-pride of Erin”). I only saw him once in those twilight years, staying the night and hearing many stories of a full and fulfilling flying life till dawn’s early light flushed the sky: the sky where his spirit most times dwelled. A week later Chris’s son Murray rang to say that his dad had just passed on to “the great holding pattern in the sky.” If there is an airmen’s Valhalla, I imagine Chris breasting a bar saying “A b-beer b-barman. P-put it where you like. Th-there’s no im-p-pediment in my reach.”
