Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II
Arnold Scheme - learning to fly in Albany, Georgia
Some photos from June 1941, Class 42-A of the Arnold Scheme. My father is in the cockpit of what I assume to be a Vultee at Darr Aero Tech. He has no parachute strapped on, so I imagine this is the first time he had been in the cockpit and is simply posing for the photo? Note the sunburned nose - he came from Shetland and found the heat almost intolerable in Georgia!
Lt. Teeter was his first instructor and Bert O'Shaugnessy a fellow class 42A member.
Lt. Teeter was his first instructor and Bert O'Shaugnessy a fellow class 42A member.
Great photos SandiD, our dear old pal Danny would have loved to see them! Thank you for posting, there's still a few of us old bumblers still around 
Ormeside,
Would you have come across Dennis (another of the many nicknamed "Danny") Gilbert in the Glider Regiment? He was also RAF. He trained on Catalinas in Pensacola.
At the Rhine Crossing he piloted a glider carrying an Ox and Bucks HQ, thought I don't know if it was Battalion or a Company HQ. His son Barry is my brother-in-law.
I contributed the little I know of his wartime experiences to this thread many moons ago, but wouldn't have a clue how to link to the posts.
Would you have come across Dennis (another of the many nicknamed "Danny") Gilbert in the Glider Regiment? He was also RAF. He trained on Catalinas in Pensacola.
At the Rhine Crossing he piloted a glider carrying an Ox and Bucks HQ, thought I don't know if it was Battalion or a Company HQ. His son Barry is my brother-in-law.
I contributed the little I know of his wartime experiences to this thread many moons ago, but wouldn't have a clue how to link to the posts.
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Some photos from June 1941, Class 42-A of the Arnold Scheme. My father is in the cockpit of what I assume to be a Vultee at Darr Aero Tech. He has no parachute strapped on, so I imagine this is the first time he had been in the cockpit and is simply posing for the photo? Note the sunburned nose - he came from Shetland and found the heat almost intolerable in Georgia!
Lt. Teeter was his first instructor and Bert O'Shaugnessy a fellow class 42A member.
Lt. Teeter was his first instructor and Bert O'Shaugnessy a fellow class 42A member.
If you look earlier in this forum you will find Reg Levy and my Uncle Vernon who where also in class 42A. Reg incidentally didn't like the Vultee which he cited shook and vibrated, they were removed from training at some time later.
I've just noticed that all the photos from Reg Levy's posts have suffered from Photobucket disease, when I get the time I will edit them and re-host them on another server.
Andy
Reg incidentally didn't like the Vultee which he cited shook and vibrated
Sandison daughter, great pictures of your dad, his instructor, fellow student, and their Vultee BT-13 Valiant basic trainers. As Geriaviator states, it didn't impress Danny much, I'm afraid! Thank you for getting this venerable thread moving again.
The notes on spinning are typical of the bumf that service pilots amass from start to finish of their careers. Spinning recovery, long seen as a necessary part of the instructional syllabus, brought with it its own inherent risks and limitations. In my own training it excluded certain instructional aircraft. For instance, while still at school and attending my Air Cadet Flying Scholarship training at the Wiltshire School of Flying (Thruxton), we were taught on the Thruxton Jackaroo, a Tiger Moth (invariably ex RAF ones of course) converted from its two open cockpit layout to a supposedly 4 seater enclosed cabin one. It flew accordingly and was deemed non-aerobatic, so the spinning part of the PPL syllabus was done on a real Tiger Moth. The Air Cadets organisation provided for this by supplying all the paraphernalia so typically detailed by Danny. Unfortunately HQ Air Cadets were far more on the ball than Danny's own storemen, so no chance of retaining the fur lined boots as he did, nor indeed any of the flying kit at all. As an RAF trainee I was instructed on the JP3 and 4. Both were aerobatic but I seem to recall that the tip tanks on the JP3 had to be empty for aeros, including spinning. Can my contemporaries confirm?
BTW, wanting to reread Danny's description of his own flying clothing issues, I started re-reading his posts. Needless to say I am still doing so (page 228 and counting!). His technique of a descriptive passage followed by a Q&A exchange, then another passage (always followed with that idiosyncratic signing off with a well known phrase or saying) is a winner, and all of course in his wonderful use of the English language, if that isn't too much of a slur on his Irish ancestry! Of course, Dickens made his fortune writing in such instalments, though we now read him from continuous script. As with Dickens, in my view Danny's writing is even more enjoyable read on the fly as it were. So what was searching for a detail has become an indulgence of re-discovering the entire whole.
I commend this thought to the house (Outbreak of hear, hears. Rustling of order papers. Prolonged rustling of order papers, etc....)
The notes on spinning are typical of the bumf that service pilots amass from start to finish of their careers. Spinning recovery, long seen as a necessary part of the instructional syllabus, brought with it its own inherent risks and limitations. In my own training it excluded certain instructional aircraft. For instance, while still at school and attending my Air Cadet Flying Scholarship training at the Wiltshire School of Flying (Thruxton), we were taught on the Thruxton Jackaroo, a Tiger Moth (invariably ex RAF ones of course) converted from its two open cockpit layout to a supposedly 4 seater enclosed cabin one. It flew accordingly and was deemed non-aerobatic, so the spinning part of the PPL syllabus was done on a real Tiger Moth. The Air Cadets organisation provided for this by supplying all the paraphernalia so typically detailed by Danny. Unfortunately HQ Air Cadets were far more on the ball than Danny's own storemen, so no chance of retaining the fur lined boots as he did, nor indeed any of the flying kit at all. As an RAF trainee I was instructed on the JP3 and 4. Both were aerobatic but I seem to recall that the tip tanks on the JP3 had to be empty for aeros, including spinning. Can my contemporaries confirm?
BTW, wanting to reread Danny's description of his own flying clothing issues, I started re-reading his posts. Needless to say I am still doing so (page 228 and counting!). His technique of a descriptive passage followed by a Q&A exchange, then another passage (always followed with that idiosyncratic signing off with a well known phrase or saying) is a winner, and all of course in his wonderful use of the English language, if that isn't too much of a slur on his Irish ancestry! Of course, Dickens made his fortune writing in such instalments, though we now read him from continuous script. As with Dickens, in my view Danny's writing is even more enjoyable read on the fly as it were. So what was searching for a detail has become an indulgence of re-discovering the entire whole.
I commend this thought to the house (Outbreak of hear, hears. Rustling of order papers. Prolonged rustling of order papers, etc....)
As this thread drifted a bit off course in one direction, I drifted in another, and for a while I wasn't checking in here as regularly, as religiously as I used to in the early years.
With the onset of the Covid crisis, I often thought of Danny, and wondered if he was still with us and safely cocooned. So I started reading it again, but picking up exactly at the carefully-noted spot where I had left off. As a result I have been able to enjoy his and others' contributions "as live" for the last couple of months. As Chugalug points out, Danny was indeed a born serial narrator, always leaving us craving the next episode. While I can't say I was surprised, it was still with great sadness that I reached the point where he looked out beyond the clouds, quietly got up and vacated his venerated crewroom seat for the last time. If we didn't get to say a proper goodbye, we can be sure that he - while modestly denying it - was touched by the deep affection that was so often expressed here.
What a loss, and what a wonderful character. As we say in the island a bit to the left of Liverpool where his people came from, his likes will not be seen again. Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam dílis.
With the onset of the Covid crisis, I often thought of Danny, and wondered if he was still with us and safely cocooned. So I started reading it again, but picking up exactly at the carefully-noted spot where I had left off. As a result I have been able to enjoy his and others' contributions "as live" for the last couple of months. As Chugalug points out, Danny was indeed a born serial narrator, always leaving us craving the next episode. While I can't say I was surprised, it was still with great sadness that I reached the point where he looked out beyond the clouds, quietly got up and vacated his venerated crewroom seat for the last time. If we didn't get to say a proper goodbye, we can be sure that he - while modestly denying it - was touched by the deep affection that was so often expressed here.
What a loss, and what a wonderful character. As we say in the island a bit to the left of Liverpool where his people came from, his likes will not be seen again. Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam dílis.
I just finished reading the two books written by Danny and was sorry there wasn’t more. What a cool guy, great story teller, he could turn a phrase and apply the Latin perfectly. Wish I could have shared a pint of ale or cuppa tea with him. Humble, self-deprecating, knowledgeable, humorous. A true gentleman and of course a true example of the greatest generation.
The pictures of the aircraft underneath are off Texan (Harvard in the UK), You may notice that they have retractable undercarriage, whereas the Vultee has a fixed undercarriage.
If you look earlier in this forum you will find Reg Levy and my Uncle Vernon who where also in class 42A. Reg incidentally didn't like the Vultee which he cited shook and vibrated, they were removed from training at some time later.
I've just noticed that all the photos from Reg Levy's posts have suffered from Photobucket disease, when I get the time I will edit them and re-host them on another server.
Andy
If you look earlier in this forum you will find Reg Levy and my Uncle Vernon who where also in class 42A. Reg incidentally didn't like the Vultee which he cited shook and vibrated, they were removed from training at some time later.
I've just noticed that all the photos from Reg Levy's posts have suffered from Photobucket disease, when I get the time I will edit them and re-host them on another server.
Andy
With regard to the Vultee, Dad said in a letter in June 1941 at Primary training "In the mornings we work in the Ground School – Maths, Navigation, Engines etc, and it is all very interesting. In the afternoons we fly, and that is lovely. It is so cool and refreshing up above and I always feel sorry after the flight is over. My instructor is an awfully nice chap, and gives me complete confidence in him and the plane. The planes are very nice; they can fly by themselves and are extremely safe. I flew a plane today for the first time, and was extremely surprised to find how easy it was."
A month later (mid-July when he had just turned 21) he wrote "By the way I soloed on Thursday. In case you don’t understand, it means that I took the plane up and landed it again all by myself. I had supervised solos again on Friday and Saturday. That means going round and round landing and taking off while your instructor stands down below and watches you, checking faults etc. Tomorrow I shall be able to get my own plane and leave the aerodrome and fly around practising the various manoeuvers which we are taught. When I went up the first time, I was surprised to find myself not in the least nervous, and I went round and made a good landing. It’s nice being up alone; there’s nobody to swear at you!! and knowing that you’ve got to rely on yourself you fly very much better and with more ease. It’s also very nice to feel that you’re capable of doing it.
On 6th August he wrote "I’m still doing alright (touch wood!) and have almost finished the Primary Training. To date I have a total of 45 hours, about 23 of which are solo. To finish this course we each must have a total of 60 hours. We are due to knock off next Tuesday, and hope to go on to Basic at the end of the week. At Basic School you fly bigger, better, and faster planes, and you do night flying, instrument flying, and also formation flying; the course is much more interesting and lasts ten weeks, during which time you have to do about 100 hours flying. I started aerobatics yesterday – loops, snap rolls, slow rolls, flying upside down etc. It’s good fun but it shakes you up a bit to begin with. It’s really surprising what things you can do in a plane.
I still find it very hard to imagine my father flying upside down!
Instead of leaving the U.S. for Britain after gaining his Pilot's wings, Dad was selected to stay on in Georgia to train as a flying instructor and then to train new batches of RAF cadets in the first half of 1942. (He subsequently went on to fly Lancs in Bomber Command.) I thought readers of this thread might be interested in the following publication which was issued as part of his instructor training.
Another absolute gem, thank you! The lessons so painstakingly condensed into this booklet are just as valuable 80 years later ...
Met Danny once at his flat, enjoyable even though apparent that he was having issues.
Attended his funeral and briefly afterwards, but too choked to do much as others had much more personal interactions than I.
Glad I knew him, not just as a cyber friend, but as a person.
They don't make 'em like that anymore....
Attended his funeral and briefly afterwards, but too choked to do much as others had much more personal interactions than I.
Glad I knew him, not just as a cyber friend, but as a person.
They don't make 'em like that anymore....
Sandisondaughter, thank you for posting your Dad's excellent AMP 121 'Hints on Flying Instruction' which he was issued as a 'Creamy' in 1942. Whether CFS was still issuing such excellent advice to RAF Flying Instructors in the early 60s I have no idea, but if so it wasn't in the bedtime reading of my Jet Provost instructor. The son of a then notable RAF Very Senior Officer, he had little patience for my repeated errors and showed his dissatisfaction in no uncertain manner. My progress faltered and came to a grinding halt. I was in retrospect the subject of review for a possible chop. What was decided on my behalf was for a change of instructor. The new one was older with a row of medal ribbons, a Master Pilot and thus not a Commissioned but a Warrant Officer. His avuncular, patient, and encouraging manner was everything that his predecessor was not. He explained away the switch by briefly saying that there had been a 'Personality Clash' which was no-one's fault and a change of Instructor was invariably the solution. It certainly was in my case. My confidence returned, my progress recommenced, and he soon sent me solo. I still have the solo certificate, bearing his signature, framed on my study wall. An unofficial one of course, it is a cartoon of a parent crow kicking its startled fledgling out of the family nest, and thus far more treasured than any ponderously official one would be (there wasn't one, anyway).
Icare9, you have the advantage over many of us in having personally known Danny and in attending his funeral. It is good that the PPRuNe Community was represented there by a few of its own, for this thread had knitted us all into a family with Danny at its head. What I would say though is that his personality transcended this media to the extent that we all felt we knew him as a friend. Despite the repeated intransigence of his obdurate laptop he mastered the arcane mysteries of the internet, even illustrating his witty posts with pictures. Like any good performer nothing was allowed to get between him and his ardent audience. They don't indeed make 'em like that anymore!
Icare9, you have the advantage over many of us in having personally known Danny and in attending his funeral. It is good that the PPRuNe Community was represented there by a few of its own, for this thread had knitted us all into a family with Danny at its head. What I would say though is that his personality transcended this media to the extent that we all felt we knew him as a friend. Despite the repeated intransigence of his obdurate laptop he mastered the arcane mysteries of the internet, even illustrating his witty posts with pictures. Like any good performer nothing was allowed to get between him and his ardent audience. They don't indeed make 'em like that anymore!
Tom Dobney, the world's youngest bomber pilot
The story of a 16-year-old WW2 bomber pilot has been mentioned on this thread, but the Daily Drone website has kindly allowed me to run it in full. The Drone is run by retired Express journalists, and the high-flying schoolboy was found working in their midst …
Even though the war had been over for 30 years, Boy’s Own Paper tales of military derring-do were still the staple features diet of Sunday Express readers in the Seventies. Each week the heroics of gimlet-eyed submariners, devil-may-care Spitfire pilots and grim-faced Commandos were played out on double page spreads accompanied by finely detailed, brilliantly drawn illustrations.
So when, in his third-floor Fleet Street bunker, Editor John Junor heard the tale of the schoolboy who became the youngest pilot in the RAF, the command rang out: Buy up this man! Thus, the elite special forces of the Sunday Express scoured the country for the young hero whose name was Dobney.And scoured. And scoured.
Just when the frustrated news hounds were dreading having to confess their failure and having to justify their exes, a modest, self-effacing deputy art editor walked the 20 yards from his desk at the Daily Express overlooking Great Ancoats Street in Manchester to the office of the Sunday’s Northern Editor, Howard Bygrave, on the same floor. “I understand you’ve been looking for me”, he said. “I’m Tom Dobney.”
And 1197690 Sgt Pilot Dobney, T. had a fascinating tale to tell. He determined to become a flier while following the Battle of Britain when he was a 14-year-old pupil at King Edward VI Grammar School in Nuneaton, Warwickshire. He turned up at a recruiting office for a dare and thought he might as well complete the enlistment forms. And why not add four years to his age?
Two weeks later he was accepted for pilot training as long as he passed a medical and a selection board at a church hall in Coventry. One squadron leader on the interviewing panel was obviously suspicious.
“How old are you, lad?” he asked. “Eighteen,” replied Tom. “Really? Where’s your birth certificate?” “I sent it in, sir. You must have it.”The officer rummaged through some papers then, embarrassed that he might have mislaid the vital document, he shook Tom by the hand and said: “Welcome to the RAF.”
The elation of Aircraftman Second Class Dobney, aged 14 years, three months, was short-lived: he still had to break it to his mother. She would be left alone having split up from his father.
Years later, Tom recalled: “I simply bullied her into agreeing. She didn’t like it but I argued and sulked until she threw up her hands and gave in. So far as she was concerned I was joining up as ground crew. If she had known that I was going as a pilot she would definitely have put her foot down and stopped me.”
In October, 1940 Mrs Dobney put her young son on the train to RAF Cardington, near Bedford, giving him half a crown to buy sweets for the journey.
Six days past his 15th birthday Tom went solo in a Tiger Moth after 12 hours' dual at Staverton, Gloucestershire. He was sent to training school in Medicine Hat, Canada where he was awarded his wings when he was still 15, returning to England for advanced training on Blenheims.
Then he was posted to 10 OTU at Abingdon, where he completed 20 sorties over enemy territory in twin-engined Whitley bombers crewed by airmen all older than himself. The OTU sorties were often leaflet dropping, but they were also used to make up numbers on bombing raids. It was said that the crews were quite happy with their young pilot until his estranged father spotted his picture in a newspaper shaking hands with King George VI who was on a tour of East Anglia air bases. A furious Mr D contacted the Air Ministry and demanded how his son could be introduced to the King as a veteran bomber pilot when he was only 15?
Tom was discharged immediately. He was given a letter to confirm that the only reason was his age and the RAF promised to take him back when he was old enough. So Tom worked in a Coventry aero engines factory and, as soon as he could, he joined the Air Transport Auxiliary. By 1943 he was an instructor on Oxfords at Snitterfield, a satellite for Church Lawford.
Alas, it wasn’t long before he was seriously injured in a crash following engine failure on take-off , and by the time he was fit again the war was all but over.
After the conflict ended he flew Avro Yorks on the Berlin Airlift, served on the King’s Flight where he met the King once again, and became an RAF air traffic controller. After a spell in the Metropolitan Police he joined the Daily Express art desk in Manchester (as you do) and took early retirement in 1986.
Express Northern news Editor Stan Blenkinsop said at the time: ‘He was such a quiet, modest man and never talked about his wartime experiences. I used to sit a few yards away from him and think: how on earth did he do all that?’
At the end of war Tom was refused his campaign medals because it was decreed that he had earned them illegally. His mother wrote to Winston Churchill who intervened. They were awarded with a fulsome apology.
Tom, who, had six children from three marriages, died in 2001. His achievement is still in Guinness World Records.
Even though the war had been over for 30 years, Boy’s Own Paper tales of military derring-do were still the staple features diet of Sunday Express readers in the Seventies. Each week the heroics of gimlet-eyed submariners, devil-may-care Spitfire pilots and grim-faced Commandos were played out on double page spreads accompanied by finely detailed, brilliantly drawn illustrations.
So when, in his third-floor Fleet Street bunker, Editor John Junor heard the tale of the schoolboy who became the youngest pilot in the RAF, the command rang out: Buy up this man! Thus, the elite special forces of the Sunday Express scoured the country for the young hero whose name was Dobney.And scoured. And scoured.
Just when the frustrated news hounds were dreading having to confess their failure and having to justify their exes, a modest, self-effacing deputy art editor walked the 20 yards from his desk at the Daily Express overlooking Great Ancoats Street in Manchester to the office of the Sunday’s Northern Editor, Howard Bygrave, on the same floor. “I understand you’ve been looking for me”, he said. “I’m Tom Dobney.”
And 1197690 Sgt Pilot Dobney, T. had a fascinating tale to tell. He determined to become a flier while following the Battle of Britain when he was a 14-year-old pupil at King Edward VI Grammar School in Nuneaton, Warwickshire. He turned up at a recruiting office for a dare and thought he might as well complete the enlistment forms. And why not add four years to his age?
Two weeks later he was accepted for pilot training as long as he passed a medical and a selection board at a church hall in Coventry. One squadron leader on the interviewing panel was obviously suspicious.
“How old are you, lad?” he asked. “Eighteen,” replied Tom. “Really? Where’s your birth certificate?” “I sent it in, sir. You must have it.”The officer rummaged through some papers then, embarrassed that he might have mislaid the vital document, he shook Tom by the hand and said: “Welcome to the RAF.”
The elation of Aircraftman Second Class Dobney, aged 14 years, three months, was short-lived: he still had to break it to his mother. She would be left alone having split up from his father.
Years later, Tom recalled: “I simply bullied her into agreeing. She didn’t like it but I argued and sulked until she threw up her hands and gave in. So far as she was concerned I was joining up as ground crew. If she had known that I was going as a pilot she would definitely have put her foot down and stopped me.”
In October, 1940 Mrs Dobney put her young son on the train to RAF Cardington, near Bedford, giving him half a crown to buy sweets for the journey.
Six days past his 15th birthday Tom went solo in a Tiger Moth after 12 hours' dual at Staverton, Gloucestershire. He was sent to training school in Medicine Hat, Canada where he was awarded his wings when he was still 15, returning to England for advanced training on Blenheims.
Then he was posted to 10 OTU at Abingdon, where he completed 20 sorties over enemy territory in twin-engined Whitley bombers crewed by airmen all older than himself. The OTU sorties were often leaflet dropping, but they were also used to make up numbers on bombing raids. It was said that the crews were quite happy with their young pilot until his estranged father spotted his picture in a newspaper shaking hands with King George VI who was on a tour of East Anglia air bases. A furious Mr D contacted the Air Ministry and demanded how his son could be introduced to the King as a veteran bomber pilot when he was only 15?
Tom was discharged immediately. He was given a letter to confirm that the only reason was his age and the RAF promised to take him back when he was old enough. So Tom worked in a Coventry aero engines factory and, as soon as he could, he joined the Air Transport Auxiliary. By 1943 he was an instructor on Oxfords at Snitterfield, a satellite for Church Lawford.
Alas, it wasn’t long before he was seriously injured in a crash following engine failure on take-off , and by the time he was fit again the war was all but over.
After the conflict ended he flew Avro Yorks on the Berlin Airlift, served on the King’s Flight where he met the King once again, and became an RAF air traffic controller. After a spell in the Metropolitan Police he joined the Daily Express art desk in Manchester (as you do) and took early retirement in 1986.
Express Northern news Editor Stan Blenkinsop said at the time: ‘He was such a quiet, modest man and never talked about his wartime experiences. I used to sit a few yards away from him and think: how on earth did he do all that?’
At the end of war Tom was refused his campaign medals because it was decreed that he had earned them illegally. His mother wrote to Winston Churchill who intervened. They were awarded with a fulsome apology.
Tom, who, had six children from three marriages, died in 2001. His achievement is still in Guinness World Records.
You have to wonder at the ease with which boys were accepted into the armed forces in WW's I and II by simply lying about their age. Even in those days there was an abundance of records other than the paper Birth Certificates, which obviously were not presented when required. By simply demanding details of place and date of birth the local Registrar could have confirmed or denied the claim. Admittedly it would have to be done via the Royal Mail, but it wasn't snail mail in those days and delivery was often the following day (sometimes sooner!). Could it be that HMG was content to make up the numbers in this way? If it were not so, the RAF had plenty of time to discover that Cobley was under age long before he got airborne for the first time, let alone go on Ops. With all the RAF record keeping involved, re training, jabs, postings, promotions, etc, etc, all of which would be authorised and confirmed, how come the most basic detail of all, ie dob, was simply taken on trust?
If his father had not seen the picture of his son and the King in the press, would it have ever come to light? If he'd remained serving continuously he could have smashed all records, making Gibson appear an old man as a Wg Cdr....
If his father had not seen the picture of his son and the King in the press, would it have ever come to light? If he'd remained serving continuously he could have smashed all records, making Gibson appear an old man as a Wg Cdr....
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[QUOTE=Geriaviator;10864280]
...giving him half a crown to buy sweets for the journey.
[/QUOTE
Well that was a jaw dropping moment, reading that line.
...giving him half a crown to buy sweets for the journey.
[/QUOTE
Well that was a jaw dropping moment, reading that line.
Half a crown!! Would have bought more than sweets in those days! However, this is a great tale and, although I have heard, and known, of many others, (including my own brother!) who lied about their age this must be the best one! Well done, Sir!
Bill
Bill
