Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II
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...plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose...
Fareastdriver (your #8422),
In the '60s, one of my F/Sgt Controllers bought me a pair of black Oxfords (W.O. Pattern ?)
from RAF Stores at half the price they would have charged me. Still got 'em somewhere.
cf my 18th Oct 2012, (p.157 #3131) "Danny has an Unpleasant Vision of the Future".
Ground Cushion Effect - the "Great Persian Gulf Sea Monster ?"
(your #8417),
What is this ? When did we start pampering our aircrew ? This is not the spirit which made our Empire Great, what, what, old boy ?
(back to #8422),
I had to buzz my fauna off myself (but, to be fair, I only had goats to contend with).
cf my p.153 #3056: "Danny, Rats, Goats, Kitehawks and stuck Liberators".
You've posted these pics before - but no matter, they're well worth seeing again (and proof that old Rollers will run forever !)
India will never change.
Human labour is dirt cheap and in infinite supply. But it seems the man-pulled rickshaw is dying out in favour of "tuc-tucs" throughout the Far East.
Bring it on, FED !
Danny.
...My Chief Tech had bought me my brothel creepers at my request from the NAAFI...
from RAF Stores at half the price they would have charged me. Still got 'em somewhere.
...We followed the same procedure as the day before and noticed with concern that the first tanker did not seem to take off. When the runway ran out he appeared to carry on just above the water...
... but there was virtually a zero rate of climb for some time...
(your #8417),
...As we went into our accommodation the chill of the air conditioners was a relief...
(back to #8422),
... I found out later that their job was to persuade the cows to get off the tarmac...
... but the tarmac over there is so soft we couldn’t get the aircraft off this bit until we had defueled it some...
... It arrived and we looked at the generator towing vehicle in amazement. It was somewhat battered mid-twenties Rolls Royce; its angular radiator still pristine but surrounded in steam from a leaking core. It was an open four seater, its hood having disappeared years ago, with the cracked and soiled rear seat covered with junk and old tools...
...After five minutes of being hounded by hawkers and beggars I retreated back downstairs...
... Another thing that shocked me were the carts with one or two men almost yoked to the shafts...
...The saga will continue..................
Danny.
"Ground Cushion Effect - the "Great Persian Gulf Sea Monster ?""
Caspian Sea Danny.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caspian_Sea_Monster
The Ekranoplan - an amazing beast.
Caspian Sea Danny.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caspian_Sea_Monster
The Ekranoplan - an amazing beast.
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DHfan,
Yes, the Ekranoplan was a wonderful thing, wasn't it ! I was comparing it ironically to the similar performance of FED's Valiant tanker on take-off from Bahrein.
As I recall, the principle has been applied to small "sports" type one or two seat light "aircraft", as much less power is required than is needed for real flight. Should do well in the Everglades and in the bayoux of Louisiana, I would have thought.
Danny.
Yes, the Ekranoplan was a wonderful thing, wasn't it ! I was comparing it ironically to the similar performance of FED's Valiant tanker on take-off from Bahrein.
As I recall, the principle has been applied to small "sports" type one or two seat light "aircraft", as much less power is required than is needed for real flight. Should do well in the Everglades and in the bayoux of Louisiana, I would have thought.
Danny.
Danny.
I realised that several hours after I posted.
It was a bit late then...
There was a programme on t'box some years ago about the original monsters and the smaller ones developed in the States, by some of the original design team IIRC.
I don't know if they ever reached production.
I realised that several hours after I posted.
It was a bit late then...
There was a programme on t'box some years ago about the original monsters and the smaller ones developed in the States, by some of the original design team IIRC.
I don't know if they ever reached production.
Danny. I cannot remember when I last posted those pictures but lot of readers may not have read that far back.
The hotel was as modern as it could be for India and we checked in. I was given the key to my room that was on the third floor and moved in. The room was good enough but the bed was as hard as a rock. A large thermos labelled ‘drinking water’ was by the bed and as it was still cold I considered that it was that days supply. I looked out of the window and to my left I could see the broad expanse of Juhu beach. Below me seemed to be the tradesman’s entrance to the kitchens. The odour of Indian cooking drifted up so I closed the window again to stop it flavouring the room. There wasn’t a shower, so I had a quick cool bath to get the dust off. After dressing I proceeded to the pool. Walking down the corridor yet another Indian woman holding a bunch of twigs melted into the shadows, it wasn’t until later that I found out why they were there.
As I passed through the foyer the Sikh doorman greeted me. A glance at the medal ribbons on his chest bore witness to the fact that he had been all across North Africa and Italy. Included was the Kenyan medal for service during the Mau Mau period. I had spent time in the Rhodesian army and the Rhodesian African Rifles had served up there during the same time. We chatted about his experiences there and as an aside I asked him why the hotel employed all these women with bunches of sticks.
They are the carpet sweepers.”
“Why don’t you get some vacuum cleaners? It would be much easier.”
“Have you any idea of the cost of vacuum cleaners in India?” was his simple reply.
We agreed that if I had any problems I would go to him. I then realised I had forgotton my licence so I went upstairs to retrieve it.
I was just about to leave when I heard a hubbub of conversation outside my window. I opened it and looked down. The lower echelons of the hotel staff were all gathered about and they were in the process of hosing down the branch of a tree that had been dragged in. This is an unusual tree planting ceremony, I thought. Two large cooking pots with rice and the meal of the day were brought out. The assembled multitude immediately plucked off the big leaves from the branch and used them as a plate to load up with food, then held it to their face and pushed the contents down their mouths with their hands. Damn all pay but at least one square meal a day was in the contract.
I went downstairs and this time there were no ghosts melting into the shadows. In the pool area I met my crew. They had already sussed out the beer arrangements and it occurred to me that Dave, our AEO, a Sgt Signaller, had been mentally strapped down to his chair.
“Don’t let him get away;” said John, “he’s our meal ticket.”
Apparently there was no effective limit on what they could put on the hotel bill for meals so Dave was going to be the official host for the crew. The other crews had also riveted their crew chiefs feet to their particular patch and they weren’t letting them get away either.
The red ball of the sun was starting to sink into the Indian Ocean so I had to accelerate my drinking to catch up with the rest. Just as it was starting to get dark we trooped into the dining room for dinner. The the crews were already there. Orders like No1 to 6 twice were commonplace which I thought was flogging the system somewhat. We ordered in the conventional way and soon found out why, the portions were minute. Unfortunately we could not order again, as this would entail a second bill. Still feeling hungry we finished; Dave signed the bill with a flourish and we repaired to the terrace.
The hotel had laid on some sort of cabaret to entertain us; the singer looked fine but had a voice like a chainsaw. The dancers, I being an expert who could see through the frills, were a bit on the plump side and their faces were camouflaged by some really heavy eye make-up. However, rippling fingers got some of the airmen started up and as some were National Service they were not communicating the appropriate form of praise that I would have expected from the Royal Air Force. Luckily the girls either could not understand or ignored it and carried on so comments like ‘getemorff’ were totally lost. The day, despite the clock advantage was starting to wear so we called it a day and went
I was awoken next morning at eight by my plotter.
“We’re just digging Dave out of bed to buy us breakfast, are you coming?”
There seemed little reason not to so I was told to be in the dining room at half past. I was slightly early so I bought a copy of the Bombay Times from reception and checked up on the war. We were not mentioned, but it appeared that the show was fizzling out. Both the foreign ministers were discussing it and it seemed that they were going to straighten out a few kinks. It was all the British’s fault. When they had mounted an expedition into Tibet they had moved the border around a bit for tactical reasons and had amended the maps; unfortunately the Chinese were still using the old copies. However the tension had eased so it appeared that we would not be staying for long. The rest of the crew frog-marched Dave in. He didn’t look very well as he had been carousing with the crew chiefs until three o’clock, which explained why there were other tables full of officers with ashen-faced SNCOs
Somebody had fixed up a tour of Bombay after lunch. Lunchtime came and another flight of Chief Technicians were frog-marched into the dining room. The nine rupees we were getting just about covered a bowl of soup. Dave was wheeled in with the rest of them. We had to sponge on the SNCOs, it would have been considered bad form to get an airman to pay. This time I decided to go local and have the curry. Have been trained at Oakington I was familiar with all the Indian restaurants in Cambridge so I was confident that I could take whatever they gave me. It was awful! It was just boiled something or other with curry powder sprinkled over the top, at least that what it tasted like.
The bus was on time and an Indian Air Force officer was acting as our guide. He must have had a degree in history or something because he gave us a complete rundown of every building of interest from when they started digging the foundations. There were obviously no preservation societies in Bombay as most were very close to collapsing. Bombay City Council, or its equivalent, had far stricter ideas about beggars than whoever ran the outskirts so there were not the tapping hands of before.
On the flight in our maps showed that there was a red prohibited circle over a part of Bombay and we were taken to this. It was a park with a fair number of trees, which were full of roosting vultures. In the middle were what looked like miniature power station cooling towers. Our guide explained that when a sect known as the Farsi had one of their number die they put the body on a grid on top of the towers. The vultures would demolish it and the bones would fall through and be collected for the family shrine. We had a look at some snake charmers but most of the cobras looked a bit dozy; my cat in Rhodesia would have had no trouble in disposing of them. It wasn’t a long tour, because of the traffic it would have taken us a week to get around the whole place. What amused me was the number of Morris Cowleys, produced in India as the Hindus
Back at the pool we found that there was a lot of chat going on We stacked up with a few beers and started to catch up with all the rumours. They were rife. 214’s bosses and Les had been at the British High Commission in town all afternoon and they were not divulging a syllable. They had nearly lost a Javelin. The pilot had pulled too much and a problem with the Javelin is that if the angle of attack is too high the delta wing blanks off the tailplane. This causes it to mush and it goes into a spin. The tailplane is invariably still blanked off so that it cannot recover. The only way to get the tailplane back into clean air is to push the nose down and by ejecting the navigator the recoil of the ejector seat achieves this when the navigator goes out. This had worked out fine and our hero was casually waving to his navigator as he drifted down to some village. The war was to all intents and purposes over so we did not expect to be there for much longer; which was just as well because some blokes were having hallucinations about sausages, bacon and eggs.
To be continued.
The hotel was as modern as it could be for India and we checked in. I was given the key to my room that was on the third floor and moved in. The room was good enough but the bed was as hard as a rock. A large thermos labelled ‘drinking water’ was by the bed and as it was still cold I considered that it was that days supply. I looked out of the window and to my left I could see the broad expanse of Juhu beach. Below me seemed to be the tradesman’s entrance to the kitchens. The odour of Indian cooking drifted up so I closed the window again to stop it flavouring the room. There wasn’t a shower, so I had a quick cool bath to get the dust off. After dressing I proceeded to the pool. Walking down the corridor yet another Indian woman holding a bunch of twigs melted into the shadows, it wasn’t until later that I found out why they were there.
As I passed through the foyer the Sikh doorman greeted me. A glance at the medal ribbons on his chest bore witness to the fact that he had been all across North Africa and Italy. Included was the Kenyan medal for service during the Mau Mau period. I had spent time in the Rhodesian army and the Rhodesian African Rifles had served up there during the same time. We chatted about his experiences there and as an aside I asked him why the hotel employed all these women with bunches of sticks.
They are the carpet sweepers.”
“Why don’t you get some vacuum cleaners? It would be much easier.”
“Have you any idea of the cost of vacuum cleaners in India?” was his simple reply.
We agreed that if I had any problems I would go to him. I then realised I had forgotton my licence so I went upstairs to retrieve it.
I was just about to leave when I heard a hubbub of conversation outside my window. I opened it and looked down. The lower echelons of the hotel staff were all gathered about and they were in the process of hosing down the branch of a tree that had been dragged in. This is an unusual tree planting ceremony, I thought. Two large cooking pots with rice and the meal of the day were brought out. The assembled multitude immediately plucked off the big leaves from the branch and used them as a plate to load up with food, then held it to their face and pushed the contents down their mouths with their hands. Damn all pay but at least one square meal a day was in the contract.
I went downstairs and this time there were no ghosts melting into the shadows. In the pool area I met my crew. They had already sussed out the beer arrangements and it occurred to me that Dave, our AEO, a Sgt Signaller, had been mentally strapped down to his chair.
“Don’t let him get away;” said John, “he’s our meal ticket.”
Apparently there was no effective limit on what they could put on the hotel bill for meals so Dave was going to be the official host for the crew. The other crews had also riveted their crew chiefs feet to their particular patch and they weren’t letting them get away either.
The red ball of the sun was starting to sink into the Indian Ocean so I had to accelerate my drinking to catch up with the rest. Just as it was starting to get dark we trooped into the dining room for dinner. The the crews were already there. Orders like No1 to 6 twice were commonplace which I thought was flogging the system somewhat. We ordered in the conventional way and soon found out why, the portions were minute. Unfortunately we could not order again, as this would entail a second bill. Still feeling hungry we finished; Dave signed the bill with a flourish and we repaired to the terrace.
The hotel had laid on some sort of cabaret to entertain us; the singer looked fine but had a voice like a chainsaw. The dancers, I being an expert who could see through the frills, were a bit on the plump side and their faces were camouflaged by some really heavy eye make-up. However, rippling fingers got some of the airmen started up and as some were National Service they were not communicating the appropriate form of praise that I would have expected from the Royal Air Force. Luckily the girls either could not understand or ignored it and carried on so comments like ‘getemorff’ were totally lost. The day, despite the clock advantage was starting to wear so we called it a day and went
I was awoken next morning at eight by my plotter.
“We’re just digging Dave out of bed to buy us breakfast, are you coming?”
There seemed little reason not to so I was told to be in the dining room at half past. I was slightly early so I bought a copy of the Bombay Times from reception and checked up on the war. We were not mentioned, but it appeared that the show was fizzling out. Both the foreign ministers were discussing it and it seemed that they were going to straighten out a few kinks. It was all the British’s fault. When they had mounted an expedition into Tibet they had moved the border around a bit for tactical reasons and had amended the maps; unfortunately the Chinese were still using the old copies. However the tension had eased so it appeared that we would not be staying for long. The rest of the crew frog-marched Dave in. He didn’t look very well as he had been carousing with the crew chiefs until three o’clock, which explained why there were other tables full of officers with ashen-faced SNCOs
Somebody had fixed up a tour of Bombay after lunch. Lunchtime came and another flight of Chief Technicians were frog-marched into the dining room. The nine rupees we were getting just about covered a bowl of soup. Dave was wheeled in with the rest of them. We had to sponge on the SNCOs, it would have been considered bad form to get an airman to pay. This time I decided to go local and have the curry. Have been trained at Oakington I was familiar with all the Indian restaurants in Cambridge so I was confident that I could take whatever they gave me. It was awful! It was just boiled something or other with curry powder sprinkled over the top, at least that what it tasted like.
The bus was on time and an Indian Air Force officer was acting as our guide. He must have had a degree in history or something because he gave us a complete rundown of every building of interest from when they started digging the foundations. There were obviously no preservation societies in Bombay as most were very close to collapsing. Bombay City Council, or its equivalent, had far stricter ideas about beggars than whoever ran the outskirts so there were not the tapping hands of before.
On the flight in our maps showed that there was a red prohibited circle over a part of Bombay and we were taken to this. It was a park with a fair number of trees, which were full of roosting vultures. In the middle were what looked like miniature power station cooling towers. Our guide explained that when a sect known as the Farsi had one of their number die they put the body on a grid on top of the towers. The vultures would demolish it and the bones would fall through and be collected for the family shrine. We had a look at some snake charmers but most of the cobras looked a bit dozy; my cat in Rhodesia would have had no trouble in disposing of them. It wasn’t a long tour, because of the traffic it would have taken us a week to get around the whole place. What amused me was the number of Morris Cowleys, produced in India as the Hindus
Back at the pool we found that there was a lot of chat going on We stacked up with a few beers and started to catch up with all the rumours. They were rife. 214’s bosses and Les had been at the British High Commission in town all afternoon and they were not divulging a syllable. They had nearly lost a Javelin. The pilot had pulled too much and a problem with the Javelin is that if the angle of attack is too high the delta wing blanks off the tailplane. This causes it to mush and it goes into a spin. The tailplane is invariably still blanked off so that it cannot recover. The only way to get the tailplane back into clean air is to push the nose down and by ejecting the navigator the recoil of the ejector seat achieves this when the navigator goes out. This had worked out fine and our hero was casually waving to his navigator as he drifted down to some village. The war was to all intents and purposes over so we did not expect to be there for much longer; which was just as well because some blokes were having hallucinations about sausages, bacon and eggs.
To be continued.
Last edited by Fareastdriver; 7th Apr 2016 at 18:22.
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Danny,
I recently got wind of the fact that there's another Vengeance extant down here in Oz.
A surprise to me and others.
I've no details on it yet but I hear it's being 'restored'.
It'll be interesting to find out how much of one they actually have and, its provenance.
I'll report back when I can get hold of some credible info.
I recently got wind of the fact that there's another Vengeance extant down here in Oz.
A surprise to me and others.
I've no details on it yet but I hear it's being 'restored'.
It'll be interesting to find out how much of one they actually have and, its provenance.
I'll report back when I can get hold of some credible info.
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Stanwell,
There is/was in your part of the world a Cooda Shooda, who told me some time ago of a group of enthusiasts out there who were trying to gather enough bits to rebuild a Mk. I.
Wished them every success, but think it's a forlorn hope.
Cooda Shooda, if you're 'on frequency', could you come in on this ?
Danny.
There is/was in your part of the world a Cooda Shooda, who told me some time ago of a group of enthusiasts out there who were trying to gather enough bits to rebuild a Mk. I.
Wished them every success, but think it's a forlorn hope.
Cooda Shooda, if you're 'on frequency', could you come in on this ?
Danny.
Hi Danny
Unfortunately, I'm in the same boat as Stanwell.
From a contact in NZ and classified ads in a regional Historical Aviation magazine, I'm aware there is a group trying to resurrect a Vengeance.
But my attempts through third parties to make contact (and indeed point them towards this prince of threads) have been unsuccessful.
It doesn't help that I'm perched 4000 kms away from our major population centres. So opportunities for face to face contact are somewhat limited.
Nevertheless, I live in hope.
Unfortunately, I'm in the same boat as Stanwell.
From a contact in NZ and classified ads in a regional Historical Aviation magazine, I'm aware there is a group trying to resurrect a Vengeance.
But my attempts through third parties to make contact (and indeed point them towards this prince of threads) have been unsuccessful.
It doesn't help that I'm perched 4000 kms away from our major population centres. So opportunities for face to face contact are somewhat limited.
Nevertheless, I live in hope.
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The Mysterious East.
Fareastdriver,
Another masterpiece of the detail which is so rivetting !
I add a few words from my (very old) experiences:
Either a handful or attached to a broomstick. Has been used this way by "sweepers" for ever and a day.
Normally one hand only (the other being reserved for a less salubrious purpose, often a little brass pot of water being carried around to serve as an al-fresco bidet).
So I picked on the wrong war just now ! What on Earth were we doing to get mixed up in that Sino-Indian border dispute ? What dog did we have in that fight ?
When we were the ruling power in those parts, the borders were pretty well where we said they were. Reminds me of the oft-repeated gibe that the colonial powers in Africa divided it up "with ruler and set-square".
How is the Rupee fallen ! When I was in Calcutta, the "Grand" hotel in Chowringhee (second only to the "Great Eastern" in Old Court House Street) would do you room and full board for Rs10 a day (say 14/- then, say £17.50 today [UK general inflation] or £60 [UK wage inflation] - the Rs [Indian] inflation has been much worse than the £ [and that has been bad enough !] The Rs [Pakistan] half as bad again). Take a deep breath and look up the Oberoi Grand's (5-star) prices today !
They often did ! (balconies in particular). The Building Regulations (if any) of the time were very loosely applied, being a matter of negotiation between the developer, the municipal authority and the contractor - and it was not unknown for a few bundles of notes to change hands in the process.
Couldn't happen today, of course. (oh, dear !)
They were called "Towers of Silence", erected by the Parsee (originally Persian) community of Bombay. There this has prospered, their members being known as the "Jews of India" (not in any perjorative sense, but on account of their financial acumen). I suppose it is the ideal eco-friendly method of disposal.
Would not be too sure about "collected for the family shrine", for the iron grid on top is a multi-occupancy affair; India is a very large exporter of bone-meal; have a look round your friendly local Garden Centre.
Not sure about the "Cowleys", but the 1951 1500 Morris "Oxford"'s jigs and tools were sold on to India; they produced the Hindustan "Ambassador" which (with, I believe, a Japanese diesel engine) was the staple Indian car for decades.
Not a spin, but at Geilenkirchen about '62, a 11 Sqn pair of Javelins "ran in and broke" - all too literally in the case of the No.2 - seems it happens if you pull too much 'G' and too high a rate of roll at the same time (both killed).
This is splendid - keep it up ! (and there must be more of you out there who could add to this feast)
Danny.
Another masterpiece of the detail which is so rivetting !
I add a few words from my (very old) experiences:
...yet another Indian woman holding a bunch of twigs...
...pushed the contents down their mouths with their hands...
...bought a copy of the Bombay Times from reception and checked up on the war...
...It was all the British’s fault. When they had mounted an expedition into Tibet they had moved the border around a bit for tactical reasons and had amended the maps..
...The nine rupees we were getting just about covered a bowl of soup...
...as most were very close to collapsing...
Couldn't happen today, of course. (oh, dear !)
...In the middle were what looked like miniature power station cooling towers. Our guide explained that when a sect known as the Farsi had one of their number die they put the body on a grid on top of the towers. The vultures would demolish it and the bones would fall through and be collected for the family shrine...
Would not be too sure about "collected for the family shrine", for the iron grid on top is a multi-occupancy affair; India is a very large exporter of bone-meal; have a look round your friendly local Garden Centre.
...What amused me was the number of Morris Cowleys, produced in India as the Hindus...
...They had nearly lost a Javelin. The pilot had pulled too much and a problem with the Javelin is that if the angle of attack is too high the delta wing blanks off the tailplane. This causes it to mush and it goes into a spin...
This is splendid - keep it up ! (and there must be more of you out there who could add to this feast)
Danny.
Last edited by Danny42C; 9th Apr 2016 at 10:23. Reason: Used incorrect word (disintegrating memory, happens a lot)
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CoodaShooda,
Slow Flyer rebuilt the Narellan Vengeance for the Museum. He would certainly have heard on the grapevine if people are rooting about looking for bits to build another.
123 VVs from the British original purchases (Mks. I and II) were allocated to the RAAF. There must be some remains on a scrapyard somewhere out there.
Danny.
Slow Flyer rebuilt the Narellan Vengeance for the Museum. He would certainly have heard on the grapevine if people are rooting about looking for bits to build another.
123 VVs from the British original purchases (Mks. I and II) were allocated to the RAAF. There must be some remains on a scrapyard somewhere out there.
Danny.
Not sure about the "Cowleys", but the 1951 1500 Morris "Oxford"'s jigs and tools were sold on to India;
About ten years ago the Hindustan was released on the British market. Not a lot of takers, though, even the Sikhs wanted to forget those.
DHFan & Danny
Re. your #8425 & #8426, this extract from a story by Thurber already anticipated that occurrence:
The Secret Life of Walter Mitty by James Thurber
"WE'RE going through!" The Commander's voice was like thin ice breaking. He wore his full dress uniform, with the heavily braided white cap pulled down rakishly over one cold gray eye.
"We can't make it, sir. It's spoiling for a hurricane, if you ask me."
"I'm not asking you, Lieutenant Berg," said the Commander. "Throw on the power lights! Rev her up to 8500! We're going through!"
The pounding of the cylinders increased: Ta-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketapocketa.
The Commander stared at the ice forming on the pilot window. He walked over and twisted a row of complicated dials. "Switch on No. 8 auxiliary!" he shouted.
"Switch on No. 8 auxiliary!" repeated Lieutenant Berg.
"Full strength in No. 3 turret!" shouted the Commander.
"Full strength in No. 3 turret!" The crew, bending to their various tasks in the huge, hurtling eight-engined Navy hydroplane, looked at each other and grinned.
"The Old Man'll get us through," they said to one another. "The Old Man ain't afraid of hell!" . . .
"Not so fast! You're driving too fast!" said Mrs. Mitty. "What are you driving so fast for?"
"Hmm?" said Walter Mitty. He looked at his wife, in the seat beside him, with shocked astonishment. She seemed grossly unfamiliar, like a strange woman who had yelled at him in a crowd. "You were up to fifty-five," she said. "You know I don't like to go more than forty. You were up to fifty-five."
Walter Mitty drove on in silence, the roaring of the SN202 through the worst storm in twenty years of Navy flying fading in the remote, intimate airways of his mind.
Re. your #8425 & #8426, this extract from a story by Thurber already anticipated that occurrence:
The Secret Life of Walter Mitty by James Thurber
"WE'RE going through!" The Commander's voice was like thin ice breaking. He wore his full dress uniform, with the heavily braided white cap pulled down rakishly over one cold gray eye.
"We can't make it, sir. It's spoiling for a hurricane, if you ask me."
"I'm not asking you, Lieutenant Berg," said the Commander. "Throw on the power lights! Rev her up to 8500! We're going through!"
The pounding of the cylinders increased: Ta-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketapocketa.
The Commander stared at the ice forming on the pilot window. He walked over and twisted a row of complicated dials. "Switch on No. 8 auxiliary!" he shouted.
"Switch on No. 8 auxiliary!" repeated Lieutenant Berg.
"Full strength in No. 3 turret!" shouted the Commander.
"Full strength in No. 3 turret!" The crew, bending to their various tasks in the huge, hurtling eight-engined Navy hydroplane, looked at each other and grinned.
"The Old Man'll get us through," they said to one another. "The Old Man ain't afraid of hell!" . . .
"Not so fast! You're driving too fast!" said Mrs. Mitty. "What are you driving so fast for?"
"Hmm?" said Walter Mitty. He looked at his wife, in the seat beside him, with shocked astonishment. She seemed grossly unfamiliar, like a strange woman who had yelled at him in a crowd. "You were up to fifty-five," she said. "You know I don't like to go more than forty. You were up to fifty-five."
Walter Mitty drove on in silence, the roaring of the SN202 through the worst storm in twenty years of Navy flying fading in the remote, intimate airways of his mind.
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mikehallam,
There is some Walter Mitty in all of us. Does no harm so long as we don't let it get out of hand - and it adds to the rich spice of life !
We have had them on this Forum from time to time, but they have to be very clever indeed to get past our vastly experienced members !
Danny.
There is some Walter Mitty in all of us. Does no harm so long as we don't let it get out of hand - and it adds to the rich spice of life !
We have had them on this Forum from time to time, but they have to be very clever indeed to get past our vastly experienced members !
Danny.
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Fareastdriver (your #8435) and JENKINS,
Accept unreservedly - it has always been so in the trade. My beloved 1960 Peugeot 403J (the best car of my life) had a "little sister" in the shape of a bargain-basement "403/7" with a 1290 (?) engine instead of the 1468 in mine. Don't think that they sold many to the Forces in RAF(G).
I have an idea that there was a proposal to keep the "Ambassador" production line going with a revamped "Montego", but nothing came of it.
Danny.
... The Hindustan was identical to the 1954 Oxford but so was the 1954 Cowley; it was the engine and fittings that were smaller and cheaper on the Cowley...
I have an idea that there was a proposal to keep the "Ambassador" production line going with a revamped "Montego", but nothing came of it.
Danny.
Our Flight Commander came up to us.
“Briefing in my room; six o’clock.”
We did not have a lot of time to think about it. Six o’clock came and we all crowded into Les’s room and waited for the news. Les didn’t beat around the bush.
“Gentlemen, The Javelins have been posted to Singapore.”
The rumble of surprise around the room from people who had been used to the Air Force springing surprises for generations was apparent.
“The confrontation between Malaysia and Indonesia has been trickling on but the Indonesians are now starting to paratroop into Malaysia at night and there is a requirement for more night interceptors. The most obvious are Javelins, and the ones here are the first choice because they are just around the corner. As they are now finished in India we are going to tank them to Singapore. We will launch on Tuesday, it is going to be a very busy day so I expect everybody to be fully up to it. The Javelins now belong to the Far East Air Force and they have told them to be on station and operational between Sumatra and Malaysia by six a.m., tomorrow, Singapore time, because that’s the time when they have dropped them before. A plot has been worked out,” Les continued. “Four aircraft will pick up four Javelins just off the East Coast and tank them all the way. They have four pilots who are OK for night refuelling so they will be flying them. They will be armed with missiles so without underwings they will have to be refuelled twice and then again abeam Butterworth so that they can stay on station for an hours and then land at Tengah.”
He added as an aside. “They had better get the refuels right otherwise they will end up in the oggin. We will take the other four tomorrow.”
There was a Tanker Cell at Marham who’s job it was to work out how to do projects like this and each crew were handed a folder with all the planning details that had been Telexed to the High commission.
“Another thing; don’t pass it around that we are taking them to Singapore. As far as anybody here is concerned you are going back to the UK.”
After dinner we gathered in John’s room and went through the planning for tomorrow. The Javelins were positioning on an Indian AF base near Hydrabad. The refuelling was simple; as we approached the coast the Javelins would be scrambled and vectored on to us by the Indian radar so theoretically we would all meet up together. The Javelins would tag on to us four until just before their Point of No Return and then would be topped up. This would give them nearly enough fuel to get to Butterworth but also a new PNR. Each Javelin also would stick with one tanker to avoid any shuttling time between refuels. The second refuel would be at the new PNR just before the north of Sumatra which would give them enough to reach Tengah. The track was some 200 miles north of Sumatra because Sukarno had recently acquired some Mig 15s and they might come up for a look-see. We would shepherd them until the Malacca Strait and then they were on their own.
Monday morning we lazed by the pool as out compatriots packed up and left to fly the first wave. The only thing of interest was that Juhu airfield was not far away. The very first de Havilland Comet flight into India had landed there by mistake instead of the new Bombay airport. It stopped alright but they had to remove all the seats and some of the remaining fuel so that it could get airborne for the short hop to where it was supposed to be. The approach was just south of the hotel and apart from the normal Dc 3s I saw my one and only Liberator, Indian Navy, on finals.
The next morning the buses pitched up and we all climbed in. The previous day had gone to plan but it was a bit of a waste of time because there had not been any trade for the Javelins. As soon as we got out of the nice part of Bombay we closed all the windows to repel the tapping hands. The poverty hadn’t changed in the last few days but I was not paying any attention to it any more. When we arrived at the airport we found we had to go through customs again because if you bought anything in India you had to pay export duty in foreign currency on it to take it out! One very choked off officer had to pay £16 on a sari, which was more than he had paid for it! I was clean, as were the rest of my crew so we were transported over to our aircraft.
The had found a leak on No3s throttle unit and they had changed it. Unfortunatly there was no way they could do the throttle-slam or matching checks so there would probably a bit of throttle stagger. Bad throttle stagger is a nuisance, the throttles are all over the place for the same power from each engine and it is awkward to synchronise them. At least we weren’t refuelling, that is when it is at its worst. We walked around the aircraft and climbed up to the cockpit. The water-meth truck had just left the last aircraft; we could afford to load that on here and the trusty Roller was steaming towards us to get us going. We only started Nos. 2 and 3, as we were initially only taxiing to refuel. He was right about the throttle stagger; they were two inches apart just getting them up to 6000 rpm to move. There was a bit of difficulty on the hardstanding as the support Britannia was not parked in the ideal place but there was somebody on its wing showing us the vertical separation as ours passed over it. We took the slot nearest the runway and shut it down.
We got out for a breather whilst the refuelling was being done and after a noisy ten minutes all the aircraft had repositioned. Whilst the tanker train was moving down the line we co-pilots all gathered round and worked out the take-off performance. There were no lines or distance-to-go boards on the runway so the IndAF had parked a truck 1,500ft from the rolling point. The taxiway from were we were to the threshold was closed for repair so we would have to backtrack the runway to the last turn-off and loop around the serviceable taxiway; there being just enough room for the four of us. There was 10,000ft available and we were going to use 9,000ft of it to get airborne. The undercarriages were going to come up in a hurry because just off the end of the runway was a squatter’s city. We all confirmed each other’s figures and retired to our respective aircraft.
At the bewitching hour we got the clearance to start together and we all fired up. Everybody checked in and confirmed that they were ready so I called for taxi clearance for all four. “Clear enter and backtrack,” was the reply. A thumbs up from our marshaller and we proceeded off the hardstanding towards the runway. As we reached the turn off for the runway I looked up at the runway approach and shouted,
“STOP!”
There was a Boeing 707 with everything hanging out at about one mile from touchdown. John didn’t ask; he just slammed on the brakes. Behind us the same thing was distracting the two pilots and when they looked forward they were just about to run into the back of us but they stopped with about two feet to spare.
“Hold you position,” from the tower.
That was a bit late, I thought. The 707 touched down and rolled to the end of the runway and as soon as he passed us we were cleared to continue. As we turned back up the runway we speeded up a bit to make up time. The throttle stagger was lousy, the levers were all over the place. We went around the loop and held at the holding point and we could see that all the other aircraft were tucked in out of the way. We were cleared to line up and take off and after a good look up the approach to make sure there were no other surprises we lined up. “
To be continued.
“Briefing in my room; six o’clock.”
We did not have a lot of time to think about it. Six o’clock came and we all crowded into Les’s room and waited for the news. Les didn’t beat around the bush.
“Gentlemen, The Javelins have been posted to Singapore.”
The rumble of surprise around the room from people who had been used to the Air Force springing surprises for generations was apparent.
“The confrontation between Malaysia and Indonesia has been trickling on but the Indonesians are now starting to paratroop into Malaysia at night and there is a requirement for more night interceptors. The most obvious are Javelins, and the ones here are the first choice because they are just around the corner. As they are now finished in India we are going to tank them to Singapore. We will launch on Tuesday, it is going to be a very busy day so I expect everybody to be fully up to it. The Javelins now belong to the Far East Air Force and they have told them to be on station and operational between Sumatra and Malaysia by six a.m., tomorrow, Singapore time, because that’s the time when they have dropped them before. A plot has been worked out,” Les continued. “Four aircraft will pick up four Javelins just off the East Coast and tank them all the way. They have four pilots who are OK for night refuelling so they will be flying them. They will be armed with missiles so without underwings they will have to be refuelled twice and then again abeam Butterworth so that they can stay on station for an hours and then land at Tengah.”
He added as an aside. “They had better get the refuels right otherwise they will end up in the oggin. We will take the other four tomorrow.”
There was a Tanker Cell at Marham who’s job it was to work out how to do projects like this and each crew were handed a folder with all the planning details that had been Telexed to the High commission.
“Another thing; don’t pass it around that we are taking them to Singapore. As far as anybody here is concerned you are going back to the UK.”
After dinner we gathered in John’s room and went through the planning for tomorrow. The Javelins were positioning on an Indian AF base near Hydrabad. The refuelling was simple; as we approached the coast the Javelins would be scrambled and vectored on to us by the Indian radar so theoretically we would all meet up together. The Javelins would tag on to us four until just before their Point of No Return and then would be topped up. This would give them nearly enough fuel to get to Butterworth but also a new PNR. Each Javelin also would stick with one tanker to avoid any shuttling time between refuels. The second refuel would be at the new PNR just before the north of Sumatra which would give them enough to reach Tengah. The track was some 200 miles north of Sumatra because Sukarno had recently acquired some Mig 15s and they might come up for a look-see. We would shepherd them until the Malacca Strait and then they were on their own.
Monday morning we lazed by the pool as out compatriots packed up and left to fly the first wave. The only thing of interest was that Juhu airfield was not far away. The very first de Havilland Comet flight into India had landed there by mistake instead of the new Bombay airport. It stopped alright but they had to remove all the seats and some of the remaining fuel so that it could get airborne for the short hop to where it was supposed to be. The approach was just south of the hotel and apart from the normal Dc 3s I saw my one and only Liberator, Indian Navy, on finals.
The next morning the buses pitched up and we all climbed in. The previous day had gone to plan but it was a bit of a waste of time because there had not been any trade for the Javelins. As soon as we got out of the nice part of Bombay we closed all the windows to repel the tapping hands. The poverty hadn’t changed in the last few days but I was not paying any attention to it any more. When we arrived at the airport we found we had to go through customs again because if you bought anything in India you had to pay export duty in foreign currency on it to take it out! One very choked off officer had to pay £16 on a sari, which was more than he had paid for it! I was clean, as were the rest of my crew so we were transported over to our aircraft.
The had found a leak on No3s throttle unit and they had changed it. Unfortunatly there was no way they could do the throttle-slam or matching checks so there would probably a bit of throttle stagger. Bad throttle stagger is a nuisance, the throttles are all over the place for the same power from each engine and it is awkward to synchronise them. At least we weren’t refuelling, that is when it is at its worst. We walked around the aircraft and climbed up to the cockpit. The water-meth truck had just left the last aircraft; we could afford to load that on here and the trusty Roller was steaming towards us to get us going. We only started Nos. 2 and 3, as we were initially only taxiing to refuel. He was right about the throttle stagger; they were two inches apart just getting them up to 6000 rpm to move. There was a bit of difficulty on the hardstanding as the support Britannia was not parked in the ideal place but there was somebody on its wing showing us the vertical separation as ours passed over it. We took the slot nearest the runway and shut it down.
We got out for a breather whilst the refuelling was being done and after a noisy ten minutes all the aircraft had repositioned. Whilst the tanker train was moving down the line we co-pilots all gathered round and worked out the take-off performance. There were no lines or distance-to-go boards on the runway so the IndAF had parked a truck 1,500ft from the rolling point. The taxiway from were we were to the threshold was closed for repair so we would have to backtrack the runway to the last turn-off and loop around the serviceable taxiway; there being just enough room for the four of us. There was 10,000ft available and we were going to use 9,000ft of it to get airborne. The undercarriages were going to come up in a hurry because just off the end of the runway was a squatter’s city. We all confirmed each other’s figures and retired to our respective aircraft.
At the bewitching hour we got the clearance to start together and we all fired up. Everybody checked in and confirmed that they were ready so I called for taxi clearance for all four. “Clear enter and backtrack,” was the reply. A thumbs up from our marshaller and we proceeded off the hardstanding towards the runway. As we reached the turn off for the runway I looked up at the runway approach and shouted,
“STOP!”
There was a Boeing 707 with everything hanging out at about one mile from touchdown. John didn’t ask; he just slammed on the brakes. Behind us the same thing was distracting the two pilots and when they looked forward they were just about to run into the back of us but they stopped with about two feet to spare.
“Hold you position,” from the tower.
That was a bit late, I thought. The 707 touched down and rolled to the end of the runway and as soon as he passed us we were cleared to continue. As we turned back up the runway we speeded up a bit to make up time. The throttle stagger was lousy, the levers were all over the place. We went around the loop and held at the holding point and we could see that all the other aircraft were tucked in out of the way. We were cleared to line up and take off and after a good look up the approach to make sure there were no other surprises we lined up. “
To be continued.
Guest
Posts: n/a
Off to war ?
Fareastdriver,
What a feast ! Where to start ?
So I had got the right war, after all (at last !)
What exactly were the Javelins supposed to do there ?
Things seem to be hotting-up nicely. Did anything happen and what would the ROE have been if it had ?
Happened many a time, by all accounts,
Same for everybody - after the first great culture-shock, you very quickly took India in your stride.
Seems a poor way to encourage exports - the general idea is to levy import duty on stuff coming in ! (and I was fleeced coming back from RAF(G) for a sewing machine and Mrs D's gold watch).
! Just as well you did ! (Shades of Tenerife 1977 - the worst disaster in aviation history).
Bloody criminal, I call that ! What was Local Controller thinking about ? That 707 must have been on approach for minutes - and NOW he tells you !) Had I been the Watch Boss, he would have been out of his seat and chucked down the Tower steps for good measure.
Can't blame you. Glad there was no ATC in India in my time - you looked after yourself.
Keep it rolling, this is fine.
Danny.
What a feast ! Where to start ?
...the Indonesians are now starting to paratroop into Malaysia at night...
...As they are now finished in India...
...and operational between Sumatra and Malaysia by six a.m., tomorrow...
...They will be armed with missiles...
... Sukarno had recently acquired some Mig 15s and they might come up for a look-see...
...They will be armed with missiles...
... Sukarno had recently acquired some Mig 15s and they might come up for a look-see...
...The very first de Havilland Comet flight into India had landed there by mistake instead of the new Bombay airport...
...The poverty hadn’t changed in the last few days but I was not paying any attention to it any more...
...if you bought anything in India you had to pay export duty in foreign currency on it to take it out!..
...As we reached the turn off for the runway I looked up at the runway approach and shouted, “STOP!”...
! Just as well you did ! (Shades of Tenerife 1977 - the worst disaster in aviation history).
...There was a Boeing 707 with everything hanging out at about one mile from touchdown...
...“Hold you position,” from the tower. That was a bit late, I thought...
...“Hold you position,” from the tower. That was a bit late, I thought...
... and after a good look up the approach to make sure there were no other surprises...
Keep it rolling, this is fine.
Danny.
Last edited by Danny42C; 11th Apr 2016 at 12:41. Reason: Corrn.
Help with an aircraft ident
http://i1172.photobucket.com/albums/...ps7atkemm3.png[IMG]
http://i1172.photobucket.com/albums/r562/xercules1/Ac%20stopped_zpszwtfgjfb.png[/IMG]
The 2 pictures here are part of my father-in-law's history in the Fleet Air Arm. I think they may have been wartime pictures and could even be on an Arctic Convoy. He was an aircraft artificer (electrical I think) initially, joining the service in 1937 or 8 and then latterly was commissioned but that was post war. He served on various carriers in the Atlantic, Mediterranean and Far East.
The question is what is this aircraft shown. Any help please.
PS I have obviously screwed up with the pictures although the URLs will show them. I will try again
http://i1172.photobucket.com/albums/r562/xercules1/Ac%20stopped_zpszwtfgjfb.png[/IMG]
The 2 pictures here are part of my father-in-law's history in the Fleet Air Arm. I think they may have been wartime pictures and could even be on an Arctic Convoy. He was an aircraft artificer (electrical I think) initially, joining the service in 1937 or 8 and then latterly was commissioned but that was post war. He served on various carriers in the Atlantic, Mediterranean and Far East.
The question is what is this aircraft shown. Any help please.
PS I have obviously screwed up with the pictures although the URLs will show them. I will try again
Last edited by Xercules; 11th Apr 2016 at 15:22.