Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II
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Well played Xercules 
Could be a Grumman Wildcat given the undercarriage config ?
Image Credit : Unknown
Could be a Grumman Wildcat given the undercarriage config ?
Image Credit : Unknown
Last edited by CoffmanStarter; 11th Apr 2016 at 15:51.
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Grumman F6F Hellcat, folks. Surely?
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grumman_F6F_Hellcat
Coff ... your u/c ID capability is down ... please reboot eyeballs.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grumman_F6F_Hellcat
Coff ... your u/c ID capability is down ... please reboot eyeballs.
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Wildcat, with all the gubbins to make it retract into the lower fuselage? Oh, perhaps you're right! Bugger! It looked too 'boxy' for a Wildcat and that 2nd picture hid all the 'bit and pieces' until I zoomed.!
May I claim the Calvados Exemption?
As to which Sqn ... well, that could take some Googling!
May I claim the Calvados Exemption?
As to which Sqn ... well, that could take some Googling!
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Grumman Avengers required 140 octane fuel!
Not a lot of us RAF types know that, but we couldn't supply 140 at Orange. When we had a FAA Sqdn drop in, it caused problems.
Not a lot of us RAF types know that, but we couldn't supply 140 at Orange. When we had a FAA Sqdn drop in, it caused problems.
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Any time you're in Jersey, Coff 
I advanced the throttles and balanced them at 8,000 rpm. There were about two inches between Nos. 1 and 3 levers.
“Full power!” I declared and John called that he was rolling. Five seconds later I switched on the water meth. and with gratitude saw the engines run up to 8,300 rpm. We started to career down the runway and then the cockpit started to lurch up and down with the undulations of the runway. It was uncomfortable but not alarming and everything was staying in its rightful place. As we passed our truck I called “up two” and then we hit a massive bump that nearly had the nosewheel off the ground. I was being thrown back and forth as it got worst and the throttles were backing off in sympathy. I couldn’t hold them all forward with one hand, it wasn’t big enough so I had to unlock my parachute box on my seat so that I could lean forward and use both hands. I was now too low to see outside and as my shoulders had nothing to brace themselves against I was having to shove a leg against the cockpit wall and my backside into my seat. As we reached the safety speed I called “Safety”
That’s when the water meth failed and we lost 4,000lbs of thrust.
For us it wasn’t a problem. This had practised in the simulator many times but you could feel the panic in the back. As we were past safety speed we could continue losing 11,000 lbs of thrust so 4,000 wasn’t a problem. I concentrated on the throttles and ASI and at 120 I called “Rotate”.and John almost snatched the control column back. The nosewheel came off and two massive lurches later the aircraft was airborne. I returned to my normal position and looked forward. Christ! We weren’t going over the shantytown; we were going through it. A flash of a white glove as John hit the undercarriage switch. I looked at the ASI, 142 knots and it wasn’t moving. We were now just clearing the shacks and I noticed that nobody looked up; this must happen all the time. The gear was retracting and the ASI responded by going up to150.
The panic was now over as we settled into the climb and when the flap was retracted I pulled the engines back to 7,800 rpm. There were similar experiences but no disasters from the other three and soon we were flying across the seemingly arid expanses of Central India probably because it was October and all the rice had turned brown. The scenery didn’t seem to change a lot as we approached the coast. There was non-stop evidence of human habitation but no greenery and no water. The radios were starting to chatter now. We were in contact with the East coast radar and once we had established that everything was going to plan we asked the Indian controllers to launch the Javelins.
As we crossed the coast we heard the plaintive cry of their leader come up on the tanker frequency. Fifteen minutes later we could see the distant contrails of the Javelins as they headed for a point in front of us. I caught the glint of a canopy in the far distance and at the same time the Javelins called that they were visual with us. There was a flurry of deltas as the Javelins joined up and all of a sudden it was like Piccadilly Circus.
We had split up into two wide pairs and the Javelins split up so that there was one of them behind each one of us. It was some time before their P.N.R. so there wasn’t much to do except look at the Bay of Bengal. It was deserted from horizon to horizon so if you were floating about in a dinghy without a radio you could be there for months. Fifteen minutes before their PNR we all streamed our hoses and they took 6.500 lbs. each. It wasn’t worth retracting our hoses for the twenty minutes before the next refuel so they stayed in line astern until we topped them up again. The second refuelling was completed and shortly after with thanks and promises to buy us lots of beer they accelerated onwards and upwards to Tengah.
About thirty mile to run we started out descent to Butterworth. The Royal Australian Air Force was the main user so the antipodeans’ voice of the controller welcomed us onto the frequency. The clear waters of Penang Strait, the rush of palm trees underneath us, the four Sabres on readiness and we touched down. Operation Shiksha was over.
There was lots of beating of gums about the water meth failure when we shut down. It was established that the new throttle unit on No3 had a leak on the water meth. circuit and had thrown Godknowshowmuch overboard which is why we ran out so quickly.
RAAF Butterworth was host to a Sabre squadron equipped with the Australian built Canadair version. The other major element was an Australian military hospital which looked after their personnel in that part of the world. Rumour was that if somebody caught a contagious disease that would prevent them from returning to Australia they would just let them die there. In the far corner of the pan was a small RAF Search and Rescue unit still using wooden-bladed Sycamores, apparently they had some real horror stories with blades getting unstuck. The airfield had been there for some time but had only been built up a few years before so all the buildings were modern, as opposed to the stations in Singapore.
With the time difference it was getting late afternoon so I had a shower and changed into civvies. RAAF mess rules were very strict. Long socks had to be worn with shorts during the day and after seven o’clock long sleeves and slacks were mandatory; no thongs and singlets here. Tiger beer was the diet and I soon developed a taste for it. The rest of my crew came in and by the time dinner was ready the place was full of Valiant aircrew so we outnumbered the resident Australians three to one. Dinner was incredible, my steak was two inches thick, and so suitably refuelled we retired back to the bar.
I was starting to tick when one of the other co-pilots tapped me on the shoulder. “We’re going to Georgetown. Want to come?”
I looked searchingly at John, after all I was now on his crew and we should stay together.
He flicked his head. “Off you go, have a good time.”
Also involved was another co-pilot and we three, the only bachelors on the detachment went to the main gate and got into a taxi. They had been to Butterworth twice before so he knew the score. As we drove away flashing lights and a hushed drone announced the arrival of our ground party’s Britannia. I didn’t know where Georgetown was; I was more interested in the runway when we arrived so I was surprised when the taxi stopped at a small group of buildings.
“Is this it?” I asked as they paid off the taxi.
“No, it’s over there,” he pointed at the lights of a town the other side of the water. “It’s in Penang. We get the ferry here.”
It was one Malay dollar to get on board. I suddenly realised that I didn’t have any Malayan money with me but they said I could get some over the other side. The ferry was a twin deck car ferry with the seating upstairs. As the ramp was pulled up there was a thrashing noise as the paddle wheels started up and we were on our way. It was all open sided so the cool breeze blowing through during the twenty minutes or so it took to cross. The ferry rammed into the ramp and the half dozen passengers got off. A line of trishaws awaited us. The rear half was that of a bicycle and the front consisted of a small sofa with a canopy and wheels either side. Their English was presentable and Brian negotiated three at a dollar each.
We got in to our respective trishaws and my host waved a five-dollar note in the air and shouted. “This is for the winner, and we were off.
Luckily Brian had told them were to go because I hadn’t a clue. My pedaller was either a demented idiot or very impoverished because he was definitely after the five dollars. We went hurling round corners on the wrong side, cutting up cars, bicycles and other trishaws. He was grunting and groaning as he threw in even more effort down the straights. Being in the front if he hit anything I was going to be the first to arrive at the accident. At last we turned into a gravelled drive and I read a sign saying ‘Runnymede Hotel’ as it flashed by my ear. We slithered to a halt outside a colonnaded entrance and nanoseconds later my two companions arrived. We coughed up the fares, but not having a podium handy the presentation to my winning driver had to be fairly informal and we went inside.
The Runnymede was a leave centre run for the British officers and their families in Malaya and Singapore. At one time the Japanese used it for the same purpose. It was all built in pre-war style with lots of teak finishing. In the lobby I changed a fiver for thirty five Malay dollars so I was now financially independent. The bar was deserted as they were all putting their kids to bed, so we got ourselves a beer each and they discussed where a good place to go to. I didn’t have a choice not knowing the place but they had it already sorted.
“I know the place; it’s just around the corner. Going tonight will be a good idea because tomorrow it will be full of airmen,” referring to our support Britannia arriving.
He looked at his watch, it was half past eight. “It doesn’t get going until nine so we can wait till then.
“The hour has come.” They announced. “Drink up and let’s go.”
We sank our beers and headed off.
“This is the road,”
I looked up at the street sign, Love Lane. We turned down the lane with them searching for the right house.
“This is it.”
It was a three-storey house built in European style with a stone porch on the front. All the windows were closed and there were no lights to be seen. I was confused, the place looked empty.
“The door’s round the side; follow me.”
We trooped after him and around the rear corner was a wooden door. We knocked and a peephole opened to ascertain who was there. A bolt was drawn back and a very big Malay opened it for us. Once we were in he had a quick scan outside and locked it again. We went though another door and into the bar that had no other customers but us and was decorated with a dozen Chinese and Malay girls. It was a brothel!
I was not personally into this scene. However I was with these two so the least I could do was to stay with them, running away would have exposed me as a wimp. We sat down at a table and they organised the round. The girls were obviously discussing whose turn it was to lead the attack so as soon as the beers were placed on the table three of them came over. Mine was a plumpish Malay girl of about twenty who was already showing signs of sagging and judging by her backside as she sat on my lap she could really have gone on a diet programme. I wasn’t choosy, so I put up with it but another of us pushed his away and flicked his fingers at another girl who was more to his taste. A pout and a smile and they changed over. I was half way through my first sip and she already had her hand between my thighs. She had a foreplay technique that resembled a bulldozer, in fact it hurt!
I pushed it away. “I’m only here for the beer,” I said, “so you’re wasting your time.”
She was undeterred, “Buy me a drink.”
She’s got to earn a living somehow, I thought, so I signalled the barmen to come over. He knew what she wanted so he poured her a Crème de Menthe and brought it over. I tried to make some conversation but it was a bit of a failure. She didn’t have a lot of , one hundred dollars was the rate for the night and only twenty for a short time. That seemed to be her only subject. Anyway it was quite pleasant to have a girl, even though she smelt a bit, crawling all over you whilst you were having a few beers.
After an hour or so the rate had dropped to fifty for the night but still stood at twenty for a short time. Presumably as the night wore on the discount improved. I was getting bored with her and I suggested that we should go. The other agreed and we paid the bill. It was $85, of which most was for the Crème de Menthe. I fronted up thirty, which effectively cleaned me out and as we stood up to leave I turned and picked up the glass that mine had not finished and tasted it, it was green water. We had been taken for a ride. As we went out we all put it down to experience and went back to the Runnymede to finish off and change enough money to get back to the ferry and taxi.
After breakfast; the first priority was money and it had been arranged that at nine-thirty we would all go along to the RAF admin section and pick up our LOA for three days. On that basis alone we knew we were going to be here for that long. Most of the squadron were not happy about it because it was costing them money. Married personnel received ration allowance for living in quarters or private accommodation, 7/6 a day. Once on a detachment this ceased and 7/6 was a fair whack. As a single flying officer living in the mess I was only on £45 a month which was less than sergeant aircrew were getting. I was quite happy with the LOA, as I was better off on a detachment. At 0930 hrs we were all in admin and picked up our LOA. Mine came to M$45 so I resolved never to go back to Love Lane again otherwise I would be totally broke
Three days LOA I got and then it was decided that the first crew who had flown in the Britannia to Bahrain would take our aircraft back, so I flew backwards all the way to the UK.
Finis
“Full power!” I declared and John called that he was rolling. Five seconds later I switched on the water meth. and with gratitude saw the engines run up to 8,300 rpm. We started to career down the runway and then the cockpit started to lurch up and down with the undulations of the runway. It was uncomfortable but not alarming and everything was staying in its rightful place. As we passed our truck I called “up two” and then we hit a massive bump that nearly had the nosewheel off the ground. I was being thrown back and forth as it got worst and the throttles were backing off in sympathy. I couldn’t hold them all forward with one hand, it wasn’t big enough so I had to unlock my parachute box on my seat so that I could lean forward and use both hands. I was now too low to see outside and as my shoulders had nothing to brace themselves against I was having to shove a leg against the cockpit wall and my backside into my seat. As we reached the safety speed I called “Safety”
That’s when the water meth failed and we lost 4,000lbs of thrust.
For us it wasn’t a problem. This had practised in the simulator many times but you could feel the panic in the back. As we were past safety speed we could continue losing 11,000 lbs of thrust so 4,000 wasn’t a problem. I concentrated on the throttles and ASI and at 120 I called “Rotate”.and John almost snatched the control column back. The nosewheel came off and two massive lurches later the aircraft was airborne. I returned to my normal position and looked forward. Christ! We weren’t going over the shantytown; we were going through it. A flash of a white glove as John hit the undercarriage switch. I looked at the ASI, 142 knots and it wasn’t moving. We were now just clearing the shacks and I noticed that nobody looked up; this must happen all the time. The gear was retracting and the ASI responded by going up to150.
The panic was now over as we settled into the climb and when the flap was retracted I pulled the engines back to 7,800 rpm. There were similar experiences but no disasters from the other three and soon we were flying across the seemingly arid expanses of Central India probably because it was October and all the rice had turned brown. The scenery didn’t seem to change a lot as we approached the coast. There was non-stop evidence of human habitation but no greenery and no water. The radios were starting to chatter now. We were in contact with the East coast radar and once we had established that everything was going to plan we asked the Indian controllers to launch the Javelins.
As we crossed the coast we heard the plaintive cry of their leader come up on the tanker frequency. Fifteen minutes later we could see the distant contrails of the Javelins as they headed for a point in front of us. I caught the glint of a canopy in the far distance and at the same time the Javelins called that they were visual with us. There was a flurry of deltas as the Javelins joined up and all of a sudden it was like Piccadilly Circus.
We had split up into two wide pairs and the Javelins split up so that there was one of them behind each one of us. It was some time before their P.N.R. so there wasn’t much to do except look at the Bay of Bengal. It was deserted from horizon to horizon so if you were floating about in a dinghy without a radio you could be there for months. Fifteen minutes before their PNR we all streamed our hoses and they took 6.500 lbs. each. It wasn’t worth retracting our hoses for the twenty minutes before the next refuel so they stayed in line astern until we topped them up again. The second refuelling was completed and shortly after with thanks and promises to buy us lots of beer they accelerated onwards and upwards to Tengah.
About thirty mile to run we started out descent to Butterworth. The Royal Australian Air Force was the main user so the antipodeans’ voice of the controller welcomed us onto the frequency. The clear waters of Penang Strait, the rush of palm trees underneath us, the four Sabres on readiness and we touched down. Operation Shiksha was over.
There was lots of beating of gums about the water meth failure when we shut down. It was established that the new throttle unit on No3 had a leak on the water meth. circuit and had thrown Godknowshowmuch overboard which is why we ran out so quickly.
RAAF Butterworth was host to a Sabre squadron equipped with the Australian built Canadair version. The other major element was an Australian military hospital which looked after their personnel in that part of the world. Rumour was that if somebody caught a contagious disease that would prevent them from returning to Australia they would just let them die there. In the far corner of the pan was a small RAF Search and Rescue unit still using wooden-bladed Sycamores, apparently they had some real horror stories with blades getting unstuck. The airfield had been there for some time but had only been built up a few years before so all the buildings were modern, as opposed to the stations in Singapore.
With the time difference it was getting late afternoon so I had a shower and changed into civvies. RAAF mess rules were very strict. Long socks had to be worn with shorts during the day and after seven o’clock long sleeves and slacks were mandatory; no thongs and singlets here. Tiger beer was the diet and I soon developed a taste for it. The rest of my crew came in and by the time dinner was ready the place was full of Valiant aircrew so we outnumbered the resident Australians three to one. Dinner was incredible, my steak was two inches thick, and so suitably refuelled we retired back to the bar.
I was starting to tick when one of the other co-pilots tapped me on the shoulder. “We’re going to Georgetown. Want to come?”
I looked searchingly at John, after all I was now on his crew and we should stay together.
He flicked his head. “Off you go, have a good time.”
Also involved was another co-pilot and we three, the only bachelors on the detachment went to the main gate and got into a taxi. They had been to Butterworth twice before so he knew the score. As we drove away flashing lights and a hushed drone announced the arrival of our ground party’s Britannia. I didn’t know where Georgetown was; I was more interested in the runway when we arrived so I was surprised when the taxi stopped at a small group of buildings.
“Is this it?” I asked as they paid off the taxi.
“No, it’s over there,” he pointed at the lights of a town the other side of the water. “It’s in Penang. We get the ferry here.”
It was one Malay dollar to get on board. I suddenly realised that I didn’t have any Malayan money with me but they said I could get some over the other side. The ferry was a twin deck car ferry with the seating upstairs. As the ramp was pulled up there was a thrashing noise as the paddle wheels started up and we were on our way. It was all open sided so the cool breeze blowing through during the twenty minutes or so it took to cross. The ferry rammed into the ramp and the half dozen passengers got off. A line of trishaws awaited us. The rear half was that of a bicycle and the front consisted of a small sofa with a canopy and wheels either side. Their English was presentable and Brian negotiated three at a dollar each.
We got in to our respective trishaws and my host waved a five-dollar note in the air and shouted. “This is for the winner, and we were off.
Luckily Brian had told them were to go because I hadn’t a clue. My pedaller was either a demented idiot or very impoverished because he was definitely after the five dollars. We went hurling round corners on the wrong side, cutting up cars, bicycles and other trishaws. He was grunting and groaning as he threw in even more effort down the straights. Being in the front if he hit anything I was going to be the first to arrive at the accident. At last we turned into a gravelled drive and I read a sign saying ‘Runnymede Hotel’ as it flashed by my ear. We slithered to a halt outside a colonnaded entrance and nanoseconds later my two companions arrived. We coughed up the fares, but not having a podium handy the presentation to my winning driver had to be fairly informal and we went inside.
The Runnymede was a leave centre run for the British officers and their families in Malaya and Singapore. At one time the Japanese used it for the same purpose. It was all built in pre-war style with lots of teak finishing. In the lobby I changed a fiver for thirty five Malay dollars so I was now financially independent. The bar was deserted as they were all putting their kids to bed, so we got ourselves a beer each and they discussed where a good place to go to. I didn’t have a choice not knowing the place but they had it already sorted.
“I know the place; it’s just around the corner. Going tonight will be a good idea because tomorrow it will be full of airmen,” referring to our support Britannia arriving.
He looked at his watch, it was half past eight. “It doesn’t get going until nine so we can wait till then.
“The hour has come.” They announced. “Drink up and let’s go.”
We sank our beers and headed off.
“This is the road,”
I looked up at the street sign, Love Lane. We turned down the lane with them searching for the right house.
“This is it.”
It was a three-storey house built in European style with a stone porch on the front. All the windows were closed and there were no lights to be seen. I was confused, the place looked empty.
“The door’s round the side; follow me.”
We trooped after him and around the rear corner was a wooden door. We knocked and a peephole opened to ascertain who was there. A bolt was drawn back and a very big Malay opened it for us. Once we were in he had a quick scan outside and locked it again. We went though another door and into the bar that had no other customers but us and was decorated with a dozen Chinese and Malay girls. It was a brothel!
I was not personally into this scene. However I was with these two so the least I could do was to stay with them, running away would have exposed me as a wimp. We sat down at a table and they organised the round. The girls were obviously discussing whose turn it was to lead the attack so as soon as the beers were placed on the table three of them came over. Mine was a plumpish Malay girl of about twenty who was already showing signs of sagging and judging by her backside as she sat on my lap she could really have gone on a diet programme. I wasn’t choosy, so I put up with it but another of us pushed his away and flicked his fingers at another girl who was more to his taste. A pout and a smile and they changed over. I was half way through my first sip and she already had her hand between my thighs. She had a foreplay technique that resembled a bulldozer, in fact it hurt!
I pushed it away. “I’m only here for the beer,” I said, “so you’re wasting your time.”
She was undeterred, “Buy me a drink.”
She’s got to earn a living somehow, I thought, so I signalled the barmen to come over. He knew what she wanted so he poured her a Crème de Menthe and brought it over. I tried to make some conversation but it was a bit of a failure. She didn’t have a lot of , one hundred dollars was the rate for the night and only twenty for a short time. That seemed to be her only subject. Anyway it was quite pleasant to have a girl, even though she smelt a bit, crawling all over you whilst you were having a few beers.
After an hour or so the rate had dropped to fifty for the night but still stood at twenty for a short time. Presumably as the night wore on the discount improved. I was getting bored with her and I suggested that we should go. The other agreed and we paid the bill. It was $85, of which most was for the Crème de Menthe. I fronted up thirty, which effectively cleaned me out and as we stood up to leave I turned and picked up the glass that mine had not finished and tasted it, it was green water. We had been taken for a ride. As we went out we all put it down to experience and went back to the Runnymede to finish off and change enough money to get back to the ferry and taxi.
After breakfast; the first priority was money and it had been arranged that at nine-thirty we would all go along to the RAF admin section and pick up our LOA for three days. On that basis alone we knew we were going to be here for that long. Most of the squadron were not happy about it because it was costing them money. Married personnel received ration allowance for living in quarters or private accommodation, 7/6 a day. Once on a detachment this ceased and 7/6 was a fair whack. As a single flying officer living in the mess I was only on £45 a month which was less than sergeant aircrew were getting. I was quite happy with the LOA, as I was better off on a detachment. At 0930 hrs we were all in admin and picked up our LOA. Mine came to M$45 so I resolved never to go back to Love Lane again otherwise I would be totally broke
Three days LOA I got and then it was decided that the first crew who had flown in the Britannia to Bahrain would take our aircraft back, so I flew backwards all the way to the UK.
Finis
Last edited by Fareastdriver; 12th Apr 2016 at 14:15.
Ac Identification above
Thank you to those who have replied giving a choice between Grumman Avenger, Hellcat or Wildcat. Further information and photos have now appeared (you must understand that I am working at arms length on this).
My Father-in- Law was drafted to HMS Nairana in July 1944 until May 45. Nairana was launched in May 43 and was converted from a commercial ship into an escort carrier to be commissioned in Dec 43. She joined Russian convoy JW61 sailing on 20 Oct 44. At that time Nairana had 835 NAS aboard and was equipped with 14 Swordfish IIIs and 6 Wildcat VIs. This would seem to resolve the discussion and the crashing ac is a Wildcat. The censor on the back dates the 2 photos as 14 March 1945.
Other photos from the same draft are:
also dated 14 Mar 45
Comment on the back "HMS Nairana, Russian convoy, Most rough" Censor date 22 Mar 45
"Crashed on deck, Nairana 1945"
"and shipping off the Norwegian coast. Ranging the first strike, January 1945" but Censor dates it Feb 45.
As far as I can find out at present Nairana did 3 Russian convoys over this period. If anybody knows anything more I would be glad to hear.
My Father-in- Law was drafted to HMS Nairana in July 1944 until May 45. Nairana was launched in May 43 and was converted from a commercial ship into an escort carrier to be commissioned in Dec 43. She joined Russian convoy JW61 sailing on 20 Oct 44. At that time Nairana had 835 NAS aboard and was equipped with 14 Swordfish IIIs and 6 Wildcat VIs. This would seem to resolve the discussion and the crashing ac is a Wildcat. The censor on the back dates the 2 photos as 14 March 1945.
Other photos from the same draft are:
also dated 14 Mar 45
Comment on the back "HMS Nairana, Russian convoy, Most rough" Censor date 22 Mar 45
"Crashed on deck, Nairana 1945"
"and shipping off the Norwegian coast. Ranging the first strike, January 1945" but Censor dates it Feb 45.
As far as I can find out at present Nairana did 3 Russian convoys over this period. If anybody knows anything more I would be glad to hear.
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That is some heaving flight deck. I assume nobody was trying to fly in that? Although, I suspect they still did, because "There's a War on".
Awesome stuff.
Awesome stuff.
They may not have been flying despite there "being a war on".
"The return convoy RA 64 left Kola Inlet on the morning of 17 February. One of the escorts and a merchant ship were torpedoed almost immediately. Another merchant ship was torpedoed that afternoon. Terrible weather conditions kept all aircraft grounded until 20 February. When it began to clear, the Luftwaffe also appeared and the Wildcats were scrambled to intercept them."
But, then again, it may have been those conditions which led to some of these pictures.
"The return convoy RA 64 left Kola Inlet on the morning of 17 February. One of the escorts and a merchant ship were torpedoed almost immediately. Another merchant ship was torpedoed that afternoon. Terrible weather conditions kept all aircraft grounded until 20 February. When it began to clear, the Luftwaffe also appeared and the Wildcats were scrambled to intercept them."
But, then again, it may have been those conditions which led to some of these pictures.
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Great pics Xercules 
Without giving too much away ... I'm sure our good friend RNHF_PILOT will find your pics most interesting
835 NAS Wiki History
FAA Archive 835 NAS
Best ...
Coff.
Without giving too much away ... I'm sure our good friend RNHF_PILOT will find your pics most interesting
835 NAS Wiki History
FAA Archive 835 NAS
Best ...
Coff.
Last edited by CoffmanStarter; 12th Apr 2016 at 16:18.
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re: Fareastdrive & his Brothel visit.
Love lane, Georgetown. Funnily enough I rented a house in Love lane
for about 6 weeks about 5 years ago. Must be the same street.
Love lane, Georgetown. Funnily enough I rented a house in Love lane
for about 6 weeks about 5 years ago. Must be the same street.
Last edited by esa-aardvark; 13th Apr 2016 at 03:35. Reason: add context
I am sure that many others read this thread avidly without anything to add, as I do. So I just wanted to say "Thankyou" for the thread, because otherwise us avid readers are invisible!
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Fareastdriver (your #8456),
Knowing next to nothing about multi-engined aviation, does "safety speed" have anything in common with V1 ? I can imagine a situation in a heavily loaded aircraft where losing 4,000 lbs of thrust on take-off would be a serious matter.
I'm not surprised !
Doesn't sound much of a good time to me. The mixture of "single men in barricks" (Kipling) and the "Sex Workers" (as we now must learn to call them) has always caused trouble in the armed forces. In my day in India, the M.O.s regularly lectured us. Most took the pragmatic view that their audience would divide into three groups: the first were the incorrigibles, who were deaf to advice and warning, and would go after "tail" whenever and wherever it was on offer. Mind you, that would only be in the towns where there were settled camps. In the rural villages near the jungle "kutcha" strips, never in their worst nightmares would even they be tempted !
At the other extreme were those who, from upbringing, religious conviction or sheer aversion to the whole sordid business, would remain continent whatever happened. This left the greater bulk of the undecided, and the good doctors concentrated on them. They were armed with sets of truly terrifying photographs of the possible consequences of a "night out" - and remember, that in those pre-penicillin days, cure was by no means quick, easy or comfortable.
To round off an unappetising subject, there was an apocryphal story of a Colonel who, in the absence of his M.O., decided to deliver the oration himself. After a few preliminary harrumphs, he started off: "It has come to my notice that some of you men have been putting your private parts where I would not put the ferrule of my walking stick......."
'Fraid so. Could have been worse.
As a single Flight Lieutenant (with Flying Pay) I was on only £45 a month as late as early 1955, before I married and it went up to about £65. We set up house on that.
I do hope not ! (at least, not for good ! - there must be lots more in the pot, FED).
Danny.
...That’s when the water meth failed and we lost 4,000lbs of thrust...
...but you could feel the panic in the back...
...“Off you go, have a good time.”...
At the other extreme were those who, from upbringing, religious conviction or sheer aversion to the whole sordid business, would remain continent whatever happened. This left the greater bulk of the undecided, and the good doctors concentrated on them. They were armed with sets of truly terrifying photographs of the possible consequences of a "night out" - and remember, that in those pre-penicillin days, cure was by no means quick, easy or comfortable.
To round off an unappetising subject, there was an apocryphal story of a Colonel who, in the absence of his M.O., decided to deliver the oration himself. After a few preliminary harrumphs, he started off: "It has come to my notice that some of you men have been putting your private parts where I would not put the ferrule of my walking stick......."
...We had been taken for a ride...
...As a single flying officer living in the mess I was only on £45 a month...
...Finis...
Danny.