WW2 Alcohol limits
I also remember my brother, a hunter pilot on 4 Sqn (yes the numbers did go that high once) telling me of a Taceval (58 time?) being called whilst the summer ball was in full swing, and the next thing he recalled clearly was approaching FL 20 Heading south. 100% O2 working its wonders again...
happy days.
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Back when I worked, we were a hard drinking lot, our Director
issued a directive, anyone drinking at work should take a taxi home.
After work parties were very common, and the Chiefs had to pay for the Indians.
Helped a lot with morale, but not necessarily with morals.
Director paid, that was after the local police found him over the limit
after a few drinks at work.
issued a directive, anyone drinking at work should take a taxi home.
After work parties were very common, and the Chiefs had to pay for the Indians.
Helped a lot with morale, but not necessarily with morals.
Director paid, that was after the local police found him over the limit
after a few drinks at work.
The RN stopped drinking before flying in the mid '70s I believe. Until then it was perfectly normal, according to ex colleagues, to have a pint or two of lager in the wardroom after lunch and then go off on the afternoon flypro. And not just the helo pukes either, Phantoms and Buccs were still in service then. Apparently the signal 'Effective Immediate' was read out in the wardroom before lunch one day by Cdr(F) completely out of the blue and was not at all kindly recieved.
There are myriad tales since then, some of which must be true, of the OOD entering the bar at close to midnight on a friday or saturday, silencing the revellers and telling all SAR rated crews to report to their squadron for immediate launch.
The technique apparently was to go down the line and ask how many pints each had had and pick a crew from the lowest.
There are myriad tales since then, some of which must be true, of the OOD entering the bar at close to midnight on a friday or saturday, silencing the revellers and telling all SAR rated crews to report to their squadron for immediate launch.
The technique apparently was to go down the line and ask how many pints each had had and pick a crew from the lowest.
I recall a few trips where someone wasn’t feeling the sharpest after a night on the tiles, but we all thought there was an ulterior motive when one Sea King driver mysteriously disappeared from the squadron after his ‘airsickness’ episode leaving Gib. Most of us weren’t feeling much better!
Following a night ditching of a Gannet off Ark there was a mad scramble to the 824 briefing room to put together a couple of crews to go off and retrieve any survivors: for some reason we had been celebrating in the wardroom when the call came. Only two of us had the (sober?) foresight to go via our cabins and don goonsuits so we took the second cab, as the Boss (in mess undress) had already manned the first machine. My offsider was copilot and spent pre launch following the Boss around the cockpit, rearranging the switches into an eye pleasing pattern such as Generators on, AFCS on, etc. They lurched airborne and actually found the Gannet pilot, and were called by Mother to hold off as the Ship’s Flight SAR Wessex was two minutes away with a doc and SAR Diver on board. The radio response of ‘I found him, he’s mine’ didn’t endear the Boss to anyone, least of all the Gannet driver who was water skied at the end of the wire before suffering an experience worse than the night ditching.
It was a year later that a limiting number of drinks per night per officer was introduced into the wardroom, effectively shutting down many a rowdy game of liar dice, cards, etc played to decide who stood the drinks at dinner or during the film.
Then I did a course with Aerospatiale at Marignane in 1976 where the French saw nothing untoward in having a litre carafe of wine at the lunch table.
Different times, but probably heavier drinking than in Dad’s time flying in North Africa in 1943 where they couldn’t get anything alcoholic to drink in most of the desert airstrips.
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I well remember taking a Gazelle to Marignane for a hot dry weather trial in Sep 76 and being somewhat taken aback when reaching the end of the lunchtime buffet line in the Aerospatiale cafeteria to be asked "red or white with your cous cous?"
In the mid seventies I took a Puma down to Practica del Mare, near Rome for a liaison visit. When we launched to come back to the UK as we approached the Riviera we opened the flight rations provided by the Italian Air Force and Included was a bottle of Chianti.
There were three of us: When in Rome..........................
There were three of us: When in Rome..........................
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When the BoB film came out, great stress was laid on the tiredness of the aircrew. The then AoC of 11Gp (a splendid gentleman) had been in the battle. He visited us whilst in Malta and inevitably was asked about the film. Re tiredness, he said yes they were tired but not for the reasons depicted in the film. Basically, they were on standby from dawn till dusk, if scrambled there was an obvious possibility someone may not return. To cope with this, as soon as they were stood down it was off to the pub staying till late, it was their way of coping and meant not a lot of sleep.
Was once on the flight deck of an Italian Fairchild C119(?) transport, there was a small wine rack present.
Years later on Lightnings, was diverted to Jever from Gutersloh in the middle of Taceval due to crosswinds, the landing at Jever was fairly exciting, met by the Station Commander who took us to a Sqn bar as soon as wed turned the aircraft. Just finished the first beer when summoned back to Gutersloh, a quick discussion and we both declared ourselves fit for a simple transit, it worked.
Was once on the flight deck of an Italian Fairchild C119(?) transport, there was a small wine rack present.
Years later on Lightnings, was diverted to Jever from Gutersloh in the middle of Taceval due to crosswinds, the landing at Jever was fairly exciting, met by the Station Commander who took us to a Sqn bar as soon as wed turned the aircraft. Just finished the first beer when summoned back to Gutersloh, a quick discussion and we both declared ourselves fit for a simple transit, it worked.
An F4 pilot was visiting the base where the Mirages lived, and the night in the bar stretched on.
At 0530, said pilot was seen on his hands and knees in the bar, with his singlet pulled through his fly, mopping up spilt beer.
At 0730, he passed over the Officers' Mess in full afterburner. But who was going to complain about the CO?
Plenty more stories about this lovable character.
At 0530, said pilot was seen on his hands and knees in the bar, with his singlet pulled through his fly, mopping up spilt beer.
At 0730, he passed over the Officers' Mess in full afterburner. But who was going to complain about the CO?
Plenty more stories about this lovable character.
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Thread Drift Warning
During the early 70s, the fighting 72nd's SD crew were off somewhere secret and we received a signal requesting a replacement tail rotor. A French Transall(sp?) had been arranged to collect the item. The French aircraft duly arrived and parked at the end of the dispersal. One of us went out to invite the crew into our crewroom for coffee. They declined, waving a half-full bottle of something red out of their DV panel.
Later in life, flying the North Sea out of Aberdeen, we flew a visiting delegation from the French embassy to a French drilling rig some 100 miles offshore. The plan was to wait for the delegation to have a tour of the facility, then have lunch with the party, before flying the passengers back to Aberdeen. The Offshore Installation Manager was surprised that we declined his pre-lunch offer of a whisky.
In the early 80s, visiting the Cranfield Air Show, which was like a mini-Farnborough for GA and helicopters, to experience an afternoon flight in an Agusta 109 with a view to considering it as a single-pilot IFR aircraft, I had lunch with the Company test crews and sales people. The Chief Test Pilot and one of his tps was there, and the CTP drank only water with the meal. I assumed he would command the demo flight. His tp took in a fair amount of chianti. After the meal, the tp, not the CTP, took my arm and said, "Let's go fly."
Before all that, in early 1960s, there is no truth in the rumour that three UAS QFIs were seen at Inniskillen Airfield during an Air Day supping from bottles of dark Irish liquid before flying home.
During the early 70s, the fighting 72nd's SD crew were off somewhere secret and we received a signal requesting a replacement tail rotor. A French Transall(sp?) had been arranged to collect the item. The French aircraft duly arrived and parked at the end of the dispersal. One of us went out to invite the crew into our crewroom for coffee. They declined, waving a half-full bottle of something red out of their DV panel.
Later in life, flying the North Sea out of Aberdeen, we flew a visiting delegation from the French embassy to a French drilling rig some 100 miles offshore. The plan was to wait for the delegation to have a tour of the facility, then have lunch with the party, before flying the passengers back to Aberdeen. The Offshore Installation Manager was surprised that we declined his pre-lunch offer of a whisky.
In the early 80s, visiting the Cranfield Air Show, which was like a mini-Farnborough for GA and helicopters, to experience an afternoon flight in an Agusta 109 with a view to considering it as a single-pilot IFR aircraft, I had lunch with the Company test crews and sales people. The Chief Test Pilot and one of his tps was there, and the CTP drank only water with the meal. I assumed he would command the demo flight. His tp took in a fair amount of chianti. After the meal, the tp, not the CTP, took my arm and said, "Let's go fly."
Before all that, in early 1960s, there is no truth in the rumour that three UAS QFIs were seen at Inniskillen Airfield during an Air Day supping from bottles of dark Irish liquid before flying home.
An F4 pilot was visiting the base where the Mirages lived, and the night in the bar stretched on.
At 0530, said pilot was seen on his hands and knees in the bar, with his singlet pulled through his fly, mopping up spilt beer.
At 0730, he passed over the Officers' Mess in full afterburner. But who was going to complain about the CO?
Plenty more stories about this lovable character.
At 0530, said pilot was seen on his hands and knees in the bar, with his singlet pulled through his fly, mopping up spilt beer.
At 0730, he passed over the Officers' Mess in full afterburner. But who was going to complain about the CO?
Plenty more stories about this lovable character.
I believe I have posted this previously some years ago, but it fits the thread well, so once again:
RUM RUNNER
Back before - way before - the U.S. embargo of Cuba (1944 to be exact), my father, a Commander in the United States Navy and Naval Architect based in Norlolk, Virginia, was instrumental in the legal if somewhat surreptitious importation of Cuban rum. His choice of transport was the venerable DC-3; in Naval nomenclature, an R4D-2. The craft flew VIP's - Admirals and their (lady) companions - regularly between Miami and Havana. These sturdy craft had a fuel capacity of 822 gallons U.S. Dad greased the proper palms of the appropriate authorities and arranged to have the dry starboard wing tank filled with 400 gallons of high-proof rum. After a number of successful and highly profitable forays, my father decided to go along on a flight to enjoy the bountiful beauty of that then-unspoiled Caribbean paradise. And he did...
Two hedonistic days later he boarded the "Pack Rat" to fly back to Miami. He noticed a line boy mounting the starboard wing, laboring under the weight of a shoulder-slung fuel hose. Suppressing a grand mal epileptiform seizure and an inexorable urge to follow through, Dad leapt from his seat and ran out of the plane onto the apron. "STOP!", he screamed at the top of his lungs. Too late! The line boy, missing a number of teeth and with his remaining dentition capped in gold, smiled broadly. He chortled: "Seņor Capitan! Ju weel be glad to know that I have topped off jour right tank! Eet was theerty gallons low!" 151 Ron Rico plus 100 LL do not a fine drink make, orange slices and miniature umbrellas notwithstanding. And thus came to an inglorious end my beloved, clever, and deeply-missed father's career as a rum runner!
- Ed
RUM RUNNER
Back before - way before - the U.S. embargo of Cuba (1944 to be exact), my father, a Commander in the United States Navy and Naval Architect based in Norlolk, Virginia, was instrumental in the legal if somewhat surreptitious importation of Cuban rum. His choice of transport was the venerable DC-3; in Naval nomenclature, an R4D-2. The craft flew VIP's - Admirals and their (lady) companions - regularly between Miami and Havana. These sturdy craft had a fuel capacity of 822 gallons U.S. Dad greased the proper palms of the appropriate authorities and arranged to have the dry starboard wing tank filled with 400 gallons of high-proof rum. After a number of successful and highly profitable forays, my father decided to go along on a flight to enjoy the bountiful beauty of that then-unspoiled Caribbean paradise. And he did...
Two hedonistic days later he boarded the "Pack Rat" to fly back to Miami. He noticed a line boy mounting the starboard wing, laboring under the weight of a shoulder-slung fuel hose. Suppressing a grand mal epileptiform seizure and an inexorable urge to follow through, Dad leapt from his seat and ran out of the plane onto the apron. "STOP!", he screamed at the top of his lungs. Too late! The line boy, missing a number of teeth and with his remaining dentition capped in gold, smiled broadly. He chortled: "Seņor Capitan! Ju weel be glad to know that I have topped off jour right tank! Eet was theerty gallons low!" 151 Ron Rico plus 100 LL do not a fine drink make, orange slices and miniature umbrellas notwithstanding. And thus came to an inglorious end my beloved, clever, and deeply-missed father's career as a rum runner!
- Ed
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While commanding 257 Sqn at North Weald, Bob Stanford-Tuck described how he he was grounded with a sinus problem while the rest of the squadron decimated a large raid by Italian bombers and fighters. When they returned he went with another pilot to visit the wreck of a Caproni bomber that had been shot down and crash landed in eastern Essex. They were astonished to find (and acquire!) great hampers of food and wine aboard.
A friend of my father used to do the flying of contraband in a fuel tank with a Mosquito; this was flying coffee into Germany. The Continent socked in with fog en route so he had to land back at Manston.
Too late they remembered the coffee. Whether it is true or not but the story is they abandoned it soon after take off to hide the evidence in the English Channel.
Too late they remembered the coffee. Whether it is true or not but the story is they abandoned it soon after take off to hide the evidence in the English Channel.
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Let's be honest, we (RAF) have a bit of reputation. A long-dormant brain cell has just recalled something my father told me. Circa 1965 he was proudly telling a business colleague (ex-RN) that I had just been commissioned in the RAF. The response ... "Ah, The Drinking Service".
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I left UK for Tengah about a fortnight after the breathalyser came in (1967).
The RN stopped drinking before flying in the mid '70s I believe. Until then it was perfectly normal, according to ex colleagues, to have a pint or two of lager in the wardroom after lunch and then go off on the afternoon flypro. And not just the helo pukes either, Phantoms and Buccs were still in service then. Apparently the signal 'Effective Immediate' was read out in the wardroom before lunch one day by Cdr(F) completely out of the blue and was not at all kindly recieved..
Sure enough , 30 minutes later we hear the afterburners of an 892 jet blasting off.
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Father of a friend of mine sadly no longer with us......bomber nav. Trained as pilot, couldn't hack landing so chopped and became nav.
Cut to ops.....crew had an Aussie skipper...couldn't get in a/c unless tanked....friends father took off...skipper landed after op.....true?...hope so...
Friends dad did 42 ops..........respect....
Cut to ops.....crew had an Aussie skipper...couldn't get in a/c unless tanked....friends father took off...skipper landed after op.....true?...hope so...
Friends dad did 42 ops..........respect....