Swing the lamp, pull up a sandbag.
 

It has been suggested that a thread be opened for historical helicopter stories in the hope of them not disappearing as we all grow old and fade away. This is a first offering. Maybe the thread will run and maybe not. No outright fiction please but inevitably the years cloud the memory.

In the mid 70's at Soest with 660 squadron Army Air Corps one of the Gazelles developed an alarming thump, thump thump
at the bottom of autorotation. Nothing could be found wrong so it was decided to carry out an airtest with the gearbox cowlings removed, a door off and with a certain sergeant attached to the aircraft via a despatchers harness positioned to see what was going on. A further airtest resulted in the defective part ,one of the transmission supports being identified as the culprit. Would just love to see the 'elf and safety wallahs having a heart attack if you did something like that now.

Probably stranger still is what became of our hero.

Transport Manager Alex Garty Poses With Queen Elizabeth Ii's Bentley Stock Photo, Royalty Free Image: 62639384 - Alamy

1962...young Sasless and another Civil Air Patrol Cadet were learning to fly Gyro Copters. One of the Squadron Seniors had several and a non-powered version that was attached to a wooden platform on the back of a Ford Pickup Truck.

The Copter was loosely chained so that there was about two feet of slack but not enough to get off the side of the platform and Students would be driven down the Taxiway of the airport and allowed to practice "flying" the machine.

Somewhere in the Course of instructions it was not emphasized that the chains were there just to limit the movement a bit and were not supposed to be pulled hard against for any length of time but instead the aircraft should be hovered mid-travel or so.

Young Sasless being the Observer on the one particular run took scant notice of the Copter being pulled hard against the Chains by the other Cadet....and at some point the laws of physics, structural limits, and commonsense all came together to creat an interesting end to the flight, the Copter, and the cab of the Pickup when the rotor head, mast, and associated bits went many different directions all in a flash.

We survived although the other Cadet did go to Hospital for a few days, and I took a severe beating from the Rotor blades as they went about their business of killing the Gyro Copter and remodeling the Cab of the Pickup Truck.

I should have taken a hint from all that and stuck with Airplanes perhaps.

Worried
 

I daren't post any stories on here; I only started in 1985 so I'm going to be made to feel like a proper sprog !

NEO

Sprog is not quite the word I have heard used to describe you....but I do recall your first ever trip from Lagos to Warri by Road when the nice Police Officer was going to arrest you because your Particulars were not in order. The look on your Face when all I did was ask for a Receipt to show to the Chief Pilot as you had been signed off to me and I had to account for why you were not still with me when I got to Warri.

You were not very happy with me at the time as i recall.

Ah, yes. JB has a lot to answer for ! Putting me in a car with you for that long was torture enough, but 11 road blocks in Benin City alone ? FFS ?! Big Maurice looked after us pretty well (and he was VERY big), but you kept on talking to the police as if they were friends.

NEO

They were....they were wanting to keep you and I felt they were making a mistake as in short order they would have been paying us to come get you.:E

This is currently an extension of the tales of yore being related on the Nigeria thread, so I guess a couple of non-Bristow anecdotes wouldn't go astray.

It was always a cause of interest when I'd see cars on the road in Warri with the new-fangled hazard flashers going. Eventually the company driver explained that we were 'no go left right', i.e. straight on at a crossroad. You just have to accept that logic, along with wipers being put on when on a dirt road to keep the stones off the windshield.

ACN operated Allouettes and one Puma. One of the float equipped AL3s was known for its leaking float, and after an unscheduled overnight on a platform the inevitable padding on startup resulted in the TR driveshaft being severed. After some preparation the Puma arrived and hooked up the AL3 for a sling back to Port Harcourt, but our French ace departed with verve and panache. Passing 500' the sling load was in formation, alternately to port then starboard so Steve B in the back offered some gratuitous advice which resulted in the load being pickled and a left turn to PH, without even waiting to watch the splash.

When the boat reached the floating wreck they had the presence of mind to remove the data plate before it tragically sank, so in due course an insurance claim was submitted for the hull value.

Some time later the insurance chappy arrived back at Schreiners to present a cheque for the claim, but needed a couple of pertinent details such as the weight of the AL3. Perplexed, the weight was researched and a calculator then drawn out of the IC's briefcase and a cheque then handed over for about $US5,000.

Underslung load rates @ $5.50 per kilo!

Eishhh ....
 

Never mind the flashers, how about the Nigerian hand signals? There is that one where the left hand is dangled from the open window and simply waggled, meaning "I am about to do something I have not yet decided upon." Fair warning, I guess!

A friend got in trouble with the law when he misread a Lagos Yellow Fever's hand signals. The man pulled him over then to show him first the back of his hand and then the palm of his hand, saying for the back "Dis be green; It mean 'Go,'" and for the palm "Dis be red; It mean 'Stop.'" Explanation given and paid for, my friend then went on his way.

Shell fitted a sort of "snitch box" to its vans that recorded the speed and also let out a warning tone. I was being ferried back from Osubi one evening, when that rapid African night was dropping fast, yet we still were driving without lights. When I asked the driver what was up, he explained that the box sensed when the headlights were turned on, triggering at a speed lower than when they were off. So, lights off, ten km/h faster! "The Law of Unintended Consequences .... "

We enjoyed toppest security at Port Harcourt NAF Base, Monday through Friday. Saturdays and Sundays, though, we were on our own! (Given what happened to Sharky that weekend he went away to take some involuntary time off in the swamp, this may have been for the best.)

One hot afternoon at the NAF Base I was sat slumped in the driver's seat of my Twotter, brooding as usual on the course of my flying career and why the World's Greatest Pilot was stuck there instead of becoming a Dornier 328 pilot. Then I felt the aircraft shift a bit on its gear, followed by a "Peeeep, peeeep" noise coming from the back of the cabin.

When I looked over my shoulder, there was our security guard with his metal detector, starting to check that each and every seat frame was indeed made of Canada's finest steel. When he saw me watching his f*ckwittery he gave an embarrassed smile and made himself scarce.

"Go front small-small. Branch left by winch. See am for right". Directions received from Sunday Driver (no idea why he was called that) when I asked where the bank was in the days when we used to collect National salaries in cash. The "winch" aka witch was a mad woman who lived on a heap of rubbish next to a road junction.

NEO

One of our Stewards who had worked for the British before Nigeria became Nigeria on its own right was very much displeased with the concept of Local Rule.

One evening he explained that while employed by the British Government he received a very poor wage...but his food, housing, medical care, electricity, water, schooling for his children, clothes, and a pension was provided whereas following the end of the British Rule of the Colony he still received a poor wage but nothing was provided. He opined that perhaps the old way did have its merits.

All that money now goes into the London and Parisian property markets.

Not sure if anyone is on here to corroborate, but very late one night I was stood at the gates of Edewor Estate with the wrong end of a MOPOL machine gun in my mouth. Not really sure how it got to that, nothing to do with "dash" and the amount of beer I'd consumed of course. Despite the obvious speech impediment this gave me I talked myself out of it. Had to go back to Number 17 and rehydrate for a while though.

NEO

Aye-up
 

Get some time in lad....
Great stories but a tad geographically restricted - and sorry, can't add anything as those that might be offended are still living ;-)

EESDL,

I did point that out in an earlier post ! I'll stay out and let you old sweats impress us all. After all nothing much must have happened when anyone else was in the flying game........

NEO

So, prostituting your hard-won skills as a helo pilot in a sh*thole like Nigeria where there were few rules and no supervision, just to make a few bucks, should be seen as stories to impress and inspire a future generation of professional helicopter pilots.........

Don't let the truth stand in the way of a good story, but it goes something like this.

Lads run ashore in India. The following day one of the SeaKings was dispatched from the carrier to go fetch the motley lot.

Picked them up at the airport after they had donned their goonsuits for the overwater journey back to mother.

Half way through the fairly prolonged stifling hot and humid journey, one of the land party commented that he needed another visit to the heads because of what he'd eaten the night before (naturally washed down with a few cold beers).

Complainant told to hold it in until they landed, he tried, he failed and so he dropped his goon suit to his midrif, angled his backside out the back door, told the driver to slow to a taxi speed and did the business!

Those were the days when we didn't really understand recirc and rotors inside the cab.....

Funny how so little can spread so far in such a short time.
You know who you are SI :eek::eek::eek::eek:

Don't take it personally Crab. It certainly wasn't meant that way. You don't know me or my background. NEO out.

I doubt Crab has ever been to Nigeria and knows nothing about rules or supervision at work here.
This was started as a thread for some of the old salts to come and swing a lightshade, which is exactly what the stories so far have been. I haven't seen any that have to do with work time. From the stories I heard from many of the old timers who used to be here, many similar things happened when they were prostituting themselves in a sh*thole like the Shetlands or Great Yarmouth many years ago. No wonder they all said that of the ex-service pilots Crabs were utterly wet, humourless people with no sense of fun or adventure.

Tehran international Airport.....1978....bunch of Bristow guys headed down country to our Bush Operations. Chronic shortage of Eggs in the Bush demanded innovative approaches to importing Cackle Fruit.

Some Genius decided the use of sterile (but empty) whisky bottles, a funnel, and dozens of cracked eggs would work a treat and if six bottles were tied together with a rope handle....it was the Cat's Meow.

On the test run I was elected to be the guy to carry the thing through Security.

Ali, the Iranian Security Guard who spoke less English than I did Farsi...which at that point consisted of at least two words maybe....stopped me and showed great interest in the egg filled bottles....and said "Whisky?".

I shook my Head in what I assumed was a bit of Farsi body language and said "No!".

He repeated himself.....I did as well and added the comment "Eggs!".

He persisted and said yet again "Whisky!"...to be reminded another time "Eggs!".

He frowned as only armed Goons can do....and said...."Drink!".

Thinking that trying drink from one of those bottles would be akin to drinking from a Spittoon....meaning once you take the first sip there is not stopping until it was empty....I declined.

At which point the Guard went back to the starting point and said....."Whisky!".

It took a a concerted All Hands effort but in the end...we departed with all the Eggs.

does anyone have the correct story of the engineer that was attempting to adjust the rigging on a S76 I think and the pilot took of for a circuit with the LAME still attached and on return there were a few punches thrown in the direction of the pilot. In aus but I may have dreamt it all.

Keke then as NEO said

crab@, we're talking of a time when Bristow had a very RN attitude (despite the personnel manager being an ex Sqdn Ldr) whereby if you were RN, when can you start? Ex AAC, let's just check whether someone knows you? Ex RAF, sorry but we'll call you. Fact of life.

Back to the lamp swinging, a time working offshore in NZ opened my eyes to a different outlook on operating. We increased the fleet a bit and got a 212 on hire from Canada, which was fine by me with my Canadian licence. The CP was also licenced and then did some endorsements on the machine, at which time a few questions revealed that the licence had expired 10-12 years before: it then became my toy as the only one suitable licenced!

We also picked up a 205 for a while, which was duly approved by the CAA to operate SE offshore without floats. Go figure?!

One thing for sure: what we got up to wouldn't be contemplated these days with the certainty that someone is bound to have a camera phone and record the antics. Sad in a way, but fun to look back upon :D

Apologies for thread drift but I have to.

George Puddy never ever said that.

Crab,
Maybe NEO and Keke Napep don't,but quite a few of us do. For someone whose time was mainly internal security and SAR you hold some pretty strong, remarkably-free-from-facts-or-research opinions on other areas. I'm thinking of your past comments on - ooh - Doctors on HEMS, DFCs in Afghanistan...

You've some sound knowledge and, within certain spheres, some experience - but I don't recall you ever getting yer knees brown. Try not snatching defeat from the jaws of victory too often by allowing for the fact that there are folk out there who can put you and me in the shade with their abilities (and stories).

Play nice, eh?

I don't know about an Engineer going for a ride...but there was one attempted hijacking in Nigeria where a quick thinking American Pilot departed hurriedly...and delivered said Hijacker to the Texaco/Funiwa.....hanging from the Skid.

George Puddy was one of the nicest people I have ever met....a real Gentleman and always good fun to be around.

As I was ex-US Army and an American...who passed through Redhill on Holiday from a job with a small helicopter maker in Italy....the hiring process was a bit less formal than it later became.

I was in the Reception of the new building in Redhill dressed in Shorts, Tee Shirt, and Flip Flops....asking to pickup an Application to be submitted by Post when I was called upstairs...offered a cup of Tea and a Job.

I suppose being at the right place at the right time overcomes being properly attired and not a member of any particular British Class or Service.

As has been said in the past....those were the best days of Mr. Bristow's company.

Good people, good attitude, and some very good flying to be had.

Allowing for the thread title, I have precis'd what he certainly said to me on one of his frequent attempts to get me to join Bristow in the NS on exactly the same pay that I'd left the RN. Much later we joked (when I became a Bristow pilot following their purchase of BEAS) that he didn't really have to go to so much trouble to get me on the books :ok:

The truth Brother Eacott is they bought BEAS just because they wanted you in the Fold!:ok:

Times have certainly changed. Back in the late 60's when I had about 6 months to go to the end of my RN time I had an interview with Alan Green at Redhill. Apart from being given a few circuits as an enticer in what was one of the very first JetRangers in the UK, he offered me £500 cash there and then if I would commit to joining Bristow six months later, a lot of money then as my RN pay was £1700pa. I declined and subsequently joined another all ex-RN outfit but 20 years later like many others ended up working for them anyway.

One of these participants has passed on so the story can be told.

The Forties Field was BP's jewel in the North Sea and Bristow had held the contract to support it since it's inauguration. There developed an annual golf tournament between Bristow and BP and this developed over the years. BP would pay for a S61, Bristow would pilot it and everybody would fly off to a golf course for a days clubbing.

This time everybody had gathered together, two Bristow wheels were at the controls and they set off for Perth Golf Club. Perth airfield were slightly surprised when they made radio contact because they were socked in with fog. A requested telephone call ascertained that the golf club was also socked in as was the rest of the Tay Valley. Disappointed they turned back to Aberdeen.

The BP guys were kept in the departure lounge with tea and biccies whilst our heroes sorted out another golf club. Nairn Golf club came up trumps so without further ado they checked the weather and set off for Nairn; which was even further away than Perth.

The found Nairn, golf club, and landed close to the clubhouse. There was a fair gathering of people so the pilots thought that the word had got around that a helicopter was coming. They hadn't; they had come to see the club's Annual Medal Tournament.

Wrong golf course.

They got to the right place eventually but I knew a couple of the BP people and they were highly unimpressed. I don't think that it was a coincidence that when the BP contract came up for renewal another company got it.





and they were Army and Navy.

I love this thread, it's the only place left on Earth where I still feel young!

Before we leave the Bristow subject ... I only encountered the great man once.

Early 1980. I'd left the RN just a few weeks earlier. With a brand spanking new 206B3 on the pad at Battersea I was doing the coffee thing with a bunch of older-and-wiser ex-matelots. (I seem to remember the likes of Spotty, Colin, MBJ and maybe even Geoffers being there. I think you were in foreign parts by then, John). Cue Mr A.Bristow himself who was deposited by one of his own, rather larger, machines.

On his way to the Roller he paused at my Jetranger, had a good poke around, and then strode towards the crewroom with serious intent. The water-cooler chat ceased. The door flew open. "Whose Jetranger is that?" barked the big man. I tentatively raised a finger. "Bloody nice machine, try to keep it that way". Door slammed closed. I now knew what a civilian admiral looked like.

Do We Have To ?
 

Leave the Bristow subject that is ? At the risk of inciting Crab with another tale.....

The same (now deceased) big wheel who landed on the wrong golf course was also the Chief LTC Tigers in the early 90s. He was famous or rather infamous for many things, one of which was not leaving his office for long flights to the East Shetland Basin etc.

I was rostered with an ex RN chap well known for his acerbic wit (he ran for Parliament and lost his deposit) on a Line Check to the Beatrice in the newly refurbished ex Noriega AS332L with said CLTC squeezed into the jump seat.

I was RHS so the prospective Parliamentary candidate was handling the radios on the outbound leg. His exchange with the female controller at Lossie Radar became the stuff of legend and cost him 6 months as P1 U/S. it went something along the lines of:

"Bristow ***, what service do you require ?"

After a wide smile past BB he replied, "Room service please !"

BB went bright purple, tore the notes from his clipboard and never spoke another word for the rest of the flight. Peace !

NEO

Another American and I were tasked to ferry a 58T to Redhill from Aberdeen.

Weather was Romeo Sierra (polite way of saying Rat ****)....and as we neared the London Metropolitan Area it became apparent that my short Greek friend with lots of time with Air America....was having difficulty placing us on the Map. My cue was when I saw him rotate it two full Rev's trying to make sense of it all.

As we were strangers to this onshore UK flying stuff....and the map for that part of the UK is all Yellow with lots of scribbling and symbols that meant not much to us....I being the PIC started getting a bit nervous.

I keyed the intercom and asked Steve if he had any idea where we were....and all I saw was the back of his head as he was peering intently over his shoulder at something as we flew by.

His response gave me pause....."Nope...not at all but it is Three O'Clock!".

We had just whizzed by Big Ben which I knew was not good news.

What was good news is at least I knew where we were...and how to find Redhill from there.

Shortly after landing at Redhill....we were told rather harshly to report to Mr. Bristow's Office on the double. At that point....I wished I had spent the last hour or so updating my Resume as I felt I would be needing it after getting to meet the Boss Fellah.

When we walked in...demonstrating what Meek, Humble, and very Concerned looked like.....upon introducing ourselves....the Old Man growled...."Two Bloody Yanks....I might have known!".

He then went on to inquire if we knew just how many phone calls he had from the CAA because of us two and opined he wasted enough of his time with them without any assistance from the likes of us.

He then smiled and said...."Well....every body knows your Names now! Get out of here and get back to work!".

A good friend was on exchange from flying Wasps with the RN to flying Scouts with the BAOR, and detailed to fly the Grand Poobah one day.

As happens, the Scout failed to start and CP noted the lack of spark. Nonchalantly (he was RN, after all) he exited the cab and asked the General to pass him the chock from the back of the cabin, which he used to smite a calibrated tap on the ignitor box. Returned chock to the General, climbed in, started and got on with the job.

Henceforth the General demanded CP as his pilot, to the chagrin of the hairy chested AAC drivers :ok:

Back in '66 same chap had recently received his Wings and joined our Squadron at Culdrose. It was after the new Road Safety Bill about alcohol limits came in but before the breathalyser was introduced to enforce it the following year. We used to have Squadron dinners which consisted of a course at various members' houses.

I remember on one occasion said chap had clutch or gearbox troubles with his car and between each course he could be seen transitting up even the slightest gradient Cornish hills in reverse gear as that was the only way he could make progress. The make of that car was identical to his surname.

I didn't know that BB was no longer with us. Some of his 332L line checks were more like a base check where the RNAV followed by various other things would progepressivly fail.

This was the same pilot who, on a 'West of Shetland' flight around 1992, made an announcement on the PA as they flew over the Orkneys: "Those of you on the left hand side, if you look out will see the Old Man of Hoy. Those on the right may see some ritual child abuse"!

T&B, I concede to being a bit out of order with my first post - never pprune on the outside of a bottle of red and a couple of beers.:{

However, the quality of the stories has gone up:ok:

A common remedy with AAC Gazelles as well.

Funny how things you've not thought of in years suddenly pop into your head as a result of this thread. Carrying on from my Bristow interview story, a few months later in early '68 whilst waiting for my CPL exam results I received a telephone call asking if I was interested in a job flying a Bell 47. It would have been foolish not to look at it and I toddled off to Stansted for an interview. The owner ran a building company - he's now long deceased - but I see his Company is still going so I won't mention his name here.

On arrival at Stansted I was greeted by the builder's chauffeur who thrust a thin Flight Manual at me and pointed to a Bell 47 sitting on a trolley and he said "Mr X says to teach yourself to fly it and he'd like to go to the races at Ascot tomorrow". My protestations that I hadn't quite got a pilot's licence in my hot sticky hand were met by a blank stare and the chauffeur disappeared. I'd never seen a Bell 47 before but thought it couldn't be that different to the Hiller 12E that I'd done my 1179 on whilst still in the RN so thought I'd have a look round it. When I found out how to check the engine oil level and saw it was about an eighth full I got back in my car and drove home.

Subsequently when I started my first civvy flying job one of the other pilots was the builder's former ex-RN pilot - now with a CPL. It turned out he had flown for the builder on a PPL(H) only and had been employed as an 'office manager'. His job when not flying was to organise a car parking 'business' where holidaymakers left their cars with him when they flew abroad and he housed them in the garages of the builder's unsold houses around Essex, taking them back to Stansted when the holidaymakers returned. The trouble was he lost his list of where he'd put the cars and chaos ensued.........which is how Mr X had ended up without a pilot.

Edit - I eventually ended up with more than 2500 hours on various varieties of Bell 47 and my conversion to type is another story....it's almost 50 years ago but I don't know how long the legal arm of the CAA is so that will have to remain untold.

Fair call, crab - good result.

Agreed re 2nd point.

Having once been voted the 2nd most boring pilot in NATO, obviously nothing interesting or worthy of repetition ever happened to me. I shall just have to continue to absorb the delightful recollections of others who've extracted more out of life than I ever will :)