3
The short-lived joy of jets
Travelling in my almost-new VW Beetle 1600S Superbug for the journey to Langebaanweg was Lang Lappies Labuschagne. A sizeable group of us decided to meet that Monday night at Oranjekrag, a village near the wall of the HF Verwoerd Dam (today the Gariep Dam), about 800 kilometres from Johannesburg on the N1 highway. There we would decide on accommodation arrangements for the evening before proceeding to Cape Town on the Tuesday morning.
The first two pupes to arrive at the little hotel in Oranjekrag inquired about, and booked, accommodation for that Monday evening in a small two-bed suite overlooking the vast expanse of the dam. They were having a quiet drink looking out at the spectacular vista, minding their own business, no doubt contemplating the months ahead, when the bulk of our group arrived, galvanising the citizens of Oranjekrag into hiding their daughters, boarding up their windows and seeking shelter in their cellars. The available stocks of liquor were quickly consumed by the rampant horde of pupes.
Now, to be fair, Oranjekrag has never claimed to be the entertainment capital of the world. The lack of time-passing activities for our testosterone-fuelled group led to our resorting to drag races up and down the main street, temporarily liberating an assortment of boats to re-enact the Battle of Trafalgar, and skinny-dipping in the frigid waters of the dam. The only open restaurant/takeaway quickly ran out of stock, and groups of pupes were seen scrounging around for any source of sustenance, even if that meant knocking on the doors of residents to inquire about the availability of food.
Finally, with energy levels flagging and anticipation growing about the journey to Cape Town, which many of us would see for the first time, and which still lay some 700 kilometres away, we started casting around for somewhere to sleep and discovered that the only hotel in the area, the one where our friends had taken the only available room, was fully booked.
So, in the spirit of camaraderie for which we’d already become widely acclaimed, all 33 of our intrepid band squeezed into that two-bed suite. Each of us found a spot to lay our head down for the night. There were two pupes who slept in the bath, others who slept on top of the cupboards, still others on the tables and some found space on the floor. The little balcony was also carpeted with reposing flyers, and even the toilet provided at least one individual with a place to slumber.
Before it was even light the next morning, the early risers among us heard the sounds of the little trolley that delivered tea and coffee to hotel guests in their rooms making its way along the passage outside. A small amount of cash changed hands between an enterprising pupe and the normally underpaid tea lady, and the entire trolley, with its abundant quantity of tea, coffee and rusks, was wheeled in.
‘Breakfast is served, sirs!’ he trumpeted.
Everyone tucked in and devoured both the liquid and the solid contents of the trolley. Then, suitably fortified, and before we could attract the ire of the still-unaware hotel owners, our band left the hotel room and headed for the car park. As I left, I spotted an elderly couple from one of the adjoining rooms just standing in the passage staring incredulously as pupe after pupe after pupe emerged from the room.
Soon after lunchtime on the Tuesday afternoon, all 60 pupes of 1/77, as previously arranged, met in the Panorama bar of the Clifton Hotel in Cape Town. The intervening years may have clouded my memory somewhat, but I am quite sure that a plan was hatched that evening to delay our arrival at FTS Langebaanweg from the following morning, the Wednesday, to the Thursday. That would allow those of us who had never been to Cape Town to experience something of what the Mother City had to offer.
Rational thought dictated that, upon our arrival at Langebaanweg, we would be confined to base for at least a month or two, and so we unanimously agreed to make hay while the sun shone – well, for the next 24 hours at least. Nothing much happened during the next 36 hours other than a bit of drunk driving, harassment of the odd civilian and rejection of our overtures of passion by even liberally minded UCT students.
Early on Thursday morning a convoy of vehicles made its way up the West Coast road and arrived, just before 08h00, at the gates of FTS Langebaanweg. There we were greeted by a knot of scowling instructors who’d expected us the previous morning. They were in no mood to be charitable to a bunch of pupes with the growing reputation of sticking to each other like shit to a blanket and who appeared devoted to the 1/77 course motto, Unitate Gyppoamus (we shirk together)…
We were immediately ordered to ‘inspect the perimeter fence’ and, having barely had time to park our cars, set off on a ten-kilometre run. No changing into PT kit and takkies; we ran in our step-outs, comprising tunic, long-sleeved shirt, long grey trousers, tie and brilliantly shined black shoes. Not quite running gear.
The rest of the day was an unending assault of instructors screaming insults and threats, coupled with physical punishment, the combination of which was intended to bring 1/77 into line and destroy once and for all the independent spirit that burnt so fiercely in the chests of each of its members. Mercifully, at about 19h00 the instructors’ screaming stopped and they went home, leaving 1/77 to contemplate its folly in daring to challenge an order.
The instructors’ parting shot, delivered with great vehemence at a high decibel level, promised us that we would not see the world outside the FTS Langebaanweg gates for at least six weeks. So, after washing the day’s accumulated grime from our bodies, we all got in our cars and went to the Panoramic bar in Langebaan-by-the-sea, some 20 kilometres away. Unfortunately for us, a group of FTS instructors chose to go there as well that night. Believe it or not, this was not such a coincidence as, in 1977, the Panoramic was one of only two nightspots in a radius of 50 kilometres from Langebaanweg.
As a consequence, the following day our gating was extended to eight weeks.
The first six weeks at FTS Langebaanweg were all about ground school and the theory of flying jet-powered aircraft. During this time, there were no flying activities and we watched our senior course, Pupil Pilot’s Course 2/76, complete their training and pass their wings tests, something each and every one of us hoped passionately to do in ten months or so.
Running around the base in so-called half blues (short-sleeved shirt, long trousers and black formal shoes) became a regular, if not very enjoyable, punishment for errant behaviour, and I stacked up as many miles doing this as anyone else. We had been denied weekend passes for the duration of the ground school phase, which necessitated some creative arranging on the part of anyone who wanted to leave the base during this time.
Roll call was regularly held during these weekends by the officer on duty or his nominee. Theoretically, the roll caller could arrive at any hour, order 1/77 outside, try to get those present to stand in a semblance of order so that they could be counted and then he would call the roll by shouting the names in alphabetical order.
The means to overcome this procedure and prevent absentees from being caught called for each intended absentee to twin with a stay-at-homer, prior to his departure for the bright lights of Cape Town and its surrounding settlements. If a roll call took place, your ‘twin’ needed only to remember to answer for you when your name was called. This required some subterfuge on the part of the stay-at-homers, with voice-changing and constant moving around while the roll was being taken, but the tactic worked surprisingly well.
If I remember correctly, my salary at the time was about R139 per month, out of which I needed to pay a mess bill (R35), make a car hire-purchase instalment (R45), fill the car with petrol (R30) and still buy a daily packet of cigarettes and food and drink when away from the base. Toiletries and civilian clothes, as well as money to date a girl occasionally and service the car were all to come out of this stipend. It didn’t take much to work out that I was going to be well short and totally broke by lunchtime on the mid-month payday.