My position was changing rapidly as I battled to fathom out a heading to steer for Thornhill. It probably only took a minute but it seemed like an eternity as I dithered to come to a firm decision to steer a true heading of 290 degrees. Strangely that decision had a calming effect as I looked east to find the distinctive star pattern of Orion’s Belt.
This very distinct star group consists of three evenly spaced and equally bright stars set in a straight line (the belt), with another line of lesser stars on the south side (the sword) that points to the centre of the three bright stars. If a line is taken from the southernmost of the lesser stars through the northernmost of the bright stars and extended to the horizon, this is True North in the period December to January. I turned port to align with True North.
Using my port wing and the nose as reference I assessed where 290 degrees was, selected a star on that line and turned to head for this star. No cumulus formation appeared to lie directly in the path between my destination and me and, odd though it may seem, I was certain that I would arrive directly over Thornhill with plenty of fuel to spare.
Approximately three minutes before my expected time overhead Thornhill I noticed that stratocumulus lying in the shadow of a cumulonimbus mass was glowing from a lighted area beneath it. This I knew must be Gwelo, and Thornhill would be at the edge nearest to me. Not daring to change power from the 9,500 rpm I had set for cruise I pitched the nose down to a comfortable descent angle and turned the trim wheel progressively forward to cater for the increasing speed. The aircraft was correctly trimmed and the speed was stable by the time I was over the illuminated cloud.
A twenty-degree turn to port was then established. Around and around the lighted area I went in the descent, with the aircraft passing in and out of the moon’s shadow until the entire orbit at a lower level was in the shadow of the huge cloud. Flight was smooth and I had frozen both hands on the spade grip of the control column to prepare for the blind passage through cloud.
Entry came in an unexpected rush. It was slightly turbulent and I held my breath when I heard the speed increasing. I dared not move a muscle for what seemed like a long time with the noise of the airflow steadily rising. As suddenly as the aircraft had entered cloud in a controlled manner, it exited fast and steep with about ninety degrees of port bank. The lights of town were so close as I rolled right to pull out of the dive, breathing like a racehorse, only to shoot straight back into cloud. I pressed forward hard and emerged out of cloud and turned left again to stay over the lights of the town.
Still hyperventilating, I cruised at low level around and around the town attempting to orient myself on the landmarks of Gwelo. Nothing fitted until I noticed a high mast on the edge of the town. I must have done at least six turns before I realised that this high mast fitted Que Que, not Gwelo. Now I knew I was about seven minutes away from base and felt certain I would get there with some fuel to spare.
The aircraft had settled into a steady trimmed state and I had regained control of my breathing as I swept around at about 280 knots in relative safety with Que Que town about 500 feet below me and the lighted cloud base 100 feet above. I knew this would change the moment I set course for base but there was no time to spare.
Knowing that the road from Gwelo ran right next to the mast on entry into Que Que, I was able to establish the line of the main road by the lights of vehicles approaching Que Que from Gwelo. I rolled out along the road line and flew straight into blackness. Barely sufficient moonlight was illuminating stratus to help me keep wings level, but the cloud base itself was indistinct. For about a minute all seemed well until vehicle lights were lost as I entered cloud. I pushed out gingerly and, as I saw vehicle lights again, I also saw, way off, the faint glow of Gwelo lighting the low cloud base. Suddenly the glow was lost and I knew I had dropped below high ground along this route so I pulled up smartly, saw the glow momentarily and lost it as I entered cloud, yet again.
Deep breathing set in once more as I eased down. Out of cloud the glow came back brighter and even the cloud base became more distinct. From here on I was safe. When the actual lights of Gwelo were visible I could work out where Thornhill lay. I picked up the moving tail-light of a Vampire on final approach for runway 13. This helped me find the runway lights but I could see I was closing on the Vampire very rapidly.
Only when I was sure of making the runway did I throttle right back and selected undercarriage down when the reducing speed sounded right. With no flap and rolling onto the runway much too fast, I held to the extreme right edge of the runway to overtake the Vampire I had seen on finals. Having turned off the runway I taxied to dispersals where a marshaller, waiting for the aircraft behind me, was surprised to see another Vampire, with no lights, roll into view in the illuminated dispersal area.
In response to the marshaller’s signals, I made the first turn towards the hard-standing and had just commenced the second turn when the engine quit. The marshaller, thinking I had deliberately closed down the engine, was visibly annoyed as he moved over to bring in the next aircraft.
Flight Lieutenant Colin Graves was in the T11 that taxied in behind me. Squadron Leader Dicky Bradshaw had recalled him from his sortie because the Air Traffic Controllers at Thornhill, Salisbury and Bulawayo had been unsuccessful in their attempts to establish communications with me. Radar contact with an aircraft, presumed to be mine had been seen flying some distance to the north-east of Thornhill, was lost in the vicinity of Que Que.
Colin’s relief at seeing me was obvious and he had not seen my unlit aircraft overtake him on the runway. I told him I had experienced total electrical failure, followed by emergency light failure and the disintegration of my pocket torch before he noticed that my hands and body were shaking. He arranged some very sweet black coffee for me and made me sit down in his office while he made calls to ATC and OC Flying to let them know I was safe. In listening to what he had to say to OC Flying, I realised that I had survived a freak situation.
When Colin had listened to the whole story he asked me why I had not diverted to Salisbury Airport. Everyone attending night-flying briefing, including me, had heard that Salisbury would be free of cloud. I felt such a fool but had to admit that in my state of near-panic I had given this obvious solution to my problem no thought whatsoever. What a way to build up experience!
The third incident occurred when Bill Galloway and I were in the flying area, flying pairs-formation exercises. Another formation of four Vampires had taken off about forty minutes after us. We were both flying FB9s and had already descended to low-level on return to base when warned that two heavy thunderstorms were merging into one massive storm so rapidly, that Thornhill would be engulfed in torrential rain before we could get down.
There was insufficient fuel to divert to another airfield, so we were instructed to hold off for about fifteen minutes when the storm was expected to clear. Bill was leading and immediately reduced power to 6,500 rpm to conserve fuel. Had we been warned of the storms two minutes earlier we would certainly have remained at high altitude where a lower fuel-consumption rate would have allowed us to divert to Bulawayo.
We orbited a little away from the edge of the dark rain line nearest to the end of runway 31 until it became clear to us that the storm was moving so slowly that we would be out of fuel before it cleared. So Bill requested that the runway lights be switched on to maximum brightness for a landing in rain. He then lined up on two references he assured me were on a direct line with the runway.