In the last week of our detachment I managed to arrange a flight in an RAF photo-reconnaissance Meteor with Flight Lieutenant Munroe. He let me aerobat the twin-engined jet and showed me how to stall-turn the aircraft using power on the outside engine to make the manoeuvre very easy. Next I flew with Flight Lieutenant Morris in a Hunter T7 and experienced supersonic flight for the first time. Going supersonic at height was a bit of an anti-climax but low-flying the Hunter at high speed was really fantastic—though I found the servo-driven controls almost too light and sensitive. One had only to think about a manoeuvre and it seemed to occur instantly.
Having been away from my pregnant wife for four weeks, I was pleased when the time came to return home to a land of sanity. It was even more pleasing to learn that Varky and I were to fly in the RAF Shackelton that would provide search and rescue cover for No 1 Squadron’s formations between Aden and Nairobi in Kenya. The formations were to route via Addis Ababa in Ethiopia and then on to Nairobi. At Addis Ababa, the jet pilots experienced the horrors of having to let down through cloud that was lower than the mountains surrounding the national airport.
Apart from the joy of flying low-level in the four-engined bomber-cum-maritime-surveillance Shackelton, it meant that neither Varky nor I would be flying from Nairobi to Thornhill in the back of a Rhodesian Air Force Dakota. The old DC3 made most pilots flying as passengers airsick; a situation that never failed to amuse our strong-stomached technicians.
When we arrived back in dispersals at Thornhill, the whole station was gathered to welcome us home. I was one of the sweat-stained pilots who climbed down from his aircraft wearing Mae West with mask and helmet pressure lines under wet, dishevelled hair. But I was too busy seeking out Beryl to savour the glamour I had witnessed two years earlier when, as a student pilot, I watched pilots returning from the first Aden detachment.
At the end of December I took leave to be with Beryl for the arrival of our first-born child. Towards the middle of January it became obvious that the baby was in a breach position and the decision was taken by Doctor Deuchar to make a caesarean delivery on 14 January.
Deborah Anne was perfect in every way with not a single blemish on her nine pound, six ounce body. Beryl handled the operation like a star, her private ward full to bursting with many flowers and cards from family, friends and clients. It was a special time for both of us.
Chapter 4
No 2 Squadron
ON RETURN TO DUTY I was told that I had been posted, together with Dave Thorne and Keith Corrans, to a re-formed No 2 Squadron. This squadron was to handle all future student training on both piston and jet aircraft. Dave and I were to become instructors on Provosts, Keith on Vampires. The prospect of instructing so early in our careers was both disappointing and pleasing. The disappointment came from having to leave the easygoing lifestyle of an operational squadron; the pleasure was in being considered worthy to become instructors.
Flight Lieutenant Bob Woodward being an ex-RAF Central Flying School instructor was a natural choice to command No 2 Squadron with Flight Lieutenant Chris Dams as his second-in-command.
For the first two months we did very little flying and instructor training was limited to groundwork. This left us with a fair amount of time on our hands, which we occupied in other interests. One of these was fashioning aerobatic model aircraft from balsa wood. Bob Woodward introduced this rather dangerous hobby that involved high-speed launching of these gliders, fashioned to resemble well-known jet aircraft. A five-metre length of heavy elastic line propelled the small aircraft at initial speed somewhere in the region of 250 knots. One man held one end of the elastic with arm stretched high above his head whilst the launcher walked backwards holding the model aircraft. When the elastic was at full stretch some twenty-five metres from the launcher, he made sure wings were level and released the model. Usually the aircraft passed well above the launcher’s head as the aircraft pitched up into a high loop.
One of my gliders, fashioned to look like an RAF Lightning interceptor, failed to climb when Randy du Rand, visiting from No 1 Squadron, was holding the elastic for me to launch. The aircraft failed to climb immediately and its heavily leaded nose struck the peak of Randy’s Air Force cap, splitting it in two and leaving Randy with a nasty blue lump on his forehead.
Another activity involved building a ladies’ bar in the grounds of the Officers’ Mess. The Officers’ Mess of RAF times was in the middle of the Married Quarters but the Ministry of Education had commandeered it as a school for retarded children. It was known as Glengary School. The RAF Sergeants’ Mess had been damaged by fire in RAF days and, when refurbished in mid-1958, it became the Officers’ Mess. Close by in the garden of this mess was a building that had become completely overgrown by scrub and bramble.
Bob and I cut our way through the vegetation to find out what this building was all about. We discovered that it had once been a billiard room that had also suffered fire damage though the walls and roof remained sound. With the blessings of Group Captain Jock Barber, who was Station CO at the time, we set about refurbishing the building.
In a remarkably short space of time the entire structure and its surrounds took on a new look. Because of my experience in carpentry, it fell to me to build a decent-size bar, construct requisite shelving and install comfortable wall seats. Upon its completion, Bob requested all officers on Station to make submissions from which to select a name for the ladies’ bar. Over a hundred names were offered and one of my submissions was chosen. From then on the ladies’ bar was known as ‘The Grog Spot’; a name that became well known to thousands of military and civilian visitors who enjoyed its special atmosphere and superb parties.
Death of Jack Roberts
JACK ROBERTS OF NO 11 SSU had only served on No 1 Squadron as a Staff pilot for six months when, on 1 July 1960, he was reported overdue from a low-level, cross-country flight. An air search was about to be mounted when a telephone call was received from a ranch south of Belingwe mountain. The rancher reported that the sight of a wheel bouncing past him at high speed had shaken him and his trailer-load of workers. When he located the wheel he realised it must have come from an aircraft. In fact it had travelled an incredible distance from Belingwe mountain peak where Jack Roberts had met his death.