A Canberra’s undercarriage was controlled by sequence valves which were designed to lift the main wheel into its bay then close the ‘D’ door under the wheel to provide continuity to the wing surface for high speed flight. In this case the ‘D’ door sequenced before undercarriage and there was no way of overcoming the problem by selecting undercarriage-down because the sequence valve was trying to open the ‘D’ door first but it was held fast by the stronger hydraulic jack of the undercarriage. The history of sequence-valve failures on RAF Canberras was known to Charlie Goodwin who told Frank Mussell that he had no option but to tuck away the other wheels and land the aircraft on its belly.
For a landing of this nature it was necessary to burn off fuel to the lowest level possible, preparatory to a high-friction belly slide along the tarmac runway. The period required to burn off the fuel gave ample time for every person in camp to get up to the flight lines to join many excited spectators awaiting the event.
Frank put the aircraft down very gently. A magnificent dense plume of white sparks fanned upwards from the Canberra which, holding a straight course, slid along the hard surface for about 1,200 metres before coming to rest, wings still level. When jacked up, the undercarriage was lowered and the aircraft was towed away for inspection. The damage, mainly to bomb doors, was considerably less that expected and the aircraft was declared fit for a one-time, wheels-down flight to New Sarum.
At New Sarum, Master Technician Les Grace and his crew in the Stressed Skin Section of the Aircraft Servicing Flight repaired the Canberra in quick time. Les was a superb, softly spoken man who always wore a smile and had a great deal to talk about. He was also a good listener. His skills and those of the men he taught were proven hundreds of times over. They not only beefed up airframes and mainplanes of aircraft to meet operational stresses their designers had never considered, they also repaired aircraft damaged in accidents and in later years by enemy action. The work done was so perfect that only an expert eye could detect the sites of these repairs.
Practical jokers
AS WITH ANY FORCE THE RRAF had its fair share of practical jokers. Keith Kemsley was the best known at Thornhill, though I heard it said he was better at giving than in receiving.
Hi-fi was new to Rhodesians and John Mussell seemed to be the most knowledgeable man on station about the technicalities and strange terms introduced with the equipment. Woofers and tweeters sounded more like Goon Show terms than serious electronic ones. Nevertheless John was a relatively wealthy bachelor who only bought the very best of equipment on the market. Keith was well aware of this when he met up with a Gwelo salesman of recently imported Hi-fi equipment. Keith asked the young man if he would be interested in coming over for dinner with him and his wife Pat so that he could meet a pilot who was looking for the tops in Hi-fi.
The salesman accepted the invitation keenly before Keith told him that John Mussell was a great guy who was suffering some level of deafness from flying jets. “You will find he shouts loudly. Do not be embarrassed by this, just shout back. John has plenty of money so it’s worth your while.”
Keith then asked John if he would be interested in coming over to his house where he and Pat had a Hi-fi fundi visiting for dinner. John leapt at the opportunity and accepted Keith’s warning that; “This guy is so into powerful speakers that he has become very deaf. Ignore the fact that he shouts and simply shout back.”
John got to Keith and Pat’s home first. When the salesman arrived, Keith shouted introductions whereupon his guests responded more loudly and were immediately immersed in a shouted technical conversation. Keith, battling to keep a straight face, asked them to sit down and excused himself on the pretext of having to give Pat a hand in the kitchen. From there Keith heard the shouted conversation mounting in volume, just as he had hoped.
After some time John turned his head away and muttered something to himself in a low voice. Immediately the salesman asked, “What was that”? in an equally low voice. Keith’s game was up; not that it spoilt a pleasant evening. But John left the Kemsley home determined to get his own back on Keith. He consulted Flight Lieutenant ‘Porky’ MacLaughlin on how best to do this.
In the meanwhile Keith continued with his practical jokes, many of which were aimed at his beloved wife. The story goes that he sent Pat to the hardware store where she was instructed to ask the salesman for ‘a long wait’. She got it all right, but had given the salesman hell for bad service before realising that her husband had set her up. On another occasion Pat was told to buy a pint of white-on-purple polka-dot paint. “Remember, white on purple—not purple on white." Again, Pat had been set up. When, however, Keith asked her to get a real item – a two-pound ball-and-claw steel-shafted hammer—Pat thought the description sounded too much like another of Keith’s pranks. Consequently he was not too pleased that his instruction had been ignored because he really needed the hammer for a job he intended to do that very day.
Then one Friday afternoon, at the very moment all Government departments closed down for the weekend, Keith and Pat received a hand-delivered registered envelope from the Registrar of Births, Marriages and Deaths. The enclosed document stated that, due to some error in paperwork at the time of their marriage they had never, in effect, been officially married. This meant that in the eyes of the law their children were illegitimate. An early visit to the offices of The Registrar of Births, Marriages and Deaths was strongly recommended to put matters to right.
Keith and Pat were beside themselves with concern for the entire weekend, just as John and Porky had hoped. Keith arranged a flight to Salisbury to be at the Registrar’s office the moment its doors opened on Monday morning. He presented the letter to the receptionist and waited while the appropriate file was being sought from registry. A puzzled attendant kept appearing and disappearing, saying the file reference group seemed correct but that the final digit corresponded to a file that could not be located. Eventually the penny dropped and Keith realised that the joke against him had been so well prepared that even the Registrar’s Office had been fooled.
John enjoyed this experience so much that he decided to pull a fast one on all officers at Thornhill. We received an official-looking questionnaire purporting to have come from Air Headquarters. It started with the usual Rank, Name, Number, Date of Birth, Date of Attestation etc. and required individual Flying Log Book records be broken down into components that required hours of work. The spaces to be filled were such that little space was given where the entry would be long and large spaces for entries requiring little space; typically Government! However, the questions went on and on and even asked for domestic details including such things as how many pets one kept, their names and food brands.
It only fooled those who were in the habit of filling in forms as they read each question. Those of us who read through the questionnaire first, smelled a rat and threw it into the waste bin. Unfortunately, two senior officers who had little time to spare put in a lot of work before realising a prankster had caught them out. There was hell to pay.
Before an official investigation could progress too far, John Mussell owned up to being the one who had prepared, printed and issued the questionnaires. For his troubles he received a severe reprimand and had to replace all the paper that had been wasted.
When my course reported to New Sarum for the pilot selection process in 1956, we all noticed that the cover flap on one toilet seat in the ablution block of the officers single quarters had been elaborately painted with a poem set inside a floral wreath. As I recall it, the poem started with the words “In loving memory of Mike Saunders who did’st on…”