Paris Air Show
I HAD ONLY BEEN WITH JPS for about six weeks when summoned to AVM Wilson’s office. He wanted to know if I held a British passport. I did not; so he asked if I would be prepared to apply for one since he knew I qualified on the grounds of parentage. I told him that there was no difficulty from my side. However, being a staunch Rhodesian who had developed an aversion to most matters British, the AVM apologised for asking me to do this but said it was necessary because he needed me to accompany him on a visit to the Paris Air Show. In particular he wanted me to fly the Sud Aviation Puma helicopter to assess its suitability for Rhodesian operations.
Most of my time in Paris was spent with Ken Edwards because we were the only two members of the team of eight who were booked into a middle-class hotel. It suited both of us to be freed from the nightly dinners and high-level meetings with industrialists and French Government officials.
For three days we roamed around the Paris Air Show viewing large numbers of aircraft and visiting all the display stands to gawk at equipment we had only read about. I was alone and admiring a large model of the proposed Anglo-French Alpha fighter when a man of my height came next to me and asked what I thought of the design. I knew immediately that face and voice were familiar but only realised it was Britain’s Prince Philip in the middle of answering his question. A little earlier in the day we had watched the British and French supersonic airliners, Concorde, pass each other in their historic first meeting. Prince Philip had come to the air show in the British machine.
On our second day in Paris, AVM Wilson told me to go to the Yugoslav pavilion to collect every bit of available information on the Galeb jet trainer and its fighter version, the Jastreb. He said, however, that I must not let it be known that I was a Rhodesian. Although our French hosts knew exactly who we were it was upsetting to be regarded as illegal undesirables by all the other nations present. To present myself at the Yugoslav pavilion and pose as someone else was quite beyond me. I had received no training whatsoever in this line nor had I time to think it over. Nevertheless, I was under orders and did what I thought best.
My uncle, Wing Commander Bill Smith, was our Air Liaison Officer in Pretoria, South Africa at the time. I decided to use his name and address as my cover. When I introduced myself to the only man in the Yugoslav pavilion, he asked me for my business card. I apologised saying I had inadvertently left my cards in another jacket in my hotel room. He was hesitating over my request for specifications, prices, delivery, and so on when another man walked in. This was obviously the senior man who reached out to shake my hand as the first man hesitated in introducing me, so I helped out by saying, “Peter Petter-Bowyer,” then, “Damn it, I’m sorry,” and walked out.
Back in the Sud Aviation pavilion I was feeling pretty bad about my blunder when an AVM from the Pakistani Air Force walked over and introduced himself. His skin colour struck me as being too white for a Pakistani but he was such an open person that I used my correct name and let him know that I was a ‘rebel’ from Rhodesia. He was fascinated and, having told me he had no hang-ups about Rhodesia, ordered coffee so that we could have a chat. I told the AVM how difficult it was to try to act at being someone else and how relieved I was by his attitude towards me. This led me to telling him of my failure with the Yugoslavs. In a flash he called over a Pakistani squadron leader and asked me to brief him on my needs.
The AVM and I talked a great deal whilst awaiting the return of the squadron leader. He wanted to know all about Rhodesia and told me how much Ian Smith was admired in his country. When the squadron leader returned he was laden with everything the Yugoslavs could provide and said how excited they had been over ‘Pakistani Air Force interest in their aircraft’. AVM Wilson received the huge pile of documents in a manner that showed he never doubted my ability to acquire them, and I chose to leave it that way—until now!
The purpose of my being in Paris was to fly and assess the Sud Aviation Puma. This was conducted on a freezing cold day with the chief test pilot, Monsieur Moullard. None of us possessed the clothing needed for this unseasonal weather and I for one appeared somewhat overweight with jacket stressed over vests and a thick jersey.
Monsieur Moullard had to curb my handling of the fairly large machine when I attempted to fly it like its baby sister, the Alouette III. Once I became used to the larger cyclic and collective controls I was handling flight in a more circumspect manner and found the Puma was easy to fly and exactly what Rhodesia needed. It was obvious that, being a large machine it could not land in tight LZs, such as those suited to Alouettes, nor could it be put down too close to an enemy position. However, its soldier-carrying capacity equalled that of four Alouettes, which more than compensated for these limitations.
Unfortunately we never did acquire Pumas because, unlike the Alouette that had been produced for civilian use, Puma was specifically designed and designated for military purposes. The UN mandatory sanctions imposed against Rhodesia made the sale of such equipment to Rhodesia impossible—even for the French.
Board of Inquiry
ON 23 JULY 1969 I was summoned to Air HQ where I was instructed to head a Board of Inquiry into an accident that had occurred earlier in the day. This involved an accidental Frantan ignition in dispersals at Thornhill. Senior armourer Ron Dyer and I flew to Thornhill where we met the third member of the B of I, Justin Varkevisser. Varky had made a preliminary investigation into the occurrence and was able to give us background to what actually happened.
Cyril White and Prop Geldenhuys had returned from Kutanga Range with a Frantan hang-up, after all efforts to release the unit in the air had failed. Because the Frantan remained in position during the landing, the aircraft was taxiied into dispersals for a routine manual release. The Station Armaments Officer, Flying Officer Bob Breakwell, was on the flight line to meet the aircraft. With him were armourer Corporals Steve Stead and Ian Fleming. As soon as the Provost parked, but before the engine closed down, the armourers went under the port wing. Having removed the arming wire and ensured that the ground-safety pin was placed in the tail fuse, they prepared to remove the Frantan from the carrier.
Instead of using a stretcher-like carrier to bear the weight of the Frantan before Bob rotated the manual release mechanism, Steve and Ian put their arms under it. This had been done many times before but they obviously did not have a good enough hold because upon release the Frantan tail dropped to the ground. Immediately the fuse fired, thereby bursting the nose casing and spraying burning gel over Bob Breakwell. Because the weapon was static the main body remained intact and retained more than 90% of the napalm gel. Nevertheless some spilled and burnt Steve and Ian as they backed off.
Steve and Ian were extremely lucky to get away with scorched faces and hands. They were also able to shed their smouldering cotton overalls, which had given protection to their bodies. Bob Breakwell was not so fortunate. He ended up with third degree burns to most of his body. Although Bob had copped a heap of burning gel it was from his burning uniform that he received the majority of body damage. Not only did the man-made fibres of his summer-dress uniform melt intohis skin, his nylon socks did the same. But for his cotton vest and underpants, which prevented molten fabric from directlycontacting skin in critical areas, Bob would not have survived. Nevertheless he was in deep trouble.