Winds of Destruction: The Autobiography of a Rhodesian Combat Pilot

by Peter Petter-Bowyer

  Flying Instructors School

  THE FLYING INSTRUCTORS SCHOOL (FIS) was, for me, a real drag. The need to fly very accurately was not so much the problem as the patter (what one needed to say whilst demonstrating to a student). I found this tedious, boring and somewhat confusing.

  Bob Woodward would teach me a patter sequence in one style, but for the same sequence Chris Dams gave it differently. Soon enough it became obvious that the other QFIs (Qualified Flying Instructors) were giving different versions of patter that suited their own personalities and flying experience.

  Every aspect of instructing was repeated and repeated ad nauseam with QFIs and between student instructors. My problem, as I saw it, was how I was going to satisfy Bob Woodward during progress tests and the all-important final test. Near the end of the course Flight Lieutenant Dickie Dives, an ex-RAF Central Flying School officer serving as an Air Traffic Controller at Thornhill, flew with me and gave me his brand of patter, encompassing every exercise in the book. I believe I learned more from Dickie Dives in two hours than in all the 150 hours I had flown with other QFIs and fellow students. I cannot say if Dickie was a good instructor for others, but he certainly made everything so much clearer and easier for me, just when I needed it. Thanks to him, I passed my final test without stress because I had learned to ignore parrot-fashioned patter and use the words that suited mood and action.

  The flying side of our FIS commenced at the beginning of August 1960 and was completed in time for the commencement of the BFS for No 14 PTC (Pilots Training Course).

  For those who watch for sequential numbering it will be obvious that Nos 12 SSU and 13 SSU are missing and that SSU had given way to PTC. This was partly due to political thinking and partly to superstition.

  The Federal Government had become disenchanted with the Short Service Commission arrangements because too-high a proportion of trained pilots had opted to leave the force on completion of expensive ‘free training’. Furthermore, most of them had taken up employment with airlines and moved beyond the borders of the Federation, thereby breaking their undertakings to be immediately available in times of need.

  It was decided instead that all future student pilots would sign up for two years of training followed by a mandatory ten years’ Medium Service Commission. In the event of a student’s failure at any stage, Air HQ’s only obligation was to offer him alternative training as navigator, technician or administrator. This new scheme was renamed Pilots Training Course (PTC) as prefix to the course number.

  12 SSU should have commenced training in 1959 but, because no training occurred that year, the number was dropped. Considering that superstition for the number ‘13’ might present difficulties, Group HQ, by now Air HQ operating from Dolphin House in Salisbury, decided to bypass it. No 14 Pilot Training Course (PTC) started their ground training at the beginning of January 1961 and came to 2 Squadron for the BFS in May.

  Paul Mark

  SIX MONTHS PRIOR TO THIS, on the 30 November 1960, Beryl came to fetch me at the usual knock-off time of 1.30 pm She was seven-and-a-half months’ pregnant with our second child and was in absolute agony. With difficulty I got her into the passenger seat and drove her straight home. Getting her to the living room was a major effort.

  She could not sit properly as pains in her abdomen were overwhelming her. Beryl’s gynaecologist, Doctor Deuchar, who happened to live directly across the road from us, came to Beryl’s aid immediately. He was not happy with what he saw and called Doctor Comline to come over urgently. Together the doctors concluded that Beryl was suffering from kidney failure necessitating immediate hospitalisation and the removal of her baby to save her life. I was taken aside and told that, following the operation, Beryl should be fine but the baby’s chances of survival were not good.

  I took time off work next day to look after Debbie and was playing with her whilst awaiting a call from the hospital. It was 9 am on 1 December when Debbie took her first faltering steps unaided; but the occasion was all but lost because I was so concerned for Beryl and baby.

  A few minutes later Doctor Deuchar phoned to say Beryl would be fine and that our little boy had been transferred to Gwelo’s Birchenough House Nursing Home. Not twenty minutes later, when I was dressing for a visit to the nursing home, I received a call from a Church of England padre. Very clumsily he asked in what names he should christen the baby who was not expected to survive another hour. Completely taken aback I blurted out “Paul Mark.”

  By the time I reached the nursing home the padre had left and the matron took me through to see my son. He was in an incubator and seemed fine enough to me until matron pointed out that he was breathing by stomach action with no signs of normal rib-cage movement. Five days passed after his birth before the doctor said Paul would be fine because his breathing had normalised. But nineteen vital days elapsed after his birth before Beryl was allowed to hold her baby.

  Death of Eric Cary

  ON THE 9 FEBRUARY 1961, I was instructed to get over to OC Flying Wing, post-haste. When I walked into Squadron Leader Dicky Bradshaw’s office I saw Tol Janeke standing in flying overalls by the side of his desk looking pale and shaken.

  OC Flying, seated behind his desk, looked more stern than usual. In a quiet steady voice he said, “PB I have bad news for you. Your coursemate Eric Cary has crashed and I want you to go and find the site to guide the doctor and fire vehicles to it." I was given brief details and set off to the squadron where Flying Officer Pat Meddows-Taylor said he would accompany me. We were airborne when Squadron Leader Frank Mussell, flying a Canberra, told me he had located the crash site on the south bank of the Umniati River, upstream from the bridge on the main road to Salisbury. He said there was no need for a grid reference, as I would see the rising smoke from some distance.

  When we reached the crash site we saw that impact had occurred in a disused cattle kraal where the aircraft disintegrated. Wreckage of varying sizes littered the crash line for over a kilometre to a stream. Beyond this lay the still-flaming magnesium wheels and the smouldering engine.

  We had been flying around for a couple of minutes before noticing a lone black male who was waving at us frantically and pointing to the top of a large tree just off to the left side of the debris line. We concluded this might mean Eric’s body was lodged in the tree but the foliage was too dense for us to Confirm this.

  After an age we spotted the far-off dust trails from a red fire Jeep and white ambulance. I could not raise the fire Jeep because, as I learned later, it had radio failure. Pat unstrapped and stood up (highly illegal) to make himself visible to the lead driver. By flying over his vehicle and waggling my wings I gave the fireman changes of direction to avoid difficult ground and Pat kept emphasising these changes with hand signals, a difficult thing to do in the powerful slipstream.

  When, eventually, the vehicles arrived at the crash site Doctor Dorber came up on the radio, loud and clear. He had not responded to our calls to the fire Jeep “not wanting to interfere”. The mind boggles! Anyway we asked him to drive over to the large tree where we suspected Eric’s remains might be. There was no sign of the black man by now as he had obviously given us up when we flew off out of his sight to guide the vehicles.

  Having reached the tree, the doctor confirmed Eric’s body was there and appeared complete save for the loss of a leg that was soon discovered near by. It was almost unheard of in a crash of this nature for a pilot’s entire body to be available for burial considering the location of a Vampire’s engine.

  Tol Janeke was tried by court martial following this accident and was found guilty of contravening Air Force Regulations for unauthorised low flying outside the prescribed training area. His punishment of eighteen months’ deferred promotion was probably harsh in the circumstances. Eric had persuaded his junior to follow him on a low-level inspection of the Umniati River to establish if the water level was suitable to repeat a canoeing trip he and Tol had made down the same river the previous year.

  Eric led the
downstream reconnaissance. At the road bridge on the main road leading to Salisbury he turned to fly back up the river. Then by waggling his wings, so as not to give away his position to Thornhill Approach Control, Eric passed lead to Tol.

  As Tol was about to pass, Eric in typical fashion did a slow roll that did not work out as so many had before. In the second half of the roll the aircraft scooped and so ended a very capable young pilot’s life.

  After his military funeral our course held a private party as a send-off to Eric.

  Left to right: Gordon Wright, Murray Hofmeyr, Bill Galloway, PB, Keith Corrans, Dave Thorne, John Barnes and Ian Law.

  First students

  AT THIS TIME NO 14 PTC had completed the GTS phase and were ready to commence flying training on Provosts. I was allocated Officer Cadets Doug Pasea and Terry Ryan and set about putting my instructor training into practice.

  Teaching a student who knew nothing about flying seemed easy, though I soon realised I was ‘pattering’ just what I had been taught but without the pressure of practising it on someone more experienced than myself.

  Doug Pasea learned quicker than Terry Ryan and I considered him fit for solo after about twelve hours. Bob Woodward who, for reasons I never established, disliked Doug Pasea even taking him on his solo test. Unbeknown to me Bob had already decided that Pasea was not going to pass BFS, no matter what! Doug was not only ‘failed’ on this test, Bob also disallowed him the benefit of further training with a second solo check; so I pleaded with Chris Dams to intervene. This he did, but to no avail! Having ‘failed’ BFS, Doug Pasea was sent to Britain to train as a Canberra navigator. He did splendidly and became an outstanding officer who gained respect throughout the force.

  Terry Ryan, PB and Doug Pasea.

  When Terry Ryan was reaching maximum hours allowed for solo he was taken on a progress check by Bob Woodward. Though not a patch on Doug Pasea as a pilot, he was sent solo off this very sortie. I was pleased for Terry Ryan’s sake but very displeased at losing Doug Pasea. This was my first experience of unfair prejudice by a senior officer against a junior. Unfortunately I would see close friends suffer from this human failing in the years ahead.

  In June I was given Officer Cadets Tony Smit and Keith Clarke in exchange for Terry Ryan. Tony Smit was under threat of being scrubbed and his instructor had suggested that a change of instructor might be helpful. Keith’s instructor asked for the change on the grounds of incompatibility, but he gave me no difficulties. But I was very conscious of the fact that Tony Smit was the same age as me, the maximum age for student pilots having been elevated from twenty-one to twenty-four.

  A couple of hours with Tony showed me that he had the potential but lacked concentration and was trying to ‘fly by numbers’ (meaning he was not yet using natural senses and every muscle in his body was as tight as an over-wound spring). Tony’s problem with flying reminded me of my father-in-law’s problem with dancing. Whether waltz, quick-step or tango he always moved his feet to his loudly whispered “one two three—one two three—one …”

  I gave Tony a very hard time even though it was not in my nature to do this. Determined not to have another of my pupils fail, I drove him mercilessly. Then it dawned on me that, in my early stages of learning to fly, I had overcome the natural tendency to tense up by deliberately relaxing the muscles of my buttocks. This I had been taught by my father as a youngster learning to ride horses. By repeatedly telling him, “Relax your butt”, Tony’s main problem of tensing was overcome and soon enough he started to fly well.

  Tony, five years later.

  For me Tony’s success has been something of a private triumph because he went on to give excellent service in Rhodesia and in the South African Air Force. He also qualified on a large number of aircraft types, including WWII fighters and bombers and became a member of the Confederate Air Force in the USA. However my success with Tony turned out to be a problem because I lost good students in exchange for difficult ones. In consequence I gained the questionable reputation of being a hard-arsed instructor, like Mick McLaren.

  Fire Officer

  DURING 1961 I WAS APPOINTED Station Fire Officer over and above my flying duties and found Flight Sergeant Jimmy Dumas and his crew of fire-fighters easy men to work with. My job was to ensure that their training was brought to the highest standard and that they were adequately equipped to deal with aircraft accidents and domestic fires.

  Within a week of my appointment, and by prior arrangement with Air Traffic Control, I called for a practice ‘fire rescue’ of Sergeant Taffy Dowell and me from the cockpit of our Provost, which I had stopped in the middle of the runway after landing.

  What an experience this turned out to be! Taffy and I, still strapped into our seats, were slumped forward holding our breath and simulating unconsciousness as black firemen climbed up to ‘rescue’ us. One big strong guy put his feet on the canopy rails then, placing his hands under my arms, nearly dislocated my shoulders because I was still firmly held down by the seat harness.

  Flight Sergeant Dumas shouted instructions to release the harness, which in itself was a fiasco. Finally I was lifted clear and inadvertently dropped head first off the trailing edge of the wing before flopping onto hard tarmac. Taffy suffered similar mishandling and we were both lucky to get away with a few scratches and bruises.

  Right away I decided to polish up on rescue training but to use firemen, complete with parachutes and helmets, in place of aircrew. Under my supervision they practised crew rescue, ad nauseam, from Provosts, T11s, FB9s and Canberras until procedures and techniques were slick and safe.

  Canberra belly-landing

  SQUADRON LEADER CHARLIE GOODWIN WAS the Senior Technical Officer at Thornhill. One morning he came rushing into the squadron asking to be taken up for an in-flight inspection of a Canberra whose right main undercarriage refused to respond to pilot selections. He wanted a Provost rather than a Vampire and I was instructed to make the flight.

  Squadron Leader Frank Mussell was flying the Canberra in question. He reduced speed to 120 knots to allow me to come into close formation directly under his right wing. It was immediately clear that the ‘D’ door had closed out of sequence ahead of the main wheel which was pressed hard against the outside of the ‘D’ door. The nose wheel and left main wheel were extended and locked down correctly.

  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 goo
d 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.