Winds of Destruction: The Autobiography of a Rhodesian Combat Pilot

by Peter Petter-Bowyer

  A short take-off required full power against brakes before rolling and forcing lift-off at around 65 knots with a steep climb out. No recovery from engine failure was possible below 200 feet, which made me wonder why this exercise that I had demonstrated many times was considered necessary. Anyway, at 200 feet I chopped the engine and pitched the nose down sharply. Talking to Prop all the time, the airspeed was increased to 85 knots before the first of two attitude changes was made to reduce the descent rate and glide angle preparatory to a normal round-out for landing.

  When I made the first check the aircraft attitude changed but the descent rate and angle remained unaltered. Full throttle was applied, but the engine did not respond and even full flap failed to prevent the aircraft from slamming heavily into the ground. This fully compressed the main wheel oleos that then forced us to rebound back into the air. Immediately the motor roared to full power, lifting the aircraft precariously with insufficient runway remaining to put down again safely. The Provost was staggering along when I realised the wings were badly distorted. Aileron control was all but lost, necessitating the use of rudder to lift the port wing. To achieve the correct climbing speed, the nose had to be depressed well below its normal climbing attitude because the distorted wings were now set at a higher than normal angle to the airframe.

  I was still sorting myself out when Prop blurted out, “Sir, this wing is coming off." I looked down my side and could see that the wing root fairing had separated from the leading edge and that there were stress wrinkles on the mainplane. Obviously Prop’s side looked the same but sun reflections on the ripples, from his perspective, must have given him an impression of imminent structural failure.

  Having assured Prop we would be okay, I waited until we were above a safe bail-out height before telling him to be prepared to jettison the canopy and abandon the aircraft without hesitation if I told him to do so. Very limited aileron movement was available at each end of full application because the control cables had become slack within the distorted wings. Elevator and rudder control responses were normal so I continued climbing to 10,000 feet with a view to establishing the stalling speed and to conduct low-speed handling checks preparatory to a landing that I felt sure would be possible.

  Bob Woodward came up to inspect our Provost and reported that, apart from severely bent wings, the port tyre had burst and the tail wheel had disappeared into the fuselage. He formated on me as I reduced speed to check my damaged aircraft’s slow-speed handling characteristics. When it felt as if we were near to stalling, my airspeed indicator read 100 knots whereas Bob said his was reading 85 knots. We concluded this had something to do with changed geometry of the airframe.

  The landing was fine, the wings did not come off but the burst wheel, even with a fair amount of right-wheel braking, pulled the aircraft into a wide turn before we came to a dusty halt.

  In the hangar after replacement of the burst tyre. Note the increased wing-pitch angles outside of the undercarriage legs.

  I had just climbed out of the cockpit onto the wing with my parachute slung over my shoulder when Group Captain Jock Barber drew up behind the aircraft in his Staff car. Looking directly towards the CO, I took the normal step down from the trailing edge of the wing and nearly broke my neck and back when my foot met ground about two feet closer than usual because the trailing edge of the wing was so much closer to ground. This bad jolt, and possibly the high-impact landing, initiated spinal problems that were to plague me for twenty-four years until an orthopaedic surgeon eventually performed a successful lower lumber fusion in 1986.

  Chris Dams and Dave Thorne conducted tests in which they discovered that the Leonides engine’s response to full throttle application failed when rpm was reducing close to idling speed. This was taken to be the reason for my engine not giving full power at a critical moment. But it was the technicians who pinpointed the primary cause of the accident. The airspeed indicator on my side of the cockpit was over-reading by 10 knots. Had I been using the student’s airspeed indicator, as I should have done when instructing, a costly accident would certainly have been avoided.

  The second incident with Prop occurred during a take-off run. Prop had applied too much elevator when lifting the tail. Because the nose was too far down, I placed my hand on my control column and, easing back slightly, said “Not so much!”, whereupon Prop applied full brakes, pitching the nose down violently. Fortunately my hand was already on the control column so I was able to yank back and prevent the propeller from digging into the runway. In so doing the aircraft was forced to stagger into flight prematurely.

  I climbed and had turned down wind for a landing to have the tyres inspected when I noticed that Prop had his hand on the control column, still with brakes fully applied. A gentle tap on his arm made him let go. Even before lining up with the runway we could see the two lines of torn grass down the centre of the runway. They were later paced out at sixty-eight yards.

  Prop explained that he thought we were already airborne when he applied the brakes; anyway we had been very fortunate. Had the propeller dug into the ground at speed and full power a serious situation might have resulted.

  Pat Meddows-Taylor and Dave Thorne, seeing that I was somewhat shaken by the incident, offered me a cigarette. Not having smoked in my adult life I declined their offer; but both of them insisted I take a couple of puffs to calm me down. Foolishly I took the lighted cigarette and, under guidance, inhaled smoke. There was no coughing so I took another and then another drag before becoming dizzy.

  The first incident with Prop Geldenhuys led to major spinal problems and the second one set me off on cigarette smoking; two awful afflictions that can be blamed on nobody but myself.

  Officer Cadet Strnad, a student on 16 PTC, was one of the most troubled youngsters I had ever met. He was not my student and I only flew with him once on IF. Like the rest of his course, Strnad was not used to alcohol but, when he did drink, he became very weepy and needed to talk to anyone who would lend a sympathetic ear. In Beryl and me he found sympathy, not that either one of us could make sense of his ramblings until Beryl managed to get to the root cause of his distress. His father was practising incest on his sister who was a very unwilling participant. Not long after this Strnad, after his release from the RRAF, returned to South Africa where he murdered his father to protect his sister and then changed his name. He was imprisoned but later released when an Appeal Court judge ruled in his favour.

  RAF Trappers

  NO 1 SQUADRON CONTINUED TO undertake annual detachments to Aden and the Canberras made their contribution to Middle East Commonwealth defence by training with RAF bombers based at RAF Akrotiri in Cyprus.

  Canberras at RAF Akrotiri, Cyprus.

  Although our Canberra pilots were Rhodesian-trained, most of the navigators had been recruited from the RAF and the South African Air Force. Rhodesian determination to turn in top results in all they did obviously rubbed off on the navigators because No 5 Squadron gave the RAF Canberra boys quite a hiding during annual bombing competitions. This seemed to intrigue the RAF hierarchy who, with the concurrence of our Air HQ, decided to look into Royal Rhodesian Air Force flying standards.

  Central Flying School of the RAF ran a team of testing officers nicknamed ‘The Trappers’. The team was comprised of highly rated instructors who roamed RAF squadrons testing other instructors as well as fighter, transport, bomber and helicopter pilots. When the Trappers arrived in Rhodesia to test our pilots, absolutely nothing was known of their presence or purpose until, unannounced, they appeared in every squadron crew-room.

  Two testing officers came to 2 Squadron, one to test Vampire instructors and the other to test Provost instructors. Each selected three of us at random and I was one to be tested by Flight Lieutenant Grimson. He asked for pre-flight briefings on three nominated flight exercises prior to flying. In the air he tested my teaching techniques on the entire range of daytime exercises, excluding formation and navigation. In the Officers’ Mess bar that evenin
g I found him to be a very pleasant individual, quite unlike the austere Trapper I knew in briefing room and cockpit. He uttered not a word to anyone about his assessment of those he had tested and would not be drawn to express opinion of our flying standards.

  From Central Flying School our Headquarters received detailed reports revealing that, with the exception of No 4 Squadron, RRAF flying standards were equal to those of the RAF. The report made recommendation that an instructor be posted to 4 Squadron with a view to bringing its pilots up to standard. I was selected for this task and was posted to New Sarum.

  No 4 Squadron

  JUST PRIOR TO MY LEAVING Thornhill, my very first student Terry Ryan, then serving with 4 Squadron, was killed whilst flying unauthorised low-level aerobatics to impress his friends who were visiting the Snake Park near Salisbury. Apparently he was attempting a left-hand stall-turn that went pear-shaped and the aircraft slammed belly first into the ground close to the main Salisbury road. This was a sad prelude to my arrival on the squadron whose commander was Squadron Leader Ozzie Penton. Until this time I had only known him as a short cocky man who flew Canberras and revelled in baiting navigators and pilots who were six foot and over. From pilots serving under him I learned that he was tops as a squadron commander.

  Ozzie Penton had flown Spitfires during WWII and became one of the most colourful individuals in our force. His small build, cocky attitude and loud voice were endearing characteristics of a man who shunned administrative posts and only wanted to fly aeroplanes.

  He made me feel welcome the minute I reported for duty and insisted that my corrective instruction would start with him. He said that between the two of us we would raise squadron standards to the point where 4 Squadron would be the next winner of the Jacklin Trophy. This we succeeded in doing.

  Ozzie receiving the Jacklin Trophy from AVM Raf Bentley. Upon his retirement from service, Air Vice-Marshal Ted Jacklin had given this floating trophy to Air HQ for presentation to the squadron adjudged to have turned in the best performance or made the greatest advances during each year.

  Flight Lieutenant Ted Brent.

  Ozzie claimed that he was the ugliest man in the force and established the ‘Uglies Club’ with Doug Bebbington as his first though somewhat unwilling member. When six-foot-tall Canberra navigator Flight Lieutenant Don Brenchley suggested to Ozzie that his looks qualified him for Uglies Club membership, Oz raised himself to everything of five foot four inches and answered Don with spaced words loudly spoken saying, “Not a bloody chance mate! We may be ugly but we do have our standards!” Had Don been a pilot or technical man this would have been different!

  My task in bringing flying standards up to scratch was a pleasant one that required no more than two months of fairly intensive effort. Under Ozzie’s unique style of leadership the squadron’s discipline was tightened and already high spirits amongst air and ground crews soared.

  Flight Lieutenant Ted Brent was both ‘A’ Flight Commander and Pilot Armament Instructor responsible for all weapons training. He arranged a ten-day weapons training camp at Kutanga Range for all pilots using all twelve Provosts on squadron strength. This was my first introduction to the delivery of weapons from a Provost.

  I was very dissatisfied with the squadron’s poor gunnery results and wondered what I could do about it. Then, upon close inspection of the .303 Browning machine-guns, I found that they whipped about in poorly designed wing mountings. This problem was the consequence of the manufacturer having to convert Provost T1 trainers to MkT52 in too great a hurry to meet contract deadlines. I knew exactly what needed to be done and asked my OC if I could fix the problem. Not only did Ozzie approve this; he turned the issue into an official instruction to be certain I received maximum assistance from the Station Armoury and other technical sections at New Sarum. Initial resistance to a pilot leading the technical work came from two technical officers but Ozzie, who took absolutely no nonsense from anyone, sorted this out.

  The mountings I designed were manufactured and fitted and ground-firing tests showed a great improvement in the accuracy of the guns. More important than this, from my own point of view, was the fact that I had established close relations with all the technical officers and technicians with whom I dealt; all were really top-line operators.

  A task Ozzie pinned on me was to become the RRAF’s low-level aerobatist on Provosts; my first exhibition at an Air Show occurring at Lusaka on 26 May 1963. Of all the low-level aerobatists who ever flew for the Air Force, I was certainly the least enthusiastic. Nevertheless my display at Lusaka and many to follow went off well enough.

  A couple of years later I was pleased to hand this task over to Spaz Currie, a gifted young pilot who not only flew better aerobatics than me, he enjoyed it. I flew with Spaz on low-level aerobatic instruction, but it was really Dave Thorne who had brought him to the standard of excellence for which Spaz became well known. Dave Thorne and I were rated above-average pilots but it seemed to me that, as instructors, we both had the gift of being able to teach others to fly better than ourselves.

  Almost any person can be taught to fly an aircraft but few people are ‘born pilots’ possessing natural flying ability. Yet, every now and then there arise those who possess a God-given ability to handle aeroplanes with amazing precision. So far as I can recall the ‘born pilots’ of our force were Charlie Paxton, Colin Graves, John Mussell, Mark Smithdorff, Keith Corrans and Spaz Currie. Bob Woodward was rated as a top line aerobatist but when flying with him I found his control movements to be incredibly harsh.

  The RRAF was somewhat under-manned for situations requiring deployment of squadrons into the field. To cater for this a Volunteer Reserve (VR) force was established under Group Captain Charles Green, himself a volunteer. He had seen service during WWII and distinguished himself when commanding 266 (Rhodesia) Squadron operating Typhoon fighter-bombers that specialised in ground-attack. As a consequence of his extreme aggression against German tank concentrations during General Patton’s push in the Ardennes campaign, Charles was shot down and became a POW.

  In the initial stages there were so many Rhodesian Greek volunteers that some of us nicknamed the VR ‘The Hellenic Air Force’. Four VR officers were attached to 4 Squadron for orientation purposes, though none of them was Greek. They were Derrick Whelehan, Brian Patton, Derrick Purnell and Trevor Ruile. Their arrival coincided with my request to introduce flying exercises designed to hone pilot skills in low-level map-reading, powers of visual observation and mental retention. Our technicians were to be included in most exercises as were the four attached VR Officers. Ozzie Penton’s permission was enthusiastically given before he turned things around and, in typical Ozzie fashion, ordered me to do exactly what I had asked for. I set about preparing exercises for counter-insurgency operations even though I knew absolutely nothing about COIN operations. I had to rely entirely on my imagination and plan accordingly.

  A points system was established for all these exercises which engendered a strong sense of competition amongst the participants, making the training seem more like a game than serious business. There were continuous variations introduced into the exercises, all flown at low level to simulate worst operating weather conditions.

  A typical single flight task might be to: (1) find the most suitable site for float plane operations in clear water having a straight run of 800 yards within thirty nautical miles of nominated place; (2) identify features at grid references a, b, c and so on; (3) make a single pass on the bridge at grid reference so and so and have a sketch and written report on the bridge air-dropped to police station such and such.

  The British South Africa Police were very helpful in providing observers at bridges, or any other place involving a single pass. Aircraft numbers were recorded and passed to the squadron so that anyone making more than one pass would be spotted and disqualified.

  In the initial exercises there were wide variations in results but, with persistence, we reached a point where all results matched, thereby indic
ating that good standards in map-reading and recce observations had been achieved.

  We returned to Kutanga for another weapons camp. The gunnery results improved unbelievably. Pilots who had previously scored around 15% hits were recording better than 60% and Ted Brent managed to score 100% on one of his solo flights. Air HQ was well pleased with the marked improvements in our gunnery, rocket and bomb results. This precipitated a visit to Kutanga by the Director General Operations, Group Captain John Deall.

  During WWII at the tender age of twenty-three, John Deall relinquished his command of No 266 Squadron to take over a wing of Typhoon and Spitfire squadrons, including 266 Squadron. Later he returned to Rhodesia as a Wing Commander with five proven victories, a DFC, a DSO and the Netherlands Flying Cross.

  Air Commodore John Deall.

  Though of small build, Johnny Deall was a giant in all respects and greatly revered by all ranks. He always remained cool, was softly spoken and had an ability to admonish men with very few words. By far the worst chiding I ever received from anyone came from John Deall in the mid-1970s when he was Chief of Air Staff in the rank Air Commodore. He called me to his office and, holding a draft paper in front of him, simply said, “I feel let down PB. I expected better of you!” I was floored and deeply embarrassed by the quietly spoken words. I received his apology the moment he realised that I was not the writer of the paper. Nevertheless, I left Johnny Deall’s office feeling decidedly crushed.

  John Deall had not flown for some years when, at Kutanga, he went up with Ted Brent to try his hand at firing rockets from a Provost; a far cry from Typhoons and Spitfires. After a couple of dummy runs he fired four rockets, one off each of four live passes. We were all stunned because he scored direct hits every time. When invited to try his hand again, Johnny declined saying he would be a fool not to quit whilst he was on top.