Spitfire Singh

by Mike Edwards

  Service in the armed forces was considered unpatriotic and the Indian public looked down upon any one of their own countrymen in uniform, regarding them as tools of British Imperialism. Those who had knowingly joined the embryo Indian Air Force, were like the corn between grindstones. The British did not want them; Indians disowned them. Outcasts in both societies, even though they were trying to achieve the same end-result as Gandhi! It was under these circumstances that Newing came to their rescue, and did his very best to infuse patriotism and self-confidence in them. It is interesting to see that Newing clearly bucked the thinking of most of his countrymen around him. He did not try and anglicise the Indians, but encouraged their patriotism for a future India.

  If their position in society was an issue, their technical training was, if anything, even more complicated. The authorities at Aircraft Repair Depot, Karachi, refused to believe the madness that Indians were actually to be allowed access to the Airframe and Aero-Engine Shops. Previously, no Indian had been permitted to enter, because clearly, these natives were incapable of doing a complicated job like work on aircraft engine parts. They certainly should not be allowed to learn the trade; that was preposterous! British Airmen had no problem with openly showing their hostile attitude. The Chief Technical Officer inflamed matters further, he publicly declared that he would not be responsible for the security of the equipment if Indians were allowed to work on aero-engines. Naturally, these Indians would all be thieves.

  Harjinder had proved to be a natural leader, and would take most insults on the chin, but this was insulting their technical expertise. He took this blind stupidity head-on, by requesting Warrant Officer Newing to arrange a meeting with Squadron Leader F.A. Norton. During the meeting, the Squadron Leader said that he had yet to meet an Indian who could be technically trusted on aeroplanes. Harjinder laid down the challenge: ‘Sir, you are a graduate of an engineering college of London University. You can pick anyone of us and test him. I also would like to show you the question papers we had in our college exams.’

  The Squadron Leader was obviously convinced of his own superior training and breeding compared to these Sepoys. If not he wouldn’t have agreed to the challenge, but he had faith in what he believed was an extremely difficult theoretical exam he had set. The following day they all took Norton’s self-penned test and he admitted to being ‘pleasantly surprised’ that they did so well. Credit to Norton, he then ensured that no more doubts were cast thereafter, and they were allowed to roam the Aero-Engine Shop without escort, after having spent three months in the hangars. Nothing went missing, nothing was stolen, and every Indian threw himself into the technical tasks offered to them. After all, these men were trained engineers. That is more than could have been said for Aircraftsman T.E. Shaw who had worked in Engine Repair Section: Room No. 2 just two years before. This Aircraftman was known to millions after the World War I as Lieutenant-Colonel T.E. Lawrence, DSO, the man who had united the tribes of Arabia to fight for the British against the Turks. Aircraftman Shaw was Lawrence of Arabia, hiding from the unwanted spotlight.

  Once in the shop, receiving lectures from the technical instructor, another falling-out soon followed. The instructor was essentially a practical engineer, and these recruits were mainly trained on the theoretical side. The agile hands met the agile minds on the battlefield of engineering! One day, during a lecture on Instruments, Harjinder happened to incur the instructor’s wrath when he got up and mentioned the Bernoulli theorem of aerodynamics in support of his explanations. The instructor called him aside saying, ‘If you know so much, you can keep clear of my lectures.’ Guess what? Harjinder did!

  Thereafter, Harjinder had to hunt around for knowledge at his own initiative. He wrote, ‘This was a God-sent boon. I met a number of Warrant Officers and senior NCOs who were fresh out from England and consequently up-to-date in their knowledge of new developments. One such was Sergeant Wilson, a Sergeant Pilot but a Rigger by trade. During his “gen” talk to me, he mentioned the latest monoplane developments in England. When my regular instructor heard of this he was furious, because he thought Sergeant Wilson was leading us astray. In India, at that time, it was not considered feasible that monoplanes could fly with no bracings and struts to support the main-planes.’

  Newing soon had another important influence over Harjinder, one that may have influenced the progression of the IAF. The recruits were to be split into those progressing to study aero-engines and those to study the aircraft structures to become ‘Fitter Airframe’. Harjinder was examined on aircraft engines, and satisfied all concerned regarding his knowledge on the subject. He was stunned to learn later that he was to be given the trade of ‘Fitter Airframe’ (initially called Metal Rigger in those days) and protested vehemently. However, Newing’s foresight again came into play. He explained that since Harjinder knew about engines, if he learnt the new trade of Airframe Fitter he would be more useful to the future Indian Air Force in repairing crashed aircraft, which needed the very best men with a good theoretical background. He added: ‘A Fitter Aero-engine is merely a spanner engineer, he simply replaces parts. Yours will be a much more rewarding job.’

  Harjinder didn’t see it that way at first. ‘Although I accepted the new trade, inside my heart I still considered that a Fitter Aero-engine was a superior trade. However, years later I felt highly grateful to Newing for having guided me in my choice, because his advice gave us the opportunity of a sound grounding in maintenance. I am grateful to Newing, for as a Fitter Airframes, I helped to rebuild broken aircraft, and this, in turn, built up my career in the IAF.’ This decision may well have saved the IAF in the early years as it was Harjinder who lead the charge, mostly through underhand methods, to ensure that damaged IAF aircraft never came to the attention of those in power in the ever-hawkish RAF at HQ in Delhi.

  Some of the views the RAF men at ground level espoused were understandable, considering that the men usually joining them had little to no ‘hands on’ experience. On the other side of the coin, many of the IAF’s new recruits were already engineering graduates, and still thought of themselves as white-collared supervisors: not expecting to be using their hands The theoretical aspect was easy for them, but somehow, practical work did not appeal to them. Harjinder in particular, it seems! The shock came when Newing submitted his first quarterly report on Harjinder to Air Headquarters. Obviously a good reader of men, Newing took an unusual step in those days, and led Harjinder aside to let him read the report, knowing the effect it would have on him. Harjinder was furious when he saw it:

  A very smart, intelligent and daring apprentice. Very good in theory, but poor in practical work. He can lead the rest, but there is a danger of his going on the wrong path.

  The effect was clear, and no doubt planned by Newing. Harjinder pondered over the comments, ‘poor in practical work’ and ‘going on the wrong path’. He decided to prove that he would be the best at practical work, and he did this in the only way he knew. Every afternoon, including Sundays, when his other duties were complete, he was to be found on the work bench. He then began to realise that the report was indeed true. He could hardly use his hands, even accurate filing was beyond him.

  For nine months, he worked during every spare hour available. He worked so hard, that by the end of his self-imposed practical lessons, the instructors showed off his prolific output to the other British Non-Commissioned Officers (NCO’s) in Lahore. Harjinder received a final endorsement of his growing skills when one day, a drawing from the Air Ministry arrived. It was brought to him for the development and making of a metal fitting as he was considered to be the best in the depot to complete the job. Whilst his colleagues enjoyed barrack life, Harjinder spurned it, instead spending long hours studying inside the big room allotted to them. They were six in one room, so in order get some privacy he hung a mosquito curtain, folded, to form a screen. This period of study may have made the engineer in Harjinder, but he reflected on these as the most unpleasant days of his career. The only tim
e he could study in peace was in the afternoon, when the others had dozed off. One less dedicated member of the group used a taunting manner to tell the others: ‘If you want to become a Junior NCO, then study behind a mosquito curtain and work in shops in the afternoons and on Sundays.’ Later, Harjinder would really become a NCO, whereas the man taunting him would have to wait for years to become one.

  The foundation of the man who would probably become the best engineer in the IAF had been laid. Looking back years later Harjinder wrote: ‘Although I, at first, bore Newing a grudge for the adverse report he had given me, later I realised that it was this report that had showed me the light and acted as the foundation stone of my career. I have since practised this principle in life when dealing with my subordinates and it has worked wonders. I have discovered that over 99 per cent people improve themselves if you inform them of their faults and weaknesses in a constructive manner. In other words, in the long run, a kick in the pants sends you further along than a pat on the back, though a combination of the two is the best method.’

  This is seen as common procedure now, but not in 1932! It was a revolutionary approach to man-management that Newing had demonstrated to Harjinder.

  Newing took his responsibility for the trainees’ well-being seriously, often dropping in at the barracks to help to convert them to Service life. He had some interesting, and controversial, theories on life in general, and on India in particular. One evening, he talked about the contrast between Indian and British characters. He believed that in England, a man rose in life by dint of hard work and ability. He thought the reverse was true in India. He also preached that Indians, on the whole, married young, produced hordes of children and then died young. No nation where domesticity took hold of its youth too early could achieve any greatness worthy of the name. If only India could increase the age of marriage by law, problems of child mortality and over-population would solve themselves. His advice was very immensely practical! ‘One hour of football everyday keeps the thought of women away.’ They practised that too!

  The theme of his talks always had one moral; Service life is simple, and it builds character. An easy-going nation will always suffer defeat. He used to cite the French defeat in the World War I. Harjinder lapped up all of Newing’s offerings.

  ‘He became my guru in the Service. I owe more to him than to any other individual. I had become so easy-going in college, that I considered the use of my hands as beneath me. Newing cured that. There is a limit to one’s requirements in a simple life, but none in a luxurious one. The demands keep on increasing until a man starts living beyond his means. A hard, tough service life saves you from such temptations, and the country benefits from the quality of each man.’

  Unbeknownst to Harjinder, there was a great event occurring on 8 October 1932 in the beautiful town of Simla, where vehicles were banned from the paths that weaved through the epitome of British hill station architecture. Under the lengthening purple shadows of the Himalayas, the ‘Gazette Notification’ for the creation of the Indian Air Force was produced in the turreted fairytale offices of the Viceroy’s summer palace. Far more relevant to these men in training, was the knowledge that the end of 1932 was to bring the next batch of apprentices. These new entrants would also be experienced having also done their three years in Indian Engineering colleges. However, as with any course, anywhere in the world, the senior course greeted the arrival of the juniors with joy, excitement, curiosity and naturally, they also took the opportunity to look down upon the new arrivals. Harjinder and team now felt worldly-wise and, best of all, there were underlings to take on the suffering they had endured. However, things didn’t quite go according to plan.

  During their first year, every trainee had to take turns to be in-charge of the group, giving the orders to march the team smartly from one lecture to another, from dinner hall to tented city. The sense of superiority over the new arrivals was snatched away before it could be savoured, and this produced much resentment among Harjinder’s men wanting their little piece of respect. Harjinder, who had grown up with stories of his teacher, Khem Singh, standing firm on the parade ground when his rights were infringed was about to re-enact the event, in reverse, even though he later admitted ‘it was somewhat petulant’, and it wasn’t quite with the grace of his teacher.

  Apprentice Noronha was the first from the new course to take the parade. He blew the whistle outside the senior barracks and began to take the roll call. Harjinder’s name was called out once, twice and three times; nothing! Then from inside the barrack block came the familiar booming voice telling him to ‘pipe down’, because he would not ‘fall in’ under a junior man. The poor trainee, in a desperate attempt to show his authority, began shouting, but Harjinder was not to be trifled with, he responded to the insult by hurling some abuses of his own. The parade marched off and quite understandably, Noronha reported Harjinder to the Administrative Officer, Squadron Leader White.

  Harjinder was produced before Squadron Leader White, a regular terror, and the charge sheet was read out. Newing, always protective towards his students, in an effort to lessen the charge toned down the exchange with the phrase: ‘Or words to that effect.’ When asked to answer the charge Harjinder began: ‘Sir, firstly the apprentice is new, he could not be my superior officer as defined by Air Force Law. Secondly, I actually used worse language than the one I am charged with. I did purposely refuse to fall in, so to assert my point. I will face any punishment I deserve.’

  There was complete silence in the room. Squadron Leader White face matched his name as the blood drained. He glared for a while and then shouted: ‘Case dismissed, march him out.’

  This time it was the instructor’s turn to be astonished. After Harjinder’s having been being marched out, the Station Administrative Officer came out and said that he wanted to see Harjinder privately.

  ‘Do you realise that you are training to be an airman?’

  ‘Yes Sir, I do.’

  ‘Why did you join as an airman?’

  ‘Because I wanted to serve in the Air Force.’

  ‘Do you know you never will make an airman?’

  ‘I do not agree with you, Sir.’

  ‘Will you tell me, why you dared to say that you had used worse language than you were charged with. Were you not afraid of the punishment? Frankly, I have not met an Indian who had the moral courage even to admit the charges made against him.’

  ‘In that case, Sir, you have not met real Indians before!’

  ‘All right! I am glad to meet one now. However, I would like to advise you not to defy authority openly. Even if you think you are right, first carry out the orders, then register your complaint. That is the proper way because then you would not get a single day’s punishment.’

  Harjinder admitted that he was impressed by White’s attitude. The advice was sound, and he promised him never to forget it. White may have learnt about the Indians under his command, but that lesson was yet to reach all concerned. As Harjinder reached the lecture room, he found his instructor waiting for him, red in the face and quivering with barely controlled anger. He dished out his own punishment to Harjinder. He was ordered to report to the Guard Room every hour in a different form of dress every time. Furthermore, he was debarred from riding a cycle and had to cover the distance to the barracks, about a mile and half, every hour until lights out at 10 pm, on foot. Although the form of punishment was illegal, Harjinder carried out the sentence faithfully. The upshot of the affair was sore feet for Harjinder, but the new apprentices were taken off the duty apprentice roster. Harjinder had won his case after all, but in the Service you never win, really. The instructor became his enemy and never pardoned him for the rest of his time in training. Harjinder learnt a lesson from that too!

  As the year 1932 came to an end, there was great excitement to receive the first Commissioned Indian Officer, Pilot Officer Tandon. Their expectations of a tall, elegant, impressive officer were dashed on meeting Pilot Officer Tandon, who was hardly f
ive feet tall and looked like a boy scout in uniform! Anyway, they were so proud of the first Indian Officer that at times they went out of their way simply to cross his path; with enormous smiles, they would snap him their finest salute. The British Other Ranks (BOR’s) were not yet psychologically ready to salute an Indian, and a number of them landed behind bars for failing to do so. It took some time before they woke up and faced reality.

  The arrival of Pilot Officer Tandon led to a discussion amongst the course about the qualities which differentiated an airman from an officer. After all, before joining the military, these trainee sepoys were originally destined to have officer-like responsibilities in the engineering world. The final conclusion was that it was neither superiority in education, nor physique, that was the difference, but a matter of one’s position in life, social standing and a helping of good luck. This was further confirmed when a few months later the five other Indian Officers came from Cranwell to join as Pilot Officers of the RAF. One of them had earlier competed against Harjinder for entry into Maclaghan College but had failed to make the grade. Conveniently, and to save future blushes, Harjinder doesn’t state in his diary which one failed the engineering entrance test because one way or another, these pilots would book their place in IAF history. It was a chance for Harjinder to meet up again with A Singh and B Singh who had sent him the letter of encouragement to join the IAF. However, the realities of the situation came into sharp focus since they were commissioned officers and Harjinder was still a low life Hawai Sepoy. Amarjit was grieved when he realised the tremendous social difference enforced between them, and felt guilty about having somehow been responsible for Harjinder’s ‘plight’. Harjinder would have none of it and insisted he was very happy where he was.

  The initial training for Harjinder and his colleagues was coming to an end and the Air Force proper awaited their arrival. Their engineering skills were examined and not found wanting. The officer who examined Harjinder, Flight Lieutenant GH Shaw, called him aside and confided in him about the fight he had put up for all to be classified as Leading Aircraftsmen (LAC) as would be the case for any RAF apprentices. Shaw had also pushed, unsuccessfully, for promotion to Corporal rank for Harjinder. He told Harjinder: ‘Remember that nobody has ever been able to keep a good man down. You will surely go up the ladder.’