by Mike Edwards
The main task for the Air Force was tribal reconnaissance.
It was rare for the Frontier to be entirely free from trouble for more than a few days at a time. Occasionally, large scale operations were called for, in North Waziristan, for example, where several Army brigades were involved, and as many aircraft as the RAF could muster were called in. However, it was mostly localised trouble from intertribal blood feuds, so the mission for the RAF, and now IAF, was not only to see what the tribes were up to, but to be seen by the tribes. The flights would last over three hours in the often turbulent air, causing the rear gunner to bounce of the cockpit floor tugging the monkey chain tight. As they crossed seemingly deserted villages, the inhabitants would come pouring out from their huts to see this projection of British Imperial power. Harjinder would take the Lewis machine gun out of the stowage and fit it onto the ring around the rear cockpit in its firing position. They would fly at 500 feet, low enough so their armoury could be seen, and the unspoken message given out. Flying low enough to be seen also meant low enough to be shot at. It was not unusual to see a puff of gun smoke from behind a random boulder. One of the rear gunners from RAF’s No. 60 Squadron tried to reassure the new IAF gunners by saying, ‘Well it’s quite common in this area, but they haven’t a hope of hitting us. Occasionally a bullet hole is found after these flights, but the old Wapiti can take plenty of those without much damage.’
It would take some time, but an IAF Wapiti crew had the misfortune to prove him wrong…
Remember, even though Harjinder, and the other Airmen spent long hours in the rear cockpit of the Wapiti, this was not their official job. Air Chief Marshal Sir David Lee was a very junior Pilot Officer in North-West Frontier Province at the time, flying the Wapiti. His view of the men in the back seat; ‘It was an arduous job for these splendid Airmen as, no sooner were they on the ground after a long and perhaps rough flight, they had to resume their normal tradesmen’s duties working on the Wapitis. It was also a great comfort to the pilot to have a skilled technician in the back as an air gunner. They could be invaluable in the event of some technical trouble arising on a remote landing ground; an engine that refused to start, a flat tyre or a tear in the fabric.’
Here, on the Frontier, the RAF Corporals were only too happy to recognise Harjinder and Ram Singh as Corporals when it meant that they could share out their additional duties as Guard Commanders. During these duties, checking that all was well in the various buildings, they both noticed how the RAF personnel wore khaki slacks and tunics in the evenings, whereas the IAF Airmen had to wear the same old boots, putties and shorts they worked in. No clean, smart, clothes to relax in when their work was done. So, on their own initiative, they bought khaki slacks with their own money, and carried out an experiment in dressing like Airmen should dress. In this new evening attire, they felt a greater feeling of belonging, part of a team to be proud of. There was still no thought from HQ of producing an identity for those in the IAF, so again it lay with the men. Later, when they confided their actions to their new Flight Commander, Flight Lieutenant Haynes, he readily agreed to this innovation and the Indian Officers lent them their support. At the end of the summer, when Squadron Leader Hancock, from Drigh Road inspected the Flight, he gave the new dress the thumbs up. That is how slacks come to stay in the IAF as the official dress.
When winter approached, Harjinder persuaded the Airmen to buy their own warm khaki slacks. At first, they were doubtful whether the Flight Commander would agree to this, but they took the risk. The day of reckoning was chosen, and on that fine evening, they all wore the warmer version of the uniform on guard duty. Nervously, they appeared in what was effectively a uniform they were making up themselves; something you just don’t do as a military unit.
How was this bold step received by the senior Officers?
Nobody noticed! The worry and careful planning had been unnecessary. Nothing untoward came to pass, so Harjinder had added the official winter dress to that of the summer dress. It may seem a minor point but; ‘Our joy knew no bounds because our attempt to shed army boots and putties had been successful after four years.’
Having shed the image of Indian Army soldiers, they took to the spit and polish of buttons and boots with an enthusiasm that knew no bounds, because they wanted to be superior to the RAF in all respects. This motive to outdo the RAF was the ever-present mainspring of their lives.
The engineers now looked the part, and the Indian pilots were playing their part. Praise poured in from all directions – from the Army and the Political Agents. So impressed were they with the IAF Flight (or is that D Flight RAF?), that whenever there was a senior Army Officer to be conveyed to the Waziristan area, or a Political Agent tasked with a difficult job, it was the IAF they requested rather than the RAF machines. However, their choice may also have been influenced by the widely reported incident of an Army Captain flying in the back of an RAF Wapiti with Flying Officer Mavor. It was quite normal at the time to take on a few beers and pink gins in the morning before flying; in the 21st century a criminal offence! They were flying late in the afternoon up through the mountains when the RAF pilot felt the call of nature. After fumbling around for several frantic minutes he gave up trying to find a suitable receptacle and so had to just do it on the cockpit floor. The relief spread on the pilots face as the liquid spread through to the rear cockpit. There was a call on the Gosport voice tube from the Army Captain to report the seeping of liquid into his cockpit but reassured the pilot by telling him, ‘It’s all right, it’s not petrol. I’ve just tasted it!’
Harjinder, master of the understatement writes; ‘flying in the North-West Frontier was not an easy job.’
He soon discovered the treacherous summer weather. Gigantic castles of cumulus cloud would billow upwards, far beyond the height the intrepid aviators reached in their modified Wapiti over the Everest. At the base of these beautiful billowing giants, a black, sinister heart would be mixing up a maelstrom of winds, rain, hail and lightning. They brought in their wake clouds of red dust making it difficult to discern the outlines of the mountains; or tell the ground from the sky. The brownish colour acted like camouflage paint doused on the vista, to deceive the pilots’ powers of observation. Furthermore, the weather forecast was at best unreliable, often bordering on the comical. Normal procedure was for the weather to be telephoned from one aerodrome to another by an Airman of the Watch in a disastrous game of Chinese whispers. One day Harjinder received the following weather report that seemed to cover all eventualities except a plague of frogs:
Dust and/or thunderstorm with, or without, precipitations likely; occasionally, temporarily and locally in your area.
Weather was extreme. Flying under the cloud would be turbulent too and carry another hidden danger; the hail. This was not your common and garden pea-sized hailstones. One Wapiti strayed into a hailstorm with the stones the size of pigeons’ eggs. They crashed off the metal cowlings around the nose, producing a noise louder than the aircraft’s own engine. The windscreen cracked and some of the larger hailstones passed through the fabric on the wings as effectively as any bullet. This was a more effective assault than any tribesman’s rifle. 2 minutes amid this absolute chaos left the wings and the fuselage looking like the centrepiece at a blunderbuss convention, the paint had been stripped off the propeller and the wings had 164 holes to be patched up. The engine never missed a beat but the airframe, and the rear gunner now sporting a black eye, looked much the worse for wear. On landing, the sight produced the obvious question; ‘Christ Sir, what have you been doing?’
Three months after the IAFs arrival in Peshawar, they carried out a bold social experiment. Flying Officers Mukerjee and Engineer called Harjinder to the pilots’ room and said: ‘Supposing we were to introduce an inter-community mess. What would be the reaction of the Airmen?’
Harjinder replied; ‘If we introduce this new scheme both at “A” Flight here and “B” Flight in Karachi simultaneously, it will work.’
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bsp; Flying Officer Mukerjee wrote to Pilot Officer ‘Jumbo’ Majumdar at Karachi and they came to an understanding. The stage was set for what in those days was a daring experiment for the Indian Armed Forces. The officers were warned by the RAF that in case the scheme misfired, the official wrath would come down on their heads like a ton of bricks. They took the responsibility with a smile, and their men never gave them cause to regret it.
It was announced in the barracks that ‘B’ Flight at Drigh Road had already started a common mess. The only food which was cooked separately was the meat, jhatka and halal for Hindus and Muslims respectively. On the same day, a similar announcement was made at Karachi. Only two men rejected the idea. They were told they could draw their dry rations and cook for themselves. Thereafter, there was no resistance; the scheme worked in both Flights.
Little does the present generation realise the significance of the remarkable foresight shown by the two young IAF Officers. It would take the Indian Army another decade to get anywhere close to this pioneering idea. It gave the RAF a good impression about the IAF, and belied the propaganda spread against the Indian people, at least in the RAF circles. Unfortunately, it gave them a few headaches when they had to actually lodge and board with the change-resistant Army Units. The shock and horror from the Army Ranks when they saw them all not only dining together on the same table, but actually eating the same food cooked by the same cook! The IAF would often be shunned like plague victims. At one station, the Army Sepoys broke the water chatties because Hindus and Muslims had drunk out of the same vessel!
On 10th August, the Flight had their first ‘heavy landing’, in which slight damage was done to Wapiti K-1290. Pilot Officer Narendra, came in to land and bounced. Not uncommon when flying an aircraft with a tail-wheel, but he failed to open up the engine in time to recover the situation and offer the aircraft gently to the ground again. Instead, the aircraft hung a few feet in the air with the speed decaying away. The wings could hold the lift no more and stalled, dropping the Wapiti from a moderate height. The damage was minor; the skid tube was bent and the frame was slightly dented. Harjinder knew they could have repaired the aircraft within a few hours but RAF procedure had to be followed. It was dismantled and despatched all the way to Aircraft Repair Depot, Karachi, in a railway wagon. He was quite dismayed at the lack of trust in the technical skill of the RAF technicians in the Squadron. This distrust and lack of flexibility was to stay with him; gnaw away at him. It was the catalyst for Harjinder to start taking matters into his own hands.
It was the start of the legend that grew around Harjinder…
The humdrum part of military life had to continue alongside the excitement of being operational. One day, Harjinder was carrying out the tedious task of Guard Commander. In the early hours of the morning, there was nothing much to occupy the men but chat with those from other units. He had an interesting insight from the Corporal in-charge of the Highland Light Infantry Guard into British life in India. Harjinder touched on the subject of their unpopularity in Indian circles, but the Corporal, a Highlander from Scotland, said: ‘I know we Tommies, especially Highland Light Infantry, are hated wherever we go. However, look at our side of the picture. We are sent overseas to do a seven year stretch. In the British Isles, we lead a healthy social life irrespective of our ranks. Out in India, unless you are a Commissioned Officer, no girl, leave aside a European girl, even talks to us. So much so that when my Regiment was stationed at Razmak for three years, we did not see a white girl closer than a mile away. Our officers have a good time, but we are treated worse than animals. Do you blame us for our misbehaviour? The British Empire is for the few in the top class. As far as we in the ranks are concerned, you can keep your country, but give us back our own.’
The nature of operations for the IAF over the next few years was to rotate the Flights through the North-West Frontier and then back into bases further in the heart of India. On the 15th November 1936, Harjinder and ‘A’ Flight were sent to Chaklala near Rawalpindi for Army Cooperation Training. The aeroplanes were picketed in the open, and they lived in tents. One day, they flew in a formation of three Wapitis over the Murree Hills, while a fourth plane took photographs. This was the IAF’s Christmas Card for 1936! A week after their arrival at Chaklala, some civilians from Rawalpindi came over to visit the Flight. Harjinder asked permission from the Flight Commander to show them around, to which he agreed. Harjinder passed the word round to the flight boys, and in a few minutes, there were a number of them taking groups of locals to see the aircraft. This was their first chance to show civilians round their Flight. There was a noticeable change in how the public viewed the IAF. No longer just an oddity, monkeys to the British tugging on their chain. They were very proud, because Indians were now flying and maintaining Air Force planes. However, some of the hosts got a little carried away. Harjinder overheard a girl asking the photographer whether he also flew one of the Wapitis. ‘Of course, every morning’ was his reply, followed by a description of the Wapiti’s handling characteristics that bore no resemblance to reality at all.
A few days later, the Flight was even invited to tea by the Indian personnel of No. 5 Squadron RAF. They were entertained at the residence of the Head Clerk, Mr Labh Chand. There was Indian music and good Indian eats. The most gratifying element was to see the obvious pride with which their hosts regarded them. They were happy to welcome them because they were the Indian Air Force. The Flight’s personnel returned, determined to justify all the pride and hope their compatriots placed in them. Things were changing. After years of being looked down on, their countrymen were now looking up to them. The IAF still only consisted of 8 aircraft, but it was a focus for this national pride. This is what had driven Harjinder since that day in the Principal’s office.
By the beginning of 1937, the pilots and ground crew had won the admiration of No. 20 Squadron RAF. The IAF pilots, who had only really been employed as chauffeurs of the air so far, had tried their best to prove their worth in operations over the tribal area. Their first attempt to be allowed to take part in actual bombing and live firing operations did not succeed. Group Captain R.N. Bottomley, Air Officer Commanding No. 1 Indian Group, refused to allow ‘A’ Flight to proceed to the Operations area in Waziristan. He was always very sceptical about Indian pilots. Luckily for the future of the Flight, he was sent to UK on leave in the summer of 1937. Wing Commander McKenna, who became acting Air Officer Commanding, was more appreciative of their abilities, and he was the one who wrote the order to send the Flight on offensive duties. Progress for the IAF still depended on individuals kicking against the machine.
They moved into the sharp end of operations in the Waziristan area, towards the end of August, 1937. The advanced landing ground in Miranshah was located about 200 miles South-West of Peshawar, in the middle of the North-West Frontier Province hills. It was a large mud fort with very high walls, containing the headquarters of the tough, highly respected, Tochi scouts. The L-shaped landing strip lay outside the building, running along two sides of the fort. The fort housed the hangars, the Officers’ Mess, and tented accommodation for the Airmen. The Tochi sentries guarded the fort from towers equipped with powerful searchlights. It was unsafe to walk outside the walls in daytime, for fear of sharp-shooting Pathans, and even the aircraft were kept within the fort walls whenever possible. When a flight took place, the doors of the Fort were opened, and the aircraft wheeled out on to the aerodrome. The aircraft took off, carried out their missions, landed, and taxied into the protective walls of the outpost. At night, it was not uncommon for bullets from Waziri snipers to ping against the roofs of the barracks.
Harjinder and crew, received the usual reaction when they arrived at Miranshah. The RAF personnel of No. 5 Squadron eyed the Indian arrivals with ridicule and suspicion. However, it was not long before they realised that they were made of sterner stuff than they had first imagined. The IAF pilots started flying as many sorties as were humanly possible between sunrise and sunset. The results
of these operational sorties proved outstanding. The IAF Flight had a shortage of air gunners in their flight, partly because they had only a limited number of Airmen, and partly because the RAF had not expected the IAF to go into operations quite so soon. With no official training programme for air gunners, Harjinder and the others found themselves standing within the gun ring in the back cockpit more and more. As soon as it became known to RAF units that the IAF needed air gunners, there were numerous applications from among the British Other Ranks. This was really a glowing tribute to the reputation of the IAF pilots and the technicians who serviced the planes. News of their competence was now travelling far and wide, boosting the pride of the Indian pioneers.
At that time, the four Indian pilots were Flying Officers Subroto Mukerjee, Awan, Aspy Engineer and Narendra. September 1937 was their luckiest month. These pilots carried out the maximum number of flying hours in operational sorties that had ever been attempted by any RAF unit in India: 337. The maintenance personnel had to carry out all inspections in the dark after sunset. This unparalleled enthusiasm was shared by all. Even the cooks willingly worked odd hours, giving out tea and other meals to keep the wheels oiled. Every Indian felt that the hour of trial had come and that this was their golden opportunity. This was the IAF in all its glory, working hard, working well, and working together. For Harjinder and his band of men, there was no other life but work, from sunset to sunrise. It was ‘like imprisonment’. However, the benefits were beyond putting the IAF on the map. With nothing to buy and nowhere to go to spend money, they were part of an enforced saving scheme! The reality was the IAF had now been placed at the front-line, no more training, this was for real. It is slightly disappointing that Harjinder saw this period as ‘imprisonment’ because this was the proving ground for them all. The IAF were being watched by all, their audience continually expecting them to fail, but they were more than proving themselves.