Spitfire Singh

by Mike Edwards

  In spite of Harjinder’s warning, he headed out without his teacher, who took cover because he could see carnage approaching. Somehow, Burhanuddin persuaded Flying Officer Khan to agree to take a ride with him. Khan was probably unaware that all the others had scattered with fear, knowing Burhanuddin’s lack of promise as a driver. Who knows what would have happened if he got as far as the main road, but luck was with Khan. The Prince jumped into the car which was garaged in the aircraft hangar. He smashed the clutch to the floor, started the engine, and with a knowing wink at Khan, revved the engine up to the maximum. He let the clutch out in the hope to impress his friend with a flying start. Khan was thrown against the windscreen and His Royal Highness was flung over the steering wheel as the car shot off backwards at speed. The IAF’s Wapitis were spared destruction, as Burhanuddin missed them by inches. The racing engine noise was cut short by a tremendous crash as the car reversed straight into the far hangar wall. The wall shook, with dust and debris falling on the car and the Wapitis alike, but, fortunately, it held firm. Unbeknownst to the blue-blooded pilot, the car had been left in reverse gear. Their first job after calming the shaken prince was to explain to him the existence of a reverse gear! He exploded, saying; ‘I always told you this was a useless gadget. NOW you tell me the damn thing also moves in reverse. I am through with cars!’

  The latter part of this outburst was unnecessary, because actually the car was through with him, now decorating the rear hangar wall like a modern-day sculpture of twisted metal. That was the last of his driving, much to the relief of all.

  Flying Officer Janjua was another Army officer seconded to the Flight, an excellent officer and a good man. As is to be expected from an Infantry officer, he was an excellent manager of men. The men simply loved him, and it was also useful that he turned out to be a daring pilot.

  It was Flying Officer Mehr ‘Baba’ Singh that Harjinder held in the highest regard, second only to Jumbo Majumdar. He referred to Mehr ‘Baba’ Singh as a first-rate pilot, a good hockey player, physically tough, and a good friend. When Baba bought an Austin car, they would often race each other up and down the runway. To boost up his engine, Baba fitted a little helical screw between the carburettor intake and the engine, proving that he was no mean engineer. No matter how much Harjinder tweaked his car, he could not keep up with him. Baba’s engineering empathy combined with his natural flying ability, was to serve him well in the years to come.

  Burhan was the eccentric among the officers. He explained that he was the sixteenth son of his father, and there were more sons after him! He was always speaking against his brother, the Mehtar of Chitral. Before he went on leave to Chitral, he willed that his belongings be sent to his wife, in case he was imprisoned and then done away with by his brother. That is brotherly love for you! Harjinder wasn’t surprised by this request. He knew that frontier families were always fighting among themselves.

  It was clear to Harjinder that these were the men he would be serving under when the war finally came. Meanwhile, some of the tasks of war, albeit tedious ones, were already filtering through. The Flight was given the task of patrolling the seas off the coast of Karachi, searching for German or Italian submarines. Day after day, the pilots would search the waters for miles around, carrying 250-lb bombs, looking deep into the heart of the sea when the weather was in their favour. They became experts in nature watching, plenty of whales to spot but no sinister metal tubes under the surface.

  With his promotion to the rank of Sergeant, the paperwork increased. Had he moved into engineering management for the British Raj on completing his degree, he may have been happy with this side of his profession; but Harjinder had become a man who wanted to work with his hands, thanks to Newing. There was a small number of Sergeants who continued with their initial trades as they progressed to the highest level. In Harjinder’s case, this would be as a Fitter Grade 1. The smouldering desire deep inside grew into a burning necessity to qualifying as a Fitter 1, and to have an Indian at the peak of that trade. Unfortunately, there were no courses run in India for this at that time, and the notion of sending an Indian Sergeant to the UK had not entered the consciousness of any British Officer. There was only one thing to do, he would return to his old tricks, and spend his free afternoons in the Depot’s Engine Repair Shop. With the eager assistance of Warrant Officer Herbert, who was in-charge of the Repair Depot, Harjinder manufactured his own course. In time, Herbert was so impressed with his enthusiasm, that he ensured that Harjinder was made to feel welcome by all the British technicians, be the Warrant Officer at the top, or the junior Airmen at the bottom.

  In the UK, Rolls Royce Merlin engines were pouring off the production lines and into the Spitfires, Hurricanes and soon into Lancasters. The earlier Rolls Royce Kestrel, considered to be the mother of what became the Spitfire’s Merlin engine, was the new thing on the block in India. It may have been superseded in UK, but it was regarded as a piece of cutting edge machinery in Warrant Officer Herbert’s engine shop. After the antiquated engines from the Wapiti, the tolerances on this Kestrel engine seemed very fine, and to keep things ‘tight’, components were liberally rejected by technicians in the viewing bay. Harjinder learnt a lot of mechanical knowledge during these self-structured lessons. The views of the British Sergeants and Corporals changed towards him as he became one of the team. The man who flew into a rage after being called a bloody fool for the first time was now fully part of the RAF banter and tea break chats. The main topic of discussion among the British, was the inexperience of the new British Airmen who came straight from the engineering schools during this massive expansion. They even started to believe that India Command was being used as a sort of unofficial Training Command by the British Air Ministry. As the war was now becoming real in Europe, it could well have been the case that the top trainees were pressed straight into action in UK, and those who struggled, were sent to the ‘quiet backwaters’.

  Harjinder found some of those new British Airmen were naive in the extreme, ‘with hardly any general knowledge’.

  At that time, the war in Europe was taking a very critical downward turn, and the British Other Ranks in the Depot were very perturbed. A new, and frightened, airman asked Harjinder in all seriousness; ‘What will happen to us in India now? We are losing the war. Will Gandhi ask you to finish us all off? We are at your mercy!’

  Harjinder did his best to educate them on the contemporary political environment including giving them a long talk on Gandhi, the man whose peaceful protest lay at the core of Harjinder’s own beliefs. He wrote in his diary ‘I gave them a background of Indian political and social history, and I must say, they soon got rid of some of their ignorant pre-conceptions.’

  There is little doubt that the attitude of the British personnel towards the Indian Air Force began to change as the British felt the tide of war was turning against them. The German invention, Blitzkrieg, or Lightning War, swept through Belgium and Holland. The Brits began to regard the IAF more as direct allies and not just a hindrance. The news spread of a volunteer reserve of pilots and Airmen being formed within the IAF. Before the outbreak of war, many UK businessmen already holding pilot’s licences, or those with an interest in flying, had formed a unit of ‘weekend warriors’ whilst keeping their weekday jobs. Having joined these Auxiliary Squadrons mainly for a ‘jolly good time’ these well to-do businessmen found themselves in the thick of it. The same blueprint was used for the Indian chapter, and was established using aircraft pressed into the military from a previous civilian role. Throughout the IAF, the rank system, and designations were being changed to the RAF pattern, and even the uniform would be changed to the RAF style. For Harjinder, this was great news, because, with the new uniform regulations, he could wear the open collar tunic and tie he had been longing to for so long!

  On 26th May 1940, the invincibility of the British seems to have finally ebbed away. News of the evacuation of all forces from Dunkirk came through. France was lost, and British forces had limped
back to the relative safety of their island. The next day, Harjinder went to the Officers’ Mess to pick up Flying Officer Mehr ‘Baba’ Singh and Pilot Officer Arjan Singh, as they were to travel together to Clifton. When he reached their room, he found them hunched on chairs around a third man. He was an astrologer telling these two bold aviators their future. With the way things had gone during the last few years for the IAF, and now the British failing in Europe, you can imagine why these young men were so eager for a glimpse into the gun-smoked future. When they finished having their palms read, Mehr ‘Baba’ Singh told Harjinder to have his fortune told by the astrologer while they dressed for the journey; ‘I am not a superstitious man and demurred, but which astrologer would pass up an opportunity to find a victim? He soon had me in his net.’ He opened up by saying; ‘Sahib, you will be promoted within a month.’

  I told him: ‘You can have your four annas, but spare me the embarrassment. I was promoted only seven months ago and it will take years before I get the next rank.’

  However, he was quite definite; ‘Sahib, you will not only be promoted next month, but will meet a man who will take you overseas. You will become a very big Sahib when you return from overseas.’

  I did not want to argue but handed him some money. To my surprise he refused to take it. His parting words were: ‘If you are promoted within a month, then you will believe me. You will search for me, but you will not find me.’

  I laughed, but I half believed him too.

  On 10th June 1940, Harjinder was called into the Flight Commander’s Office. He’d thought that this would be to discuss the news that Italy had declared war against Britain. He could not believe his ears when the Flight Commander congratulated him, and told him that he had been promoted to Flight Sergeant. As he digested the news, his mind went back to the astrologer. Now he wished he asked him more about his future! That afternoon, as predicted, he searched in vain for the astrologer, to thank him more than anything else. He had not even accepted the few annas which he had offered. Furthermore, Jumbo Majumdar was promoted to Flight Lieutenant, and had been appointed Station Commander of Fort Sandeman in the North-West Frontier. His first action was to specially request for Harjinder as the Station Engineer. The Wapitis were to be in his charge again. The very next day, Harjinder was detailed to go with him, but little did he know that it would be Jumbo who would be taking him even further from home, just as the astrologer had predicted.

  Finally allowed a chance to put a uniform identical to that of the RAF, Harjinder decided it was time to make some personal changes too. He decided to get rid of his beard. Harjinder was already deviating from the Sikh customs by trimming his beard and cutting his hair so that it would not show under his turban. On the train between Karachi and Fort Sandeman, he decided to make the full change. As the train clattered and puffed slowly along the track stretching away from Karachi, he entered the bathroom in one form and came out in another, clean shaven and hair cut to RAF regulation length. Harjinder’s full name had been Harjinder Bains Singh, which identified him as a Sikh. He decided to drop the Bains and become just Harjinder Singh. An old Sikh gentleman, a co-passenger, began vehemently chastising Harjinder for being so faithless. They entered into a long argument. Harjinder wrote; ‘It was impossible to convince the old timers in matters of religion in our country. Finally, I consoled myself in the famous saying of Thomas Hardy; “Your religion begins where your reasoning ends.” This is very appropriate in India, where we worship everything that we cannot understand.’

  On 17th June 1940, the locomotive slowed to a halt, and the carriages clanked together, until the bucking, shaking and squealing finally subsided, as they pulled into the Chamanbagh Railway Station. Stepping out through the hissing steam Harjinder met Flight Sergeant Allan, the RAF Senior NCO whom he was to replace. Allan had not come to the station to give Harjinder a grand welcome, but to catch that same train as it returned to Karachi. Harjinder was surprised that his predecessor was leaving Fort Sandeman before he had set foot in it. He had expected a handover and some detailed explanation of the operation he was expected to run. However, Allan explained that Jumbo Majumdar had advised him that he need not wait for his replacement, since he looked ill, and obviously needed rest. To Harjinder, Allan looked fit as a fiddle; he even told Harjinder that he had never felt better. On reaching Fort Sandeman, Harjinder learnt the truth from Jumbo Majumdar; he had wanted Allan out of the Station so the two of them could begin their endeavour with a clean slate. It was a bold move, but he was more than convinced that Harjinder was up to the job.

  Harjinder was one of those few people who walked into a room, and automatically commanded the attention of all present. He was certainly not going to slip quietly into Fort Sandeman. All the Officers and Airmen had reserved a welcome good enough for royalty. Excitement buzzed through the men, gathered to receive their Flight Sergeant. They all felt the last piece of the puzzle had dropped into place; to have a complete Indian unit at last. Sleep escaped Harjinder that night; ‘I felt that this was the day for which I had been training myself for the last seven years. We would make history in Sandeman, Majumdar and I. We would ensure that our little effort in nationalising Fort Sandeman would become one of the landmarks in the annals of the IAF.’

  He was not wrong, but any thoughts of being secure would be fleeting.

  The time was right for the Jumbo-Harjinder team to flourish. Both men were natural leaders. Jumbo had been promoted ahead of his fellow pilots, but all were happy to follow this young man. Some saw him as a reckless flyer, but in combat, ‘reckless’ changes its form to ‘fearless,’ and becomes a virtue. With the war in Europe not going well for the British, the powers-that-be knew that expanding the IAF was essential, and Jumbo’s future as the head of the IAF was already being discussed.

  Jumbo and Harjinder were now running the newly formed ‘C’ Flight of No. 1 Squadron Indian Air Force. On 18th June 1940, Harjinder had all the Airmen on parade. His booming voice suited his new role as Flight Sergeant, inspiring both confidence and fear in his men. He gave them a ‘pep’ talk, to reinforce their esprit de corps, and also to introduce himself as their Flight Sergeant. He emphasised the need for technical excellence, and good maintenance, so that the pilots could always rely on their machines. This was the basis of Squadron efficiency, he told them. He ended his address with; ‘You can rest assured that by the time I leave here, I shall train every one of you for two ranks higher. Our pilots have proved their worth in the air. We on our part must not let them down. I am going to demand that all of you follow a rigid discipline in this Flight, because I believe that a disciplined technician is the most reliable and safe, technically. Also, I would like you to keep physically fit, always. In your personal bearing, I would like you to walk as if you are always on parade; and your dress should always be smart. I do not expect it to be kept clean while at work, but it must start clean and be well pressed, because your dress is an index to your ability and character. I expect every man to go at the double when his superior officer calls him up. Saluting the officers will be done with the intention of real saluting and not just making a gesture. As for discipline, I do not believe in putting Airmen on charge, but if I do, he will be punished most severely.’

  A routine check through the various sections of Harjinder’s hard won Indian Flight, revealed that there was a single British Corporal lurking in the system; a wireless mechanic. When this was mentioned in passing to Jumbo, he hit the roof, this man spoilt his Indian unit. He instructed Harjinder to inform this interloper to get his luggage ready. Jumbo was so incensed he arranged to send him out by air to Miranshah. However, Harjinder was not as blinkered in his unending drive for a strong Indian Air Force. Reality had a part to play. He said; ‘Sir, I am not a Wireless Mechanic. All I have here is a bunch of Airmen: Bhatt, Mukerjee, Jaykant and Singh. I am not sure if they can run the Wireless Station as well as maintain our aircraft.’

  Jumbo’s reply was typical; ‘Harjinder, if I can be the Station Comma
nder, and you the Station Engineer, then why can’t they rise to the occasion and become Station Wireless men?’

  So for once, Harjinder did not get his way, and the man was told to prepare to leave. Jumbo gave the man a few weeks, not to just pack his bags, but to pass on as much of his technical expertise as possible. The newly arrived Pilot Officer Prithipal Singh, was detailed to airlift the British Corporal Wireless Mechanic off the base in Wapiti J 9735. As the dust on the strip settled, and the slivery wings diminished to a speck, it signalled the first fully Indian IAF unit. Or did it?

  Thirty minutes later, they heard the rumble of the aircraft returning. Unless an individual is totally engrossed in an important job it is instinctive to pause and watch an aircraft come in to land. When Harjinder realised that it was Prithipal Singh returning, he assumed that he had some minor snag, so he took extra interest as the aircraft approached. It soon became clear that Prithipal was coming in too low. They all watched with increasing horror, as the aircraft dipped lower than the wire fence on the Southern boundary. Pilot Officer Singh needed to give the Wapiti a big burst of power. The big heavy Wapiti was named after a deer but was not known for its sparkling, athletic performance. The slight increase in engine note didn’t change the aircraft’s path enough as it continued towards the boundary, still descending. The fence seemed to grasp at the wheels and pluck the Wapiti from the air. They saw the aircraft rip the fence to shreds before it was consumed in a cloud of dust with only a brief view of a tail pointing skywards. Harjinder jumped into the nearest vehicle and was first to the site of the accident. The dust billowed skywards as he dived into it, but he could just make out the outline of a broken aircraft. Harjinder made straight for the cockpit; ‘I saw a sight which I have never seen before and never hope to see again.’

  The pilot was sitting in the cockpit, staring forward; hand on the engine throttle as if still waiting to complete his landing. Somehow, the engine was still running, kicking more dust over the wreck. The front fuselage had snapped, leaving a nine inch gap between the struts holding the wings in place, and the end fuselage plate holding the engine in place. One wing tip was resting on the ground because one of the undercarriage legs had completely given way.