by Mike Edwards
The exams were taken, the papers were marked, and the marks were declared. There were no prizes handed out for predicting the results; once again the School had failed Harjinder, this time with one mark less than before. Air Headquarters were taking a closer interest now, and once again requested for the answer books to review the examination themselves. Perhaps it was the same careless clerk who was put in-charge of the answer books, because, once again, Harjinder’s books, and only Harjinder’s books, were lost. Who would have thought?
Consequently, Air Headquarters asked the School for an explanation, but the rather terse response from the school Commanding Officer was; ‘If Air Headquarters are so favourably inclined towards a Senior NCO of the IAF, and do not trust me and my staff, I am prepared to be relieved of my Command.’
Just imagine the huffing and puffing at the head offices in the School, as the key players discussed this outrage – they would decide who, and how, the IAF technical department progressed, how impertinent for these Indian upstarts to think they could actually progress without their approval.
Imagine also these faces when the orders arrived one morning informing Wing Commander Simpson, Squadron Leader Herbert, and Flight Lieutenant Harper, that they were all relieved of their positions as per the letter. Air Headquarters went even further, declaring Harjinder successful in the examination, and all results from his record of the two previous ‘failures’ were expunged. The whole experience did nothing for Harjinder’s opinion of the RAF. He claimed it was the first time in his service career that he learnt that not all RAF people were like Flight Lieutenant Bouchier, or Flight Lieutenant Hickey, or Flight Sergeant Hill, who had given him the impression of extreme fairness. After that experience, he became almost hostile to the British. However, the whole unfortunate episode did show that the blinkered, self-superior, self-serving people were only in clusters.
The whole battle with the RAF had taken nine months to come to a satisfactory conclusion, but the world never stands still, especially with a World War to take into account. The Germans had stormed through Greece, Yugoslavia, also taking the island of Crete in a daring parachute raid. On their Eastern border, the seemingly unstoppable Germans had rolled into the Soviet Union, reaching the outskirts of Moscow and taking parts of a city very few people had heard of; Stalingrad. That name was about to become a famous symbol of resistance, never accepting defeat whatever the human cost. War in the streets of Stalingrad was stripped of technology and reduced to basic survival on both sides. In the meantime, Harjinder had the new Lysander aircraft to ‘play’ with. He had soon put the troubles of the last few months behind him and was up to his old tricks – rebuilding aircraft ‘written off’ by the RAF, bringing them back to life with his team of Indian technicians.
In the August of 1941, between his 2 ‘attempts’ to pass his Fitter 1 course, Harjinder and his team were ordered to proceed to the Aircraft Depot, Karachi, for re-equipment to ‘modern aircraft’; their Lysanders. Harjinder believed Jumbo singlehandedly persuaded Air Headquarters to reequip the squadron with the Lysander. This does seem unlikely because their new aircraft were financed as a gift from the citizens of Bombay. It fell to the Indian population to raise funds to bring a more modern aircraft to their men. This display of benevolence from the inhabitants of that great city, led to the squadron’s rechristening – they came to be known as the Bombay Squadron.
The IAF’s No. 1 (Bombay) Squadron, proceeded to Karachi with their Squadron pilots and a hand-picked maintenance crew. The RAF’s No. 28 Squadron were also detailed in Karachi for conversion training at the same time. This kept the strong rivalry, but friendship, between the Squadrons bubbling away, as they prepared for combat together. As the pressure increased, so did the banter between these two units.
At Karachi, while the pilots crawled all over the new aircraft there came news of a setback for the IAF. Jumbo silently handed Harjinder a signal from Aircraft Park, Lahore, which coldly stated that Flying Officer Nanda had crashed an Audax the previous evening at Lahore, and Flying Officer Jagdev Chandra had crashed in a cemetery near Jammu. Both of them had left for Lahore, following different routes from the Chenab River. Chandra went North and Nanda went East. One reportedly crashed because he could not find a landing ground near Jammu, possibly because there was none! Chandra learned the hard way that from the air, a cemetery can look very much like an open field, but, in reality, when close up on your final approach, it makes a poor landing site, unless your plan is to achieve cremation and burial all in one step! However, on this day, fate smiled on the IAF and both pilots survived their separate incidents. The only ‘fatalities’ were the aircraft, without Harjinder on hand there was no one to rebuild them. Jumbo’s face was turning red, with a combination of rage and concern. He said; ‘Harjinder I feel ashamed. At this rate, if we do go to war, we would be written off in a week. Look at these senior pilots. One of them has done civil flying over a number of years, the other one is senior enough to be a Flight Commander and look what they have done. The RAF must be laughing at us.’
It was Harjinder’s turn now to show his confidence in Jumbo and the pilots under his care. His bold statement was; ‘Sir, it is just a piece of bad luck. It could happen to any pilot. We must make sure that we take new and young pilots in our Squadron and train them according to your ideas. If they crash, I promise you I will rebuild the aircraft, even if it breaks into a thousand pieces.’
Jumbo brightened at this; he shook Harjinder by the hand, and holding his gaze, said: ‘Between the two of us, we will build a completely new set. When I lack inspiration, you supply it, and I will do the same for you. We will be successful. Come what may, we will go into action and prove our mettle.’
A few days later, the Squadron assembled. They could barely contain their excitement, but all the crews prepared their new mounts with extra care and meticulous attention to detail. With this lumbering giant, the IAF found themselves in the age of the monoplane. They started their engines together, taxied out, and one after the other, they bumped along the runway at Karachi to head out on the first leg to Peshawar. The Jumbo-Harjinder partnership was well-established now, so it is no surprise that Harjinder flew in Jumbo’s rear cockpit, taking off last, and aiming to land first, as an example to the rest. Jumbo eased the control column back and the slab wings lifted their aircraft off the ground. With the glass of the cockpit sides coming down to his waist level, Jumbo felt less like he was sitting in an aeroplane, and more like he was viewing it from above. Looking down, the only thing to interrupt his panoramic view was the wheels, and undercarriage, dangling uselessly in the air, and the reassuringly robust ‘Vee’ strut attaching the mid-point of the wings to the fuselage. The ground dropped away as the Lysander climbed into the cloudless sky. Jumbo turned his head, scanning the horizon. The front edge of the wings extended out along his line of sight, and by ducking down, or stretching up, he could look below and above the wings. The ample glass above his head gave him an excellent view to scan for an enemy that would be the threat in the not-too-distant future. Harjinder faced backwards, enjoying the relative tranquillity of his rear seat, when compared to the open Wapiti cockpit. He surveyed his new brood, his new charges, bobbing in the air currents around him. These were not modern aircraft, but it felt as if the IAF had just leapt forward a quantum leap in technology.
As they circled the skies above Padidan, the Lysanders with their fixed undercarriage, and high wings, looked like vultures on the prowl with talons poised. One by one, they peeled off to make their approaches. Each pilot knew the weight of expectation was on their shoulders, and despite their best efforts, shoulders and arms stiffened as they manipulated the controls to bring their new, precious, machines into the landing attitude. Jumbo had briefed each of their young pilots, and consequently, the first arrival for the squadron was uneventful. The new pilots were Pilot Officers Moolgavkar, Satyanarayana, Malse, Namgyal, Deuskar, Henry Runganadhan, Nanda, Homi Ratnagar and ‘Andy’ Ananthanarayanan.
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bsp; Their perfect start didn’t last when they reached Multan at 2 pm. Each aircraft rolled to a halt after landing except the last but one in the line. Andy was the pilot, with Daulat Ram in the rear seat. Lysander P9180 seemed to touch down normally, but suddenly they violently slewed left, kicking up the dust as they went. The swing left seemed consistent with a burst port tyre. It happened with enough speed for the aircraft to teeter up on one wheel bringing the wingtip crunching onto the ground. The tail returned to ground with a thud, and the violent screech of metal tearing. The skin around the tail-plane was ripped open, breaking the main tail spar as it went. The mini version of the wing ‘Vee’ strut, which held the tail on, was ripped clean off. Jumbo, who was watching, put his face in his hands in agony refusing to believe what his eyes were telling him. One of his new aircraft, only days old, had been ripped to shreds in front of him. The two crew members climbed down the steps in the fuselage, and down the leg strut, to the ground below. Looking shocked and bewildered they walked, heads bowed and shoulders dropped, to where the Squadron mates stood.
Harjinder looked around him and the despair on the faces was evident. He took Jumbo by the shoulders and gathered the other main players around them. In that hurriedly convened conference he tried to cheer up the Squadron by telling them not to worry, they would not be seen by No. 28 Squadron here, and he would fix everything. However, Harjinder admitted; ‘In my heart of hearts I knew it would be almost impossible. I asked myself: But how? There isn’t even a welding plant here.’
Jumbo knew nothing would come of hanging around looking at the wreck. He set his crew to work preparing their other Lysanders, giving instructions that the rest of the Squadron should takeoff immediately after refuelling. Jumbo knew that as the Squadron boss he needed to lead the rest of the unit on to their destination, but there was only one man to complete the task discussed in the conference, his own rear seat observer. He arranged a swap, leaving Harjinder behind to work his magic. Believing when you fall off a horse, you must get straight back onto it, he assigned Andy to take Flying Officer Nanda’s aircraft. So Nanda was detailed to stay behind with the two Aircraftsmen requested by Harjinder. Daulat Ram may just have been in an accident but Harjinder rated him as a ‘hands on’ engineer, so he remained along with Ghulam Rabbani. It was 3.30 pm when the last aircraft took off from Multan airfield, including the slightly pale Andy. The dust plumes kicked up by the departing Lysanders were still in the air as the one pilot and 3 technicians kneeled next to the damaged aircraft. The vulture-like Lysanders did a turn over the airfield as a final farewell, waggle of the wings as a sign of good luck, before they faded into the horizon. Harjinder was already too busy to pay much attention, but he appreciated the kind thought.
Flying Officer Nanda was not a new boy, and despite seeing how, and why, the legend that now shimmered around Harjinder had formed, he was doubtful of their success. It was not surprising when you consider that the aircraft type was brand new to the IAF, and even though Harjinder had done theoretical work on the Lysander, he had only had very limited practical experience with the machine. The training he had received was to keep a serviceable aircraft flying, not rebuilding one from broken remains. As they stood next to the damaged aircraft, Nanda called Harjinder aside and aired his misgivings; ‘Look here old boy, you are a married man and so am I. We have to safeguard our careers. Why take this unnecessary risk? I can see that it will be impossible to do any major repairs here. Let us call it a day and catch the train.’
Harjinder told him to cast his mind back to the aircraft he had repaired at Fort Sandeman, which had been much worse than this. He firmly told Nanda that they had no alternative but to repair the Lysander. The RAF would laugh at them if they saw them minus one Lysander on the very first day of the re-equipment with ‘modern’ aircraft. Nanda looked doubtful; ‘In that case, you are going to fly with me when I take up the aircraft. I won’t let you go off by train.’
Harjinder had no problem with that. Nanda clearly didn’t think Harjinder could do it this time. Not only did he not get involved with helping Harjinder, he went to stay at the Multan railway station ready to complete his journey through steam power.
Harjinder went around Multan City looking for a welding plant, but to no avail. There was no organised workshop, no facilities that could be of any use. They were running out of time, No. 28 Squadron would be landing at Multan the following morning. The mantra was; ‘They must not see our crashed aircraft.’
Yet again, a crash was to be kept from the higher echelons.
Harjinder carefully assessed the damage, looking at every affected part very carefully. It was late at night when he decided that the only way ahead was to take a very bold step. He would repair the fuselage structure, where the tail-wheel assembly was fitted, by sleeving. This meant that he would straighten the buckled fuselage tubes running along its length, and fit a tube of metal, the sleeve, around the damaged area. All he needed was the material to make the sleeves. When the aircraft were kept outside in windy conditions, the men would drive large stakes, or pickets, into the ground and then attach ropes from the pickets to the wings. Harjinder took the pickets from the rear compartment and sliced them up. The mild steel wasn’t the best to use, but to its credit it was a very thick gauge. The problem now was the tail-plane, where the rivets had sheared.
Harjinder looked, examined, and pondered, until he ran out of ideas. He kept reminding himself that the RAF Squadron were hot on their trail, and the parting words from Jumbo; ‘I am not reporting this accident now. You must bring it flying by tomorrow, not later than 1 pm. Failing that, I shall have no alternative but to report the accident to Air Headquarters.’
Filing a report almost 24 hours on would instantly expose their attempted cover up. Indeed, this was a desperate situation, and pacing up and down the hanger, he did something quite uncharacteristic, he began to pray for guidance; and someone must have heard his agonised appeal, because he was suddenly struck with an idea. There were hundreds of screws on this aircraft. Supposing he removed one screw in every four, it would not matter a great deal (I wonder if the Lysander design team in Britain would have agreed with Harjinder’s reasoning!). They straightened out the skin of the tail-plane as best they could and found the screws fitted perfectly in the holes left by the sheared rivets.
In the darkness, the wounded Lysander returned to its proper shape, if not quite as good as new. When Harjinder paid a visit to the single story, white washed Railway waiting room, with the steep, blue, corrugated iron roof, he found Nanda still unconvinced. Once again, he warned Harjinder of the risk they were taking, but in return, Harjinder reassured him as best as he could. Harjinder didn’t receive any encouragement on his return to the airfield either. Rabbani shuffled along as he strode to the aircraft and said; ‘I am not sure that the tail-plane will hold.’
Even as he assured Rabbani that the aircraft would be fine, he began to doubt himself. As he finally turned in for a short cat nap, right before dawn, he kept dreaming about the disasters that might befall the plane as it took flight the next day.
Doubt in his own abilities was not something Harjinder often felt! It drove him out of his makeshift bed and back to the Lysander. He went to check the aircraft again, rechecking the creased, dented, but complete tail unit structure; naturally, everything was satisfactory.
Early in the morning, a rather creased and crumpled Nanda arrived from the train station waiting room, still looking concerned. This did nothing to calm Harjinder’s own nerves. The two men gingerly climbed up the side of the Lysander as if their extra weight would destroy it. The two aircraftsmen followed them up to help with the seat harness, before being despatched to the train station. The engine started on the first try, disturbing the dust in the still, early morning air. They bumped along the ground, wincing with every jolt, as they taxied in to takeoff position on the airstrip. The throttle went to full power and the engine noise rose to the usual crescendo. With most tail-wheel aircraft you raised the tail of
f the ground as soon as possible on the takeoff roll. Not so the Lysander. The tail was kept firmly on the ground until, at 80 mph, the aircraft was flown off the runway in that tail-down climbing attitude. Could the tail take the strain of roaring along the ground until the correct speed of 80mph was reached, without shearing off? Harjinder realised how much Nanda doubted the safety of the tail-plane as he started twisting his head around to try and make sure the tail-plane was still there. Harjinder thrust his head into Nanda’s field of vision and shouted at the top of his voice over the engine noise; ‘I will tell you if the tail falls off! You keep your mind on the flying.’
Harjinder’s concern about the tail evaporated for those brief seconds, being more concerned that Nanda would kill them both if he didn’t pay attention to what the aircraft was doing.
Nanda kept facing forward, head unnaturally, rigidly, in place. The main-wheels left the ground and the shadow of the IAF Lysander shrank as it seemed to drop away from them. They circled, climbing over the relative safety of the strip, before heading away. Harjinder did glance at the shadow of the tail-plane, as if to have extra confirmation that his machine was intact. The creaks from the fuselage seemed louder than ever but he told himself that this was his heightened senses; nothing unusual. He resisted the temptation to stare at the tail, so instead made a point of scanning the horizon, as much for Nanda’s benefit as his own. He felt the first glow of satisfaction; not a single RAF aircraft in sight. However, Nanda didn’t relax. Up ahead of them was the range of hills between Kohat and Peshawar. ‘There is going to be lot of bumpiness’, Nanda said, ‘Do you think we will get through in one piece?’