by Mike Edwards
With 24 hours left, the aircraft was re-assembled but the engine wasn’t attached; a fairly vital part! Here was the big problem; no engine cranes or hoists were available. After much scratching of heads, and the turning down of various suggestions, Harjinder decided to dig a sloping pit into the hangar floor; clearly not put off by the earlier slit trench debacle. After pick and shovel had done as they were bid, the wheels were rolled into the trenches and the rest of the aircraft sat perfectly placed for Harjinder’s team to lift the engine, and bolt it in place. In the morning the aircraft was test flown by the dauntless Flight Lieutenant Niranjan ‘Joe’ Prasad, who reported it in excellent condition. Not only was the RAF Flight Sergeant suitably impressed, when the Group Engineer at Bangalore heard the news, he was so amazed that the ‘hangar queen’ was flying, that he arranged to allot this Lysander as an additional aircraft to Harjinder’s Squadron. Gaining Lysanders was becoming a bit of a hobby with Harjinder.
On 29th May the Squadron was sent to Trichinopoly, or Trichi as it was always referred to. Most of the ground staff had left for Trichi when Harjinder was told that one of the RAF’s twin engine Blenheim bombers had crashed about 20 miles away. They were leaving, but technically, No. 1 Squadron was still the nearest Unit. They were asked to salvage it, which would first involve emptying all the fuel from it. Harjinder had no drums, or containers, to store the fuel, so sent all the Motor Transport drivers in to help. They managed to drain out every ounce of petrol, but later on, when Harjinder enquired how they had disposed of it without being caught by the police, a certain Abdul Majid smilingly remarked: ‘Sir, that was no problem. A senior officer of the police himself helped us out by storing all the 200 gallons in his bungalow. We were even paid two hundred rupees for our cooperation!’
Harjinder left for Trichi with a clear conscience, leaving behind a very happy Police Chief; just as long as he remembered not to smoke in his bungalow until he had sold his entire windfall.
Luckily, the Squadron’s role of coastal reconnaissance at Trichi was short-lived. It was officially described as an ‘operational role’ because the Japanese had raided Calcutta, and Trincomalee in Ceylon, but the pilots had no patience for this routine chore, droning around over the sea, after the cut and thrust of Burma. Also, there was nothing at Trichi except the landing strip and their canvas accommodation; no picnic in mid-summer. A fortnight after their arrival some news started to buzz around the tents. Not only was the Squadron moving to Risalpur, but their time with the Lysander was over. It was to be Hurricanes for the IAF. The pilots were jubilant: a fighting aircraft at last, albeit one almost withdrawn from the European theatre. This was still a big step up for the IAF.
The Hurricane had served well in the Battle of Britain. The Spitfire may have made headlines with its graceful, and thoroughbred looks, but the Hurricane was the work horse. The pilot could even place his foot in a stirrup that lowered from the fuselage, to get a leg up onto the wing. With the narrow canopy slid back, the pilot stepped onto the seat, then lowered himself into the tight fitting cockpit. If he bothered to look over the armour plating in the back of his seat, past the large radio set, and into the structure of the fuselage behind, it would not be the modern construction, like the Spitfire, he would see. No sleek monocoque structures like the aircraft today where the aircraft skin is part of the structure. The Hurricane had more akin to the biplanes like the Wapiti rather than the new generation being flowing in the wider war. It had a metal frame, with numerous complex joints, on which wooden longerons ran the length of the fuselage to take the fabric covering. Far heavier than the Spitfire, but, as many pilots could testify, it could take one hell of a pounding from enemy fire and still battle on. Because of its structure the Hurricane was easier to repair after combat damage than its sleeker cousin, a very important factor in combat flying.
Harjinder lamented his last days as a rear gunner, but was desperate to get to grips with the legendary Rolls Royce Merlin engine. As it so often happened, Harjinder’s initial enthusiasm was crushed, this time when he discovered that the whole Unit in Risalpur possessed only one engine description handbook. He thought of copying out the whole volume by hand, but that was too much for one man. Instead, he divided the book into 15 parts, and asked 15 Airmen to write out 15 pages each; the job was completed in one week. Harjinder then read, and re-read, the maintenance chapters until he knew most of it by heart. However, it was the repair of the complex joints in the Hurricane’s structure that would soon need his attention.
By the end of August 1942, the pilots had more or less completed their conversion to Hurricanes, flying nearly 25 hours each. The standard of their flying impressed the RAF Instructors, and it was the same in the workshops. The technical instructors soon found out about the standard of technical expertise the IAF possessed, so much so, that the RAF Station Commander wrote a letter to Air Headquarters commending their efficiency and high technical knowledge. Could it be that the RAF had finally realised that the IAF were not to be laughed at and ignored? On top of their war service, their day-to-day performance had established quite a reputation for the Squadron, and for the IAF. They now had an aircraft which they could use to attack the Japanese, and as the news came in about the first attempted landings by the Americans on the Pacific Island of Guadalcanal, they wanted to be back in the conflict.
One afternoon, Mukerjee arranged a meeting with Harjinder at the swimming pool. Mukerjee had returned from meeting with Jumbo in Delhi, with a message for Harjinder. He said that Harjinder had proved that Indians could be first-rate Senior NCOs, and Warrant Officers, but it was time for Harjinder to accept a Technical Commission, to become a full-fledged officer. Jumbo felt that if he did not accept it immediately then others, less qualified for the job, would be promoted above him.
Harjinder was caught unawares, not least because Jumbo had told him right back in 1939 that he should remain with the technicians until India had built up an Air Force of ten squadrons, with the necessary maintenance and technical base. When he tried to explain this to Mukerjee, the reply he got was:
‘I very strongly feel that you should accept a Commission now, because we are about to get some new officers: I am not certain that they would give you the respect due to you if you remain a Warrant Officer. There will be quick promotions, and immature officers will be on top of Flights and Squadrons.’
Harjinder assured Mukerjee that this did not worry him. If they could not learn to handle him, he was convinced that he knew how to handle them, he had done so on many occasions! To this Mukerjee said:
‘Let us not argue on this subject. You have confidence in me, and Jumbo, and it is our considered opinion that you should accept a Commission now in the greater interest of our Air Force. Please say “Yes”.’
Harjinder had the greatest respect for these two men, and so his answer had to be; Yes! So, not one to take chances, Harjinder began to prepare for the interview board. He was getting flashbacks to a year before, and his last ‘difficulties’ at the School of Technical Training.
On 30th August 1942, a group of technicians was called up for the interviews by a Board of Officers presided over by a Group Captain. The Squadron Leader began by asking technical questions. This certainly played into Harjinder’s strength, besides, with Jumbo sitting on the board, representing the IAF, he was further inspired to lock horns with the interviewers. He not only answered all the questions, but also added many technical details not known to the examiner. When the subject drifted onto the Merlin engine, the heart of the Spitfire and the Hurricane, Harjinder questioned the whole design of the one-piece cylinder block:
‘It is amazing why this item was not discarded while still on the drawing board. It is; uneconomical to cast; uneconomical to machine; uneconomical to repair; difficult to work on in the field. Even simple engine designers now have accepted the two piece cylinder block as standard practice. However, Rolls Royce is still sticking to the conservatism typical of the British.’
The Board obvious
ly knew who they had in front of them, Harjinder’s reputation was already legend, they would have known him as an outstanding engineer, but now they knew that he was no mild mannered yes man. The President of the Board could not restrain himself from laughing out loud; he turned to Jumbo:
‘Jumbo, this chap seems to be the kind of man we want. I am prepared to accept him in the RAF as a Flight Lieutenant (missing out the officer ranks of Pilot and Flying Officer).’
Not being sure which way the wind would blow, Jumbo had been looking worried, but now he beamed, adding:
‘Sir! If I had not stopped it, he would have been commissioned in June 1939, and by now he would have been a Flight Lieutenant.’
The next day, the India Command Engineer, Group Captain Collin Weedon, interviewed Harjinder. Well aware that he was potentially authorising the first Indian Engineering Officer, he started by saying;
‘I have heard from my Technical Officer, who represented me on the Selection Board, that you are a very knowledgeable man. I would like to make sure, because one day, you are going to hold a key post in the IAF. I would like you to tell me what aircraft and engines of American type you know and give me a brief description of each.’
Weedon had been expecting him to talk about one of the few types seen in India, and was pleasantly surprised when Harjinder talked at great length and in great detail about the American Airacobra fighter. There were no planes like this in India, but of course, Harjinder had seen them these arrive in Lashio when the AVG was being re-equipped. His natural curiosity had made him poke around and absorb all the technical information he could during chats with their engineers.
The next question about how many rivets were needed in a certain piece of metal, actually made Harjinder laugh, and point out that he covered that in the 1st year in college; a whole 16 years ago. He even added; ‘I expected more difficult questions from the Command Engineering Officer.’
Weedon was annoyed at first, but seemed to calm down, and when he stood at the end of the interview and shook Harjinder’s hand with a smile on his face, Harjinder knew he was about to make IAF history.
On 2nd September 1942, the Indian Air Force were notified of their first Indian Engineering Officer. Fittingly, it was Jumbo who broke the news when he called Harjinder into his office, pumping his hand in the warmest handshake he had ever received. He congratulated him, but added:
‘You have set a problem for me. The President of the Board is bent upon commissioning you directly as a Flight Lieutenant. I feel that that would be incorrect. The RAF standard practice is to commission really good Warrant Officers to Flying Officer’s rank (one rank lower than Flight Lieutenant). Looking at it from the IAF point of view, you would be looked upon as a very odd case. I feel that you should be a Flying Officer for, say, 12 months or so. I know you will climb the ladder pretty fast, so why worry?’
After offering his thanks, Harjinder’s reply could easily be guessed:
‘Sir, I never asked anyone to give me a Commission, leave aside a Flight Lieutenant’s rank. I do not believe rank makes any difference to a man who loves the Service. As far as money is concerned, more rupees do not add to your health and happiness. I feel I have achieved great happiness by contributing my share in building up an Indian Air Force. You can tell the President that I would rather be a Flying Officer, as per custom.’
After being the first Corporal, the first Sergeant, the first Flight Sergeant, Harjinder was now the first IAF Engineering Officer. Jumbo was thrilled at Harjinder’s reaction and pumped his hand again. Harjinder’s musings on becoming an Officer were as predictable as his reply to Jumbo:
‘On 3rd September 1942, I became a Commissioned Officer, a far easier job than being a non-commissioned one, in my opinion. However, I, for one, intend to prove to the RAF in India, that the IAF had better technical officers than they. Furthermore, I intend to keep my hand in, on the practical side, as I was advised by Warrant Officer Newing, my old instructor, when he left for England many years ago.’
Ram Singh and U.K. Nair were also commissioned as Pilot Officers and fittingly, the pilots of the squadron, led by Flight Lieutenant Raza, gave all three of them a dunking in the swimming pool on their return to Trichinopoly. No longer would there be an official divide between these men. They were all officers together.
Now, put yourself in the shoes of one of the newly qualified pilots commissioned in the legendary No. 1 Squadron IAF. The Station Commander seems very gentlemanly and easy-going. The veterans have an ease about them, which only comes from experiencing life in combat. You think the way you should act as a member of this legendary force is to turn up to work at a time that suits you, and when you are told to fly, you can tell the relaxed boss that you don’t fancy it today, but if you happen to change your mind, you jump in and go. This was not the attitude of all, but just that of a few young bucks. Imagine how the world of these swaggering youngsters suddenly imploded when Harjinder received his commission. The Warrant Officer who struck fear into them (as Marshal Arjan Singh admitted to me 70 years later), but who had to call them Sir because he was not an officer, whom they could seek sanctuary from in the Officers Mess, suddenly appears as your equal or even your superior. These few laid-back lads displayed all the traits Harjinder despised, and he loathed to perceive them in ‘his’ Air Force, so he unleashed the full weight of his wrath on them. Mukerjee agreed to his request to act as the Squadron Adjutant Officer for one week.
From the first day, the whole Squadron was on drill parade every morning. The result was miraculous, everybody turned up on time. Half an hour’s drill every day taught the young officers to obey orders without protest. This continued until they had mended their slovenly ways. Harjinder went through the Mess, and offices, like a whirlwind, and attitudes there soon changed too. After all, Harjinder knew that the Squadron would be back in combat at some point. He was not out to make friends with people, but return a Squadron to the peak efficiency, ready to face all odds, as they had been in Burma.
The war in Burma ebbed and flowed but the attempts to push the Japanese back had come to nothing. In North Africa, things were better, with the Germans being pushed back in the brilliantly executed Battle of El Alamein. The IAF clamoured to be in midst of the action, but their fearless leader felt that combat wasn’t imminent for their squadron, and so, when he was given a chance at a promotion, he took it, moving up, and out, of Squadron life. Everybody was more than happy to serve under his replacement, Henry Runganadhan. Henry; the man who had won the air races, the man who had sheepishly called Harjinder when he felt unable to face his colleagues over lunch after crashing a Lysander, but a man who had grown in stature whilst in combat. He was recognised as a man of great courage, daring and enjoying the good life (some thought too much!). He had been in No. 1 Squadron nearly from the beginning, and was much admired by every man jack. They would all follow him, not just because of the man he was, but to continue to raise the reputation of the Jumbo Squadron.
Henry headed down to take command of his new squadron in a twin-engined, Lockeed Hudson transport aircraft. He hated flying as a passenger, but it was to be a treat for him this time as his pilots from his Squadron wanted to welcome him in style by escorting him to their base, in their new Hurricanes. The Hurricanes bobbed up next to Henry as he looked out of the aircraft’s side window, proud to be taking the responsibility of the Jumbo Squadron. In one of the Hurricanes was Homi Shapur Ratnagar, the Burma veteran who’d arrived on the battlefield with a case full of civilian clothes, and sports gear, because nobody had told him otherwise. The story told to Harjinder at the time was that as they were passing near Karachi, Ratnagar’s Hurricane engine started to leak fumes from around the exhaust. The odourless carbon monoxide seeped inside the engine cowling and further back into his cockpit. Ratnagar felt relaxed, pleasant, just like after a few drinks, but, so very tired, too. As he slid gently into a happy unconsciousness, his Hurricane drifted around the sky. The Hurricane wasn’t known to leak fumes and af
ter the war Ratnagar was removed from flying duties after he suffered dizzy spells. The truth of the matter is the Hurricane was probably not to blame, but the carnage was inevitable all the same.
The gunner in the top turret of the Hudson was seen furiously waving the Hurricane away from his glass bubble, but there just wasn’t time enough to shout a warning to his own pilot as the Hurricane slide sideways between the twin tail-fins of the Hudson. The propeller turning at over 2,000 revolutions a minute chewed through the thin aluminium fuselage and the turret’s glass and metal, in a heartbeat. The entire tail section was ripped away from the fuselage and fluttered downwards, strips of aluminium filling the air like confetti. It can only be imagined what it was like inside the transport aircraft when it suddenly, and savagely, pitched up, pinning all the occupants to their seats, snapping their heads down onto their laps. The crippled aircraft flipped on to its back, then rotated into a tight spin towards the ground. It took their new Commander, Henry Runganadhan to his death. Henry had always said, that to die as a passenger in a plane was a mean death. Henry Runganadhan survived Burma only to have that mean death.
Harjinder was heartbroken as his final link to the original No. 1 Squadron IAF died with Henry. Squadron Leader Goyal was rushed in to take over, but Harjinder felt that his time, with his beloved Squadron, the parent Squadron of the IAF, was at an end. Like Mukerjee before him, he also believed that there was no imminent chance of the Squadron going into action; he was not entirely correct. It would not be long before they went into combat, and by then, a tall, slender Sikh would take command. As a Squadron Leader, it was to be the first, of many, commands in Arjan Singh’s long, illustrious service with the IAF. He would take No. 1 Squadron to fight the Japanese as they invaded India. When that moment came, it would be a desperate battle. In the Soviet Union, the Germans had failed to capture the city of Stalingrad in a gruesome battle. What would happen on Indian soil would not be on the same scale, but it was to earn the name of the Stalingrad of the East. The Germans had come to a crashing halt in Stalingrad, allowing a sliver of hope for the Allies, but that was not yet the case in India. The Japanese were still advancing.