Spitfire Singh

by Mike Edwards

  There were a considerable number of similarities between the two men. Their thoughts, and their goals, all revolved around making India a better country, and to increase its standing on the world stage. Both men worked tirelessly on projects they believed in, requiring little sleep. They had both begun their education in college but from that point their paths in life diverged. Harjinder had then taken on the lowest position available in the new Air Force; Menon continued to climb upward from his early education. He was even adding a third degree to his portfolio. Menon’s colourful side was carefully calculated and designed to boost his not-inconsiderable ego. Apart from his arrival at his own Wings Parade in his Spitfire, flamboyance was not a trait that was found in Harjinder. Menon had been in the background, steering his close friend Nehru’s public image into a position where he became the natural replacement for Gandhi, for quite some time. He had suggested Mountbatten’s appointment as Governor General to India during Independence, and now he took the post in Nehru’s Government which was the most heavily scrutinised, second only perhaps, to Finance. Due to his close friendship with Nehru, Menon’s tenure as Defence Minister brought him more power, and a higher-profile, than his predecessors.

  Menon’s experience brought a degree of governmental, public, and international attention that India’s military had not previously known. Soon after his arrival, Menon abolished the seniority system within the military; nepotism was thrown out, replaced by a merit-based system of promotion. His restructuring of India’s military command system surprised some within the old guard, and gained him many enemies; the Chief of the Army Staff resigned in disgust. Whether Menon’s fingers were tweaking the strings behind the scenes or not, remains unclear, but March 1958 saw Harjinder promoted to the rank of Air Commodore without the need for jumping ship to HAL. His elevated rank brought him into regular contact with Menon. After several trips to visit Harjinder’s work in Kanpur they become ever closer friends with a meeting of minds.

  To those that had to arrange an arrival committee for Menon, often at short notice, it seemed as if he were there every few weeks. The young Mr Nanda would see his uncle launch into action when he heard the cries, ‘Menon is coming! Menon is coming!’

  As Harjinder’s Staff Officer, Amrit Saigal soon knew the routine; get a pot of really strong, freshly-ground, coffee on the boil, with a good supply of cashew nuts at hand. The two men would be seen striding around the base as they discussed matters far beyond the perimeter wire of Kanpur. If they could be thought of as twins in their outlook in life, physically they couldn’t be more different. Menon was tall, with a slim frame topped with a shock of white, unruly, hair swept backwards to give him that professorial look. Despite Harjinder’s solid frame and intimidating presence, Menon’s own bearing and poise left the observer in no doubt where the ultimate power lay. Both men carried a stick, but for different reasons. For Harjinder, it was the baton that went with his rank, for Menon, it was an old fashioned shepherd’s stick. When the young Nanda was in the office with his Uncle, awaiting the return of the two men from their wanderings, it was the tap-tap-tap of Menon’s walking stick that announced their imminent arrival.

  Not all meetings took place in Kanpur. Menon called a meeting in April 1958, with all three military Chiefs; the heads of the Army, the Navy, and the Air Force. Eyebrows were raised when the fourth person to be included was Harjinder. Menon’s thrust in that meeting was how one-third of the central financial budget was being lost on defence expenditure. The military was his empire, but he knew that the resources that came to him would leave so many vital aspects such as basic education, agriculture and irrigation, all neglected. He reasoned that the Armed Forces could reduce the burden on the state by producing some of their own weapons and equipment, and by reclaiming the maximum possible from salvage still left from World War II. Many of the ideas brought forth were from talks with Harjinder held the day before. All in the Government knew of Harjinder’s reclaimed Liberator bombers, and naturally deduced these new ideas came, at least in part, from Harjinder. From that point onwards, in the minds of many in authority, there became little difference between Menon and Harjinder. If insults were hurled from military and Government personnel at Menon’s reputation, Harjinder was lumped in with him.

  However, from this early meeting, things did move forward, and progress was made. Menon continued to preach self-reliance, and with this ringing in his ears, a small seed of an idea started to take root in Harjinder’s mind. He had spent much of his adult life rebuilding aircraft, so why not design and build a light aircraft at Kanpur, for military and civilian use? He had built a Frankenstein of an aircraft from various aircraft parts, when he was in based in Kohat, but this would be a brand new machine. Harjinder saw this project as the impetus needed to start the indigenous production of defence equipment. Menon constituted a number of committees, and Harjinder was appointed Chairman of two of them; the Disposals Committee, and the Ground Equipment Committee, whose task it was to reclaim as much equipment as possible. The Sepoy who bolted damaged Wapitis back together in 1930s was now starting with a blank piece of paper. Harjinder still had all his Maintenance Command responsibilities but manufactured time to sit down and design a brand new utility aeroplane for India, with Menon nodding approval in the background.

  Throughout Harjinder’s life, he went full tilt into new ventures and this was no different. His enthusiasm was infectious, and inspired all his fellow Committee members to do their utmost to complete their allotted tasks within the time frame. Meetings with Krishna Menon really did become a weekly event, their discussions moved beyond the basic mechanics of the project in hand, and roamed far and wide. It was inevitable that a certain amount of talk would start about Harjinder becoming the Defence Minister’s ‘blue-eyed boy’. The goal of self-reliance in Defence was an obsession with both of these men, but others eyed the relationship as something more sinister, accusing Harjinder of motives less than noble, that the relationship he had cultivated with Menon was purely for personal benefit. Those people certainly didn’t know Harjinder!

  The combination of Harjinder’s drive, and Menon’s encouragement, saw a completely new 4-seater, light communications aircraft, designed, and built, in less than a year. The high wing design, with an enclosed cabin, was in no way revolutionary, but it was perfect for India. The plan was to make the maximum use of parts and material available in country. It was simple to build, and tough enough for the harsh operating conditions. The concept of ‘keep it simple’ was continued with the choice of engine; the widely used American Lycoming 180 horsepower engine. The people in Maintenance Command may have been calling it ’Harjinder’s plane’ but it was officially called the Kanpur-I. As you would expect, it was Harjinder who strapped into the machine for the first test flight alongside the test pilot. Menon was on the ground with a huge grin, waiting to present Harjinder with a garland when he touched down. The significance of this moment was not lost on Menon – the country’s first homegrown/domestically manufactured aircraft, designed and developed by its own Air Force, had taken to the air for the very first time – and he immediately used Harjinder’s success to taunt HAL in Bangalore.

  Relations were already strained, and this further enraged the management team in HAL, including Harjinder’s friend Aspy Engineer, who was serving as Chairman. Menon was happy to point out to all who would listen, that despite HAL being the only aircraft factory in the country, they had yet to achieve anything as impressive as the team in Kanpur.

  The Director of Development & Production at HAL, Mr Jagan Chawla, was not going to take this attack on HAL lying down, and had weapons of his own to call on for revenge. He refused to accord the Kanpur-I an Airworthiness Certificate, blaming poor welding. Harjinder’s baby would never progress beyond the one example his men in Kanpur had built. It was by no means a wasted effort, because it did achieve one thing - stung by the Defence Minister’s comments, HAL quickly made the Pushpak aircraft by copying the American, fabric covered, light
aircraft called the Aeronca Chief, with a Rolls-Royce engine. The first Pushpak was ready within just sixteen weeks after being given the go ahead by Aspy Engineer. India was now manufacturing a new aircraft, even if the Pushpak was inferior to Harjinder’s aircraft, only a small step forward from the HT2 trainer aircraft. Once the Pushpak was confirmed as the Government’s choice of aircraft, the Kanpur-I prototype received permission to fly beyond the testing phase and it continued to operate on the Kanpur base for many years, fulfilling a role very close to Harjinder’s heart. Over the years, the students of Kanpur Technical Institute experienced the pleasure of flight for the very first time in Kanpur-I, some catching the flying bug for life.

  Without official backing, the aircraft could not live forever. They continued to beg, borrow, steal, and manufacture parts for Harjinder’s Kanpur-I, but eventually, the Air Force Station, Kanpur lost the use of the aircraft carrying its name; it was reported as broken up. In 2011, I arranged a visit to the Punjab Engineering College in Chandigarh to survey a number of airframes in their aeronautical department. I was taken around the facility, which was full of surprises at every turn. The complete Spitfire, still in IAF colours, albeit dismantled, was quite a sight, and a perfect addition to the Vintage Flight. Finding a Spitfire, and parts of 2 others, would normally be the highlight of any day’s work, but I found something else that day. I was taken into a windowless room where the seldom-used neon strips, dangling on chains from the ceiling, were to be our only source of light. When they were turned on, flickering and clicking, they illuminated the room’s only other occupant – another aircraft. The harsh light reflected off the dust covered, silver painted, fabric of a high wing plane, snuggled in amongst tables of discarded engine parts. The lightning flash painted in red, that ran down the length of the fuselage ended in the IAF roundel, and tail number, BR570, confirmed that it was Harjinder’s Kanpur-I, fully rigged for flight; if a little tatty around the edges.

  Through the Kanpur-I Menon had seen further into Harjinder’s abilities, and so now it was Menon’s turn to try and push Harjinder into HAL, this time as General Manager. Harjinder left Menon in no doubt of the utmost respect he held for Aspy Engineer, he would never consider himself to be Aspy’s equal, and so, insisted that the only way he would contemplate a move to HAL was as an ordinary Engineer. When Menon changed tack and asked how he could be compensated for the additional responsibilities of aircraft design and possible production, Harjinder’s reply was, ‘Sir, the best way to compensate me would be to reduce my rank by one; I would then be clear of all the petty jealousies that have been created in the Air Force.’

  On 8th May, during a discussion on the future transport project, Krishna Menon brought up the subject of Harjinder’s rank. It was not as Harjinder had requested, to bring him down a level, it was to raise him further up, to that of Air Vice-Marshal. He had alluded to this before, hinting that since Harjinder was head of a Command, he should also be an Air Vice-Marshal. Harjinder, of course, considered himself already promoted above his colleagues in the Engineering Branch, so he did not expect an out-of-turn promotion. On 15th May, Harjinder listened to the 9 pm news broadcast on All India Radio, as was his custom, work permitting. He had that classic delayed reaction to hearing your own name being mentioned in conversation, at a time and place you don’t expect it. He had to replay the last few seconds of the broadcast over in his mind. Did they just announce his promotion to Air Vice-Marshal with immediate effect? He was shaken out of his confusion by the ring of the telephone. On answering, he was greeted by the familiar voice of Menon on the other end, ‘Normally a Defence Minister does not personally congratulate promoted officers no matter how senior they may be, but you are an exception.’

  The Deputy Air Chief rang up the next morning to offer congratulations, but also had to ‘wonder’ if the Chief, Mukerjee, knew about the proposal for promotion. He was obviously saying what many thought then, and many still think today; was Menon pushing his ‘blue-eyed boy’ through to the top? Harjinder could take a hint and so put pen to paper immediately. His concerns poured onto the page. In his letter to Mukerjee he voiced his concerns at the prospect of the promotion, pointing out that he did not wish to be promoted beyond Group Captain until those he thought worthy went before him.

  He also stated that he had made several attempts to leave the IAF, but had been persuaded to stay; on one occasion, by Mukerjee himself. There are several insights into their close relationship in that letter, besides Mukerjee’s own threat to resign if Harjinder were to leave the Air Force, he also recounts his earlier refusal of the job at HAL on the understanding that Mukerjee would stay on as Chief, so that the two men could retire at the same time. He finished by stating, categorically, that if Mukerjee had not recommended this promotion, he would refuse to accept it.

  Subroto Mukerjee had always been an astute politician, and would not have been unaware of the talk around the corridors of power. He asked Harjinder to fly to Delhi straightway. Harjinder walked through the shabby H block and into that familiar Chief’s office. Before he could draw breath for the speech he had been mentally preparing over and over again, Mukerjee sprang out of his seat and was holding Harjinder firmly by the shoulders. Harjinder, still dazed, didn’t comprehend what was happening as Mukerjee removed the old strips from his shoulder epaulets, and slid the Air Vice-Marshal’s strips on. He guided Harjinder into the chair facing the desk before he sat down opposite him. Mukerjee looked directly into the still-confused face of Harjinder, as he slid an open file across the desk. Harjinder looked into that file and the letter within. It was Mukerjee’s original recommendation to the Defence Secretary for Harjinder’s promotion. That kind of consideration was typical of Subroto Mukerjee.

  The decade was drawing to a close. The world was changing; India had been Independent for over ten years. The Air Force that had been torn apart at Partition was functioning well, and trying to keep pace with the political, economic and technical changes happening all around. Harjinder’s Liberator bombers were moved onto a maritime role, patrolling the vast Indian coastline, and the seas beyond. Their bomber role was being carried out by Canberra jet bombers recently purchased from Britain. Negotiations were also underway with the company that had supplied the wartime RIAF with their Hurricanes, the Hawker aircraft company, from Kingston-upon-Thames, in Surrey. The new bullet-like Hawker Hunter was in a league of its own and soon became known by Air Forces throughout the world for the light, agile, harmonised, controls that made it the ultimate pilot’s airplane.

  Also on the shopping list from UK, were the tiny fighter aircraft from the Folland Company. The suitably named, Midge, was originally designed as a lightweight, single-seat aeroplane; when armed and turned into a full-fledged fighter, it was rechristened, the Gnat. The RAF turned their back on this fighter, but eventually made the two-seat version of the Gnat their main advanced trainer wherein it became a legend as the aircraft that started the premier RAF aerobatic team; the Red Arrows. By the early part of 1959, HAL were tooling up to licence build their own fighter version of the Gnat, but it was also becoming obvious to the IAF that their old Dakota transport fleet, that brought all the troops right into the battle zone in Kashmir in 1948, was also creaking at the seams.

  Talks about a replacement cargo and troop carrying aircraft made the round of Government and military offices, with Menon’s enthusiasm for self-reliance and domestically built aircraft becoming infectious. The aircraft types offered by the American Lockheed, and Dutch Fokker companies were eventually dismissed, despite the best efforts of certain members of the Government and military trying to shoehorn these two aircraft into the top slot. Some very dubious claims were made about the capabilities of those aircraft which brought doubts on the motivation of the individuals concerned. In spite of their best efforts, the British Avro company (which would soon become Hawker Siddeley) was finding its way to the top of the list. They were willing to hand over the rights to manufacture the prototype in India as well as allowing
export of the manufactured aircraft to other countries. The construction of the Avro aircraft lent itself to manufacture in India, more than the other contenders. The particular type on offer, the Avro 748, had a pressurised cabin with two Rolls Royce Dart jet engines driving enormous propellers. It was strong enough to cope with rough airfield surfaces and had an excellent short takeoff and landing performance, allowing it to operate in and out of the airfields in India’s mountainous regions. This was the aircraft for India, it could serve as both military transport, and small regional airliner.

  Menon, true to his style, stepped into the fray and squashed all the arguments, fair or foul, on behalf of all the other aircraft options. On 27th June 1959, the decision was taken to manufacture the Avro 748 in India, but with Menon at the helm nothing was going to be easy. The British design was now in India, and the UK, with both sides to start manufacturing at the same time. Menon’s competitive edge came to the fore and he wanted the first Indian-made prototype aircraft to fly before the designers back in UK could. Even that tall order was not enough for Menon; he wanted it flying at the next Republic Day Parade; in other words, in less than seven months’ time! What was Harjinder thinking when Menon gently threw his idea of time scales into their conversation? Did his mind drift back to the days when he repaired Wapitis and Lysanders? Best we get the tea flowing and let’s see what we can do! This particular time scale was one challenge too far, even for Harjinder, but it was also an indication of Menon’s lack of appreciation of the task ahead.