The Board of Inquiry into this incident established that Jack, flying an FB9, had encountered low cloud on his first leg from Thornhill but had left the decision to climb above it a fraction too late. His aircraft impacted a vertical rock face a mere three feet from the summit of Mount Belingwe and disintegrated.
The four 20mm Hispano cannons remained deeply embedded in the rock face but most of the airframe debris, including the engine and undercarriage, passed over the summit. The Army kindly provided fifty territorial trainees from Llewellin Barracks to assist our technicians recover the scattered wreckage.
There were no helicopters available in those days so there was no way around the long climb up the mountain to recover every piece of wreckage which had to be manhandled or dragged down the difficult slope. Fortunately very heavy items, such as engine, main planes and undercarriage, were near the foot of the mountain and were accessible to four-wheel drive vehicles. The four cannons could not be extracted from the rock and were left in situ. They are probably still embedded there to this day!
Sabotage
IN OCTOBER 1960 THERE WAS a great deal of political manoeuvring by black organisations seeking the dissolution of the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland. Because this caused much industrial unrest in Southern Rhodesia the Federal Government decided to get a message to all the black folk by air-dropping leaflets, as most of the people in the remote areas did not have radios.
Nos 2, 3 and 4 Squadrons were tasked to fly Provosts, Dakotas and Pembrokes to do the drops. Each aircraft was allocated a specific area to ensure full coverage of the country without overlaps. I had to cover a sector to the north and east of Gwelo before returning to the industrial area of Gwelo at 5 p.m. when workers would be streaming into the streets from the factories.
Flight Lieutenant Charlie Tubbs, the Senior Air Traffic Controller at Thornhill, asked if he could accompany me on this four-and-a-half-hour sortie. With thousands of leaflets in bundles behind our seats and tucked in every accessible, safe location we set off with Charlie, an ex-RAF pilot, making the take-off. Once airborne he asked me if he could try his hand at landing on return to base. I agreed he could.
Charlie did most of the flying to allow me to map-read and record every village with the number of leaflets dropped as we moved from place to place in a pre-planned pattern. Our final drop was over the black townships of Gatooma. We then turned for Gwelo remaining at low level. The Provost was purring along when I turned to Charlie and said, “Isn’t it amazing how reliable engines are nowadays. Here we are flying along, never worrying that the fan might fail on us." Charlie was horrified. “Don’t say that, you might regret your words.”
We arrived at Gwelo’s industrial area on time. The canopy was rolled back and we had just commenced dropping leaflets when the sight and stench of smoke preceded severe vibration from a faltering engine. The canopy was rolled forward then immediately re-opened because of blinding, foul-smelling smoke in the cockpit. When the engine quit I was already aiming for the zigzag roof of the Bata Shoe Factory just ahead of us because there were too many power lines about and the roadways were crowded.
I put out a hurried ‘Mayday’ call to Thornhill Approach just as we were about to touch down on the factory roof. But happily the engine powered up again just long enough to allow us to wallow past the factory to the edge of the disused wartime RAF base, Moffat Airfield. The engine then quit completely and I was able to put down quite smoothly in very high grass. As the aircraft sliced through the grass, I prayed we would not strike any hidden antheaps or antbear holes that were common to this area. Blindly we rolled over rough ground for some distance before emerging smack bang on a grass runway that had recently been trimmed by the Gwelo Gliding Club.
When we climbed down from the aircraft Charlie’s hands were shaking as he groped for his cigarettes. After a couple of hard drags Charlie said in a stern voice, “You promised to let me try my hand at landing”, whereupon we both burst into near-hysterical, relieved laughter.
This was the first of a number of incidents involving sabotage of Royal Rhodesian Air Force aircraft. A 30mm steel ball bearing had been introduced into the engine casing and had settled at the rear of the number six-cylinder piston. There it had banged away with every revolution of the engine until eventually it broke through the piston head. Once the piston was holed, the whole engine casing became highly pressurised, forcing all the engine’s oil to dump to atmosphere through the crankcase breather pipe.
Two days later another Provost suffered engine failure for the self-same reason. I think it was Flight Lieutenant Ken Edwards who put down safely with no damage to the airframe in Seke Reserve near New Sarum. An inspection of all the Leonides engines revealed that another four engines contained loose 30mm ball bearings.
The next incident involved a Canberra. Flight Lieutenant Ozzie Penton, a man of small build, was conducting his pre-flight inspection when he came to the port engine where, with fingers around the shroud, he could pull up as he jumped just high enough to check the lower turbines of the jet engine. He noticed something unusual and called a tall technician over to take a close look. There, between the line of static vanes and the first impeller blades, lay a socking great bolt that had obviously been placed there to damage the engine on start-up.
Initially it was believed that the sabotage was by black hangar Staff acting for the Zimbabwe African Peoples’ Union who continued to create unrest throughout the land. But then an incident occurred which made it obvious that ZAPU agents were not involved.
One of the black hanger workers at New Sarum called the Warrant Officer in charge of No 3 Squadron to come and inspect the undercarriage of a Dakota. He told the WO that when he was cleaning the aircraft’s oleos the wheel axle retainer nuts did not feel right, even though they looked normal. The WO soon established that the nuts were indeed visually normal but felt wrong. They had perfect shape, threads and all, but had been fashioned from compressed paper and glue, sanded smooth and painted silver.
Though never proven, it was concluded that one or more of a number of RAF technicians on secondment to our Air Force were acting against our interests, possibly for MI6 in London. The seconded men returned to Britain shortly after these incidents and others that involved two Canadairs of No 3 Squadron. These incidents are covered later.
With ongoing unrest in the Shona areas, there was concern for the safety of the tribal chiefs who had become targets of youths stirred to action by ZAPU. Ground-to-ground communication with soldiers protecting the chiefs and their families were so poor that it became necessary for the Air Force to overfly all chiefs’ kraals twice daily. To assist the pilots, each army protection unit laid out a white sheet on the ground. If nothing was overlaid on the sheet all was well. If, however, the unit had a problem, three orange strips could be laid on the white sheets in any one of a number of patterns set out in a booklet to convey their situation to the pilots who passed these on to local Army commanders. The flights were long and generally enjoyable, though I couldn’t help worrying that my aircraft engine might have been sabotaged again.
Flying Instructors School
THE FLYING INSTRUCTORS SCHOOL (FIS) was, for me, a real drag. The need to fly very accurately was not so much the problem as the patter (what one needed to say whilst demonstrating to a student). I found this tedious, boring and somewhat confusing.
Bob Woodward would teach me a patter sequence in one style, but for the same sequence Chris Dams gave it differently. Soon enough it became obvious that the other QFIs (Qualified Flying Instructors) were giving different versions of patter that suited their own personalities and flying experience.
Every aspect of instructing was repeated and repeated ad nauseam with QFIs and between student instructors. My problem, as I saw it, was how I was going to satisfy Bob Woodward during progress tests and the all-important final test. Near the end of the course Flight Lieutenant Dickie Dives, an ex-RAF Central Flying School officer serving as an Air Traffic Controller at Thornhill, flew with me
and gave me his brand of patter, encompassing every exercise in the book. I believe I learned more from Dickie Dives in two hours than in all the 150 hours I had flown with other QFIs and fellow students. I cannot say if Dickie was a good instructor for others, but he certainly made everything so much clearer and easier for me, just when I needed it. Thanks to him, I passed my final test without stress because I had learned to ignore parrot-fashioned patter and use the words that suited mood and action.
The flying side of our FIS commenced at the beginning of August 1960 and was completed in time for the commencement of the BFS for No 14 PTC (Pilots Training Course).
For those who watch for sequential numbering it will be obvious that Nos 12 SSU and 13 SSU are missing and that SSU had given way to PTC. This was partly due to political thinking and partly to superstition.
The Federal Government had become disenchanted with the Short Service Commission arrangements because too-high a proportion of trained pilots had opted to leave the force on completion of expensive ‘free training’. Furthermore, most of them had taken up employment with airlines and moved beyond the borders of the Federation, thereby breaking their undertakings to be immediately available in times of need.
It was decided instead that all future student pilots would sign up for two years of training followed by a mandatory ten years’ Medium Service Commission. In the event of a student’s failure at any stage, Air HQ’s only obligation was to offer him alternative training as navigator, technician or administrator. This new scheme was renamed Pilots Training Course (PTC) as prefix to the course number.
12 SSU should have commenced training in 1959 but, because no training occurred that year, the number was dropped. Considering that superstition for the number ‘13’ might present difficulties, Group HQ, by now Air HQ operating from Dolphin House in Salisbury, decided to bypass it. No 14 Pilot Training Course (PTC) started their ground training at the beginning of January 1961 and came to 2 Squadron for the BFS in May.
Paul Mark
SIX MONTHS PRIOR TO THIS, on the 30 November 1960, Beryl came to fetch me at the usual knock-off time of 1.30 pm She was seven-and-a-half months’ pregnant with our second child and was in absolute agony. With difficulty I got her into the passenger seat and drove her straight home. Getting her to the living room was a major effort.
She could not sit properly as pains in her abdomen were overwhelming her. Beryl’s gynaecologist, Doctor Deuchar, who happened to live directly across the road from us, came to Beryl’s aid immediately. He was not happy with what he saw and called Doctor Comline to come over urgently. Together the doctors concluded that Beryl was suffering from kidney failure necessitating immediate hospitalisation and the removal of her baby to save her life. I was taken aside and told that, following the operation, Beryl should be fine but the baby’s chances of survival were not good.
I took time off work next day to look after Debbie and was playing with her whilst awaiting a call from the hospital. It was 9 am on 1 December when Debbie took her first faltering steps unaided; but the occasion was all but lost because I was so concerned for Beryl and baby.
A few minutes later Doctor Deuchar phoned to say Beryl would be fine and that our little boy had been transferred to Gwelo’s Birchenough House Nursing Home. Not twenty minutes later, when I was dressing for a visit to the nursing home, I received a call from a Church of England padre. Very clumsily he asked in what names he should christen the baby who was not expected to survive another hour. Completely taken aback I blurted out “Paul Mark.”
By the time I reached the nursing home the padre had left and the matron took me through to see my son. He was in an incubator and seemed fine enough to me until matron pointed out that he was breathing by stomach action with no signs of normal rib-cage movement. Five days passed after his birth before the doctor said Paul would be fine because his breathing had normalised. But nineteen vital days elapsed after his birth before Beryl was allowed to hold her baby.
Death of Eric Cary
ON THE 9 FEBRUARY 1961, I was instructed to get over to OC Flying Wing, post-haste. When I walked into Squadron Leader Dicky Bradshaw’s office I saw Tol Janeke standing in flying overalls by the side of his desk looking pale and shaken.
OC Flying, seated behind his desk, looked more stern than usual. In a quiet steady voice he said, “PB I have bad news for you. Your coursemate Eric Cary has crashed and I want you to go and find the site to guide the doctor and fire vehicles to it." I was given brief details and set off to the squadron where Flying Officer Pat Meddows-Taylor said he would accompany me. We were airborne when Squadron Leader Frank Mussell, flying a Canberra, told me he had located the crash site on the south bank of the Umniati River, upstream from the bridge on the main road to Salisbury. He said there was no need for a grid reference, as I would see the rising smoke from some distance.
When we reached the crash site we saw that impact had occurred in a disused cattle kraal where the aircraft disintegrated. Wreckage of varying sizes littered the crash line for over a kilometre to a stream. Beyond this lay the still-flaming magnesium wheels and the smouldering engine.
We had been flying around for a couple of minutes before noticing a lone black male who was waving at us frantically and pointing to the top of a large tree just off to the left side of the debris line. We concluded this might mean Eric’s body was lodged in the tree but the foliage was too dense for us to Confirm this.
After an age we spotted the far-off dust trails from a red fire Jeep and white ambulance. I could not raise the fire Jeep because, as I learned later, it had radio failure. Pat unstrapped and stood up (highly illegal) to make himself visible to the lead driver. By flying over his vehicle and waggling my wings I gave the fireman changes of direction to avoid difficult ground and Pat kept emphasising these changes with hand signals, a difficult thing to do in the powerful slipstream.
When, eventually, the vehicles arrived at the crash site Doctor Dorber came up on the radio, loud and clear. He had not responded to our calls to the fire Jeep “not wanting to interfere”. The mind boggles! Anyway we asked him to drive over to the large tree where we suspected Eric’s remains might be. There was no sign of the black man by now as he had obviously given us up when we flew off out of his sight to guide the vehicles.
Having reached the tree, the doctor confirmed Eric’s body was there and appeared complete save for the loss of a leg that was soon discovered near by. It was almost unheard of in a crash of this nature for a pilot’s entire body to be available for burial considering the location of a Vampire’s engine.
Tol Janeke was tried by court martial following this accident and was found guilty of contravening Air Force Regulations for unauthorised low flying outside the prescribed training area. His punishment of eighteen months’ deferred promotion was probably harsh in the circumstances. Eric had persuaded his junior to follow him on a low-level inspection of the Umniati River to establish if the water level was suitable to repeat a canoeing trip he and Tol had made down the same river the previous year.
Eric led the downstream reconnaissance. At the road bridge on the main road leading to Salisbury he turned to fly back up the river. Then by waggling his wings, so as not to give away his position to Thornhill Approach Control, Eric passed lead to Tol.
As Tol was about to pass, Eric in typical fashion did a slow roll that did not work out as so many had before. In the second half of the roll the aircraft scooped and so ended a very capable young pilot’s life.
After his military funeral our course held a private party as a send-off to Eric.
Left to right: Gordon Wright, Murray Hofmeyr, Bill Galloway, PB, Keith Corrans, Dave Thorne, John Barnes and Ian Law.
First students
AT THIS TIME NO 14 PTC had completed the GTS phase and were ready to commence flying training on Provosts. I was allocated Officer Cadets Doug Pasea and Terry Ryan and set about putting my instructor training into practice.
Teaching a student who knew nothing abo
ut flying seemed easy, though I soon realised I was ‘pattering’ just what I had been taught but without the pressure of practising it on someone more experienced than myself.
Doug Pasea learned quicker than Terry Ryan and I considered him fit for solo after about twelve hours. Bob Woodward who, for reasons I never established, disliked Doug Pasea even taking him on his solo test. Unbeknown to me Bob had already decided that Pasea was not going to pass BFS, no matter what! Doug was not only ‘failed’ on this test, Bob also disallowed him the benefit of further training with a second solo check; so I pleaded with Chris Dams to intervene. This he did, but to no avail! Having ‘failed’ BFS, Doug Pasea was sent to Britain to train as a Canberra navigator. He did splendidly and became an outstanding officer who gained respect throughout the force.
Terry Ryan, PB and Doug Pasea.
When Terry Ryan was reaching maximum hours allowed for solo he was taken on a progress check by Bob Woodward. Though not a patch on Doug Pasea as a pilot, he was sent solo off this very sortie. I was pleased for Terry Ryan’s sake but very displeased at losing Doug Pasea. This was my first experience of unfair prejudice by a senior officer against a junior. Unfortunately I would see close friends suffer from this human failing in the years ahead.
In June I was given Officer Cadets Tony Smit and Keith Clarke in exchange for Terry Ryan. Tony Smit was under threat of being scrubbed and his instructor had suggested that a change of instructor might be helpful. Keith’s instructor asked for the change on the grounds of incompatibility, but he gave me no difficulties. But I was very conscious of the fact that Tony Smit was the same age as me, the maximum age for student pilots having been elevated from twenty-one to twenty-four.
Winds of Destruction Page 14