Because he was so fast, John’s first loop took him almost out of sight before he came down in a forty-five degrees inverted dive. Leaving his roll-out very late, he entered a second loop with plenty of crowd-pleasing speed and noise. He continued on with his sequence for about five minutes, throwing in every aerobatic manoeuvre before making a slow roll along the viewing line at very, very, low level as only John could do. He then pulled up sharply into a vertical climb intending to execute a left-hand stall turn, again high up.
John Mussell.
I do not recall what went wrong. The aircraft was pivoting around its left wing when suddenly it started a rotation. This tightened as the aircraft descended. When John had done more than six turns in an ever-tightening spin, it seemed he would not recover from the dreaded condition for which the FB9 had such a bad reputation. It was obvious that John would have trouble bailing out and I had a picture in my mind of what he was experiencing up there as the crowd clapped and cheered this ‘spectacular manoeuvre’. When it looked as if there was no hope, the aircraft snapped out of the spin and John stole the show by continuing his noisy display as if nothing untoward had happened. The crowd certainly did not realise how close they had come to witnessing a disaster!
On return to Thornhill there was a fuss over the Canberra that Charles Paxton had been flying. Many of the rivets in the fin and rear fuselage had popped, indicating that the aircraft had exceeded its structural limitations. Though the damage was easily repaired, Canberra pilots were immediately banned from making any aerobatic manoeuvre.
Standing: Officers of No 1 Squadron at the time Sandy Mutch assumed command. From left to right: Eric Cary, Keith Corrans, Mike Reynolds, Ted Stevenson, Eddie Wilkinson, Peter McLurg, Bob Woodward, Sandy Mutch, Norman Walsh, Randy du Rand, Justin Varkivisser, Basil Green, Dave Thorne, Bill Galloway and PB. Kneeling is Warrant Officer Jimmy Stewart whose incredibly small team of dedicated technicians maintained an ongoing 90% daily line availability of sixteen Vampires; the equivalent of one and a half aircraft per man. The man sitting second to the right of Jimmy, on secondment from the RAF, was used to at least three men per aircraft.
Flypasts
NO 1 SQUADRON WAS OFTEN INVOLVED in formation flypasts for a variety of special occasions. In the latter half of my first year on the squadron I was included in formation flypasts over parades held for the Queen’s Birthday, the Governor-General of the Federation inspection of forces and the Battle of Britain Commemoration Parade. Little preparation was required for formating pilots but the formation leaders had to practise for the split-second accuracy needed to pass over a parade bang on time. This was much more difficult to achieve than was apparent to observers on the ground.
The first requirement was to know the exact order of parade, the height and ‘time zero’ for The first formation to be overhead. Also needed were timings and heights for those following. Time Zero inevitably coincided with the last note of the Royal Anthem. The parade would remain at the ‘Present’ until the last formation noise had abated sufficiently for the parade commander’s voice to carry to all units on parade.
An Air Force officer on the ground (air co-ordinator) had to time parade rehearsal so that he would be in a position to give the formation leaders a running commentary on what was happening on the parade ground with a countdown to ‘Zero’.
Formation leaders would usually fly a reverse pattern from the parade ground to their intended holding point to establish precisely how many minutes and seconds it took to fly the route. Having established this, they would then fly their intended path a few times to prove their timings for the actual parade when they would be leading whole formations.
Out of sight and hearing of the parade each formation flew a racetrack pattern in its assigned waiting area, well separated by height and distance for safety’s sake. Each leader knew how long it would take from any position in his racetrack pattern to get to the parade ground on time and on correct heading. But seldom did the timings of the practice match those of the official parade. This made a formation leader’s job a very tricky business.
The problems in getting timings right were almost always due to unexpected actions by the reviewing Officer. This is the sort of information from the Air Force co-ordinator that formation leaders dreaded, but had to be prepared for:
Formation of six Vampires.
“No sight of the Reviewing Officer’s car yet—already running five seconds late—Oh! Here he comes—he is driving slower than expected—pulling up behind dais now—56 seconds—Governor General climbing out of the car—51 seconds—Oh boy, he has turned to the crowd and not the dais—moving to greet someone on the front seats—still talking—looks like he might move now—yes—51 seconds—climbing steps now—taking position—35 seconds—presenting arms—Royal salute—28 seconds.”
The leaders of slow aircraft faced the greatest difficulties when this type of thing happened because, to make the distance, they would have been running in, even before the reviewing Officer’s car came into view. Having reduced speed to meet the first five-second delay they then faced the unexpected problem of the reviewing officer turning to greet someone giving no option but to go into a 180-degree turn. But how tight? How long before the reviewing officer moves to the dais? Problems such as these were greater for a leader of cumbersome Dakota formations than for leaders of smaller nimble aircraft such as the Provosts. For the helicopters that came later this was a piece of cake.
When helicopters led flypasts Provosts, Dakotas, Vampires, Canberras and Hunters followed them in that order. I recall the reviewing officer of one parade in Bulawayo making so many changes to his briefed routine that the helicopters, Provosts and Dakotas passed over the parade at the same time; one formation stepped closely above the other. Happily the spectators thought this was intentional and were suitably impressed. Just a few seconds further delay would have had the aircraft passing in reverse order before the Royal Anthem had been played out.
Formation leaders were generally cool characters who always considered pilots’ difficulties formating on them. Sandy Mutch, being a highly excitable character, was not one of these and being led by him was usually bloody dangerous. For example, we were doing a six-machine Vampire flypast for a parade in Luanshya in Northern Rhodesia when Sandy became uncertain of his position. At a very late stage he suddenly saw the parade area at ninety degrees to his left and without any warning banked sharply. I was the second aircraft on the port side where I had to roll rapidly and pull away to avoid collision with the inside aircraft, whose pilot had been forced to do the same. My breakaway put me well outside the formation forcing me to close rapidly, so rapidly in fact that I was banking steeply to check closing speed as the formation passed over the parade. In this case the observers could not possibly have been impressed.
In four years’ time we would see twelve-ship Hunter formations such as this.
It must be said however that the standard of leadership and of formation flying in general improved noticeably as the Air Force increased in size and experience.
Aden detachment
IN LATE SEPTEMBER 1959 WE learned that No 8 Squadron of the RAF was to be temporarily detached from Aden to Cyprus and that No 1 Squadron was to fill in for the month of November.
Preparatory to going on the squadron’s third trip to Aden, I passed my Green Card Instrument Rating test and gained a First Line Servicing Certificate. The squadron’s entire weapons allocations for the balance of the financial year was made available for intensified weapons training and emphasis was given to formating in cloud.
Two days before our departure, a Canadair set off from New Sarum to drop technical staging parties and Air Traffic Controllers at three Airfields along our route, and to take the detachment technicians to Aden. On its return, the Canadair recovered the staging parties.
Our route to Aden was via Chileka, Dar es Salaam and Mogadishu. The legs, Chileka to Dar es Salaam and on to Mogadishu, were flown in almost continuous cloud, which I
found very hard going because, whilst in cloud, I suffered continuously from ‘the leans’. Flying No 4 in a tight-finger four-starboard position I felt as if we were in a continuous steep left-hand turn orbiting over one spot. When cloud density allowed me to see the lead aircraft it was not so bad, but on many occasions the cloud was so dense that I could see no more than the red wing-tip of Mike Reynold’s aircraft, on which I was formating. Coming out of cloud and being able to see all the aircraft was a great relief.
At Dar es Salaam my whole canopy and front windscreen misted up on short finals, forcing me to roll back the canopy on touch down so that I could see the edge of the runway to hold line up. As soon as the aircraft was rolling slow enough I undid my straps and stood on the rudder pedals looking over the top of the windscreen to taxi into dispersals in blistering hot conditions.
Our pre-positioned ground crews, shirtless, bathed in sweat and smiling as always, brought superbly cold bottles of Coca-Cola to each pilot. Refuelling and aircraft turn-round for my formation was very slick and had been completed just before the next formation of four taxiied in.
We stayed overnight in Dar es Salaam but once in the air-conditioned hotel few of our number ventured out into the oppressive heat. Following an early breakfast, we were ready to return to the airport. Early though it was, the air was muggy and we were all sweating in our flying overalls even before climbing aboard a steamy airless bus.
One was supposed to be airborne with gear raised before turning on the Vampire’s Godfrey air-conditioning unit. However, it was so hot that I am sure I was not the only pilot who rolled the air-conditioner control wheel to maximum cold as soon as we were at full power on the take-off run. The inrush of cold air provided instant relief and allowed me to enjoy the sight of endless palm trees stretching across the vast land that sank away from the climbing formation. Zanzibar Island was in full sunshine as we passed it, still in the climb. Brilliant colours varying from deep blue water to light turquoise over shallow coral reefs contrasted strongly with Persil-white beaches of mainland and island. It looked just as spectacular as the glossy travel magazines showed it. But the view was short-lived.
Back in cloud all the way to Mogadishu, I again suffered the sensation of that damned continuous left turn. About ten minutes out of Mogadishu we picked up the unmistakable and most comforting voice of Flight Lieutenant Peter Cooke. He had pre-positioned at Mogadishu Airport, which ran parallel and close to the beach, with his portable device that gave him the directions he would give us to steer to reach the airfield. Peter told us that the cloud base was down to 500 feet over the airfield that was covered by thin sea mist, but he thought that the cloud base was somewhat higher and visibility better out at sea. Having heard this, Bob Woodward changed heading with the intention of breaking cloud over water east of Mogadishu.
At around 1,500 feet above sea level the descent rate and flying speed had been reduced when we passed through particularly dense cloud and encountered a patch of severe turbulence. Mike Reynolds, upon whom I was formating, lost visual contact with the leader’s wing-tip and immediately pulled up and out of my sight. I broke starboard and reverted to instruments.
In reply to Mike’s call Bob gave his heading, speed, power settings and rate of descent. Mike said he would add five degrees to leader’s heading to ensure safe separation and I advised Bob that I had added ten degrees. Peter McLurg in the meanwhile had managed to hold station on Bob’s port wing.
When Bob broke out he broadcast that, because of dark and murky conditions, he had not seen the sea surface until he was dangerously low and was now turning for Mogadishu. I commenced my turn onto the heading Peter Cooke gave Bob, my descent rate having been reduced from 500 feet per minute to 300 fpm.
Even though I was switching my attention rapidly from instruments to what lay ahead, no distinctive cloud base or horizon came into view. At 300 feet I levelled off on instruments in what looked like smoky-grey cloud when I saw a small fishing boat that appeared to be suspended on its white wake in the grey murk where sea and cloud blended as one. Shortly thereafter I picked up dull white sand dunes directly ahead and in a moment I passed over the beach and runway. Gingerly I eased my way around to land fairly close behind Mike whom I had not seen until I rolled out on runway line-up. Fortunately there was no recurrence of canopy misting when I throttled back. Once out of the cockpit in hot humid air, the technicians plied us with ice-cold Cokes that we gulped down whilst rubbing sore butts and exchanging individual accounts of our hairy arrival.
Mogadishu’s runway was not suited to a full-formation take-off so we took off for the last leg in pairs. Once airborne, Bob reduced power and levelled off until Mike and I had come up on his starboard side. As soon as our climb was established, we entered cloud and remained there throughout the climb to 29,000 feet.
Soon the cloud gave way to cirrus and then cleared completely. It was a joy to open out into battle formation and feel relaxed after flying hundreds of miles in cloud. Below us was endless desert, which I was seeing for the first time in my life. The barren land of sand and rocks supporting a few clumps of brown scrub looked so uninviting that I found myself wondering why so much blood had been shed for this vast desolate land called Somalia.
The desert seemed to go on forever until we reached the mountainous region in the north. We crossed the coast at Berbera with Djibouti visible on our left. Out over the Gulf of Aden a surprisingly large number of vessels, trailing long wakes, headed to and from the Red Sea. Our descent commenced long before the Arabian coastline was visible.
When Aden Bay and the distinctive mass of Mount Shamsham came into view we remained in loose formation, long enough to take a look at the peninsula on which Mount Shamsham, Aden town and the suburb of Crater stood separated from the mainland by a narrow isthmus.
Across the entire width of this isthmus lay the runway of RAF Kormaksar with beach and sea at both ends. The only road linking the mainland to Aden ran right across the centre of the runway with RAF buildings spread out over a large area on the Aden side. Apart from the sea, everything looked just as dismal to me as the brown African desert behind us.
We ran in along the runway in echelon starboard for a standard formation break onto downwind. Whilst in the descending turn for landing, I noticed that the water was shallow for some distance out into Aden Bay. Later I was told that sharks favoured this particular patch, but in all the landings I made thereafter I never spotted one.
The moment I switched off the air-conditioner on landing I became aware of the heat and high humidity that had me sweating during the long taxi run to dispersals. The Commanding Officer of RAF Kormaksar and our ever-cheerful, shirtless sweating technicians welcomed us. The CO then led us to our poorly lit, dull-looking crew-room.
Next we were shown the aircrew changing-room. The stench from the sweat-stained flying overalls hanging on lines of hooks was overpowering. My first impression was that our RAF counterparts were not up on their hygiene but within a week I realised that our kit looked and smelled the same.
It was late afternoon so we were taken to our billets to settle in and clean up. We then went to the ‘Jungle Bar’ adjoining the Officers’ Mess. This was a large area under a trellised canopy covered by creepers where one could sit and enjoy a drink in good company under coloured lights with a gentle breeze coming from banks of electric fans. The RAF officers insisted that this was a cool time of the year and suggested we try Aden in July when sweat ran so freely that one only needed to urinate every third day, no matter how much one drank.
Our accommodation was good; four men sharing a room with plenty of fans and decent ablutions. Apart from the Jungle Bar, there was a large air-conditioned bar where drinks were served at amazingly low prices, Aden being a duty-free port.
It was in this bar that I first acquired a taste for beer because it was inexpensive and I found it to be the most effective thirst quencher. I enjoyed the fact that the beer did not intoxicate me at sea level as it did in Rhodesia at 5,
000 feet. Presumably the high rate at which one’s body sweated had a part to play in this.
Some distance from base, beyond Aden town on the southern end of the peninsula was the Tarshayn Officers’ Club where we could take a swim in the sea in safety behind rusty pole-borne shark nets. The beach was clean, the water crystal-clear and tepid but the sun made daytime swimming so unpleasant for me that I only swam at night. Most of my visits to this club were with Bob Woodward who did not seem to be too popular with the other squadron pilots. I never did get to know why because I got on well with him. Bob, a thickset man of medium height, displayed amazing agility by frequently executing a string of seemingly effortless flick-flack somersaults along the beach.
All travel to Aden town and the club was by taxi. The cost was not high but the driving habits of the Arab drivers were maddening. No Arab driver I met could cruise at a constant speed. It was a case of foot on accelerator to speed up and foot off to slow down. The continuous forward and rearward force on one’s body, about every three seconds, sometimes turned annoyance into hysterical laughter. Vehicle maintenance was poor and only when the hooter failed was a vehicle considered seriously unserviceable because it was used constantly, even on deserted stretches of road.
The only driver I encountered who could cruise was a fellow from India who had spent time in Britain. He complained about Aden drivers. He said that in India nobody obeyed the rules of the road so every driver knew where he stood. In Britain everyone obeyed the rules so, again, everybody knew precisely where they stood; but in Aden some obeyed and others did not which made driving plain dangerous.
There was a peculiarity about shopkeepers in Aden; they could spot a Rhodesian way off and would start shouting, “Hello Rhodesia. Hello Rhodesia, come see my shop." How they distinguished us from the RAF people we could not tell. Our clothing was the same as our RAF counterparts, we wore the same wristwatches and sandals yet even ex-RAF Brits serving in the RRAF were immediately identified as Rhodesians.
Winds of Destruction: The Autobiography of a Rhodesian Combat Pilot Page 12
