For the next two hours ever-noisier attacks had the spectators enthralled, but none more than our black countrymen who, to the end, bubbled and babbled after every noisy airstrike. Following the last bang spectators were moving off for drinks and lunch when four Hunters came in from the rear of the stands flying very low close to supersonic speed. This gave everyone the greatest fright of all and even caused that ‘particular’ photographer to drop his camera. The entire demonstration had proved a resounding success.
Early weapons testing
WHILST PREPARING FOR THE WEAPONS demonstration, I was required to fly a number of tests for Wing Commander Sandy Mutch who was then Staff Officer Operations at Air HQ. Working for him was a private engineering company seeking to improve two locally manufactured weapons and develop a new one. Twenty-eight-pound fragmentation bombs and their equivalent practice units were undergoing tests to prove new impact and airburst fuses. My involvement in this was straightforward because these bombs had been in use for some time.
The use of locally designed and manufactured fragmentation and practice bombs resulted in considerable savings in both cost and foreign currency. The fragmentation bombs were specifically intended for Canberras but could be delivered by any weapon-carrying aircraft. Ninety-six of them could be dropped from a Canberra bomb bay in a rippled release from a locally designed and manufactured carrier device nicknamed the ‘bomb box’. The practice bombs, which fired a small smoke marker charge on impact, were used for training by all the strike aircraft.
The Staff Officer Armaments, Squadron Leader Ken Gibson, and two assistant armourers had brought all the bombs and fuses to Kutanga Range. Use of a dedicated Provost piloted by me and operating out of Kutanga made loading, air releases and on-site inspection quick and simple.
Included for first tests were eight prototype sixteen-gallon napalm bombs that had not previously been used by the RRAF. Napalm was considered an excellent weapon for bush warfare but its use invariably attracted considerable criticism from a number of world bodies. In an attempt to disguise the real purpose of these units, they were referred to as ‘frangible tanks’, giving rise to the abbreviated term, ‘Frantan’. The early Frantans comprised of three sections fashioned from 1.5mm mild steel sheeting. These were a short conical nose, a central cylinder incorporating filler cap and suspension lugs and a tail cone incorporating a fuse pocket. Welded together these formed the 1.8-metre-long Frantan. In early tests Frantans were filled with reject aviation gas and soap flakes that together produced a sticky gel. I was very concerned when I learned that the test units were fitted with modified phosphorus grenades to ignite the gel.
The use of phosphorous igniters was what concerned me more than the fuel gel, though I did not know why at the time. Four sorties were to be flown with two Fantans per sortie delivered singly at low-level onto open ground. All went well with the first three sorties though I was surprised by the high level of radiated heat on the back of my neck.
On the last sortie one of the Frantans refused to separate from the carrier even when high ‘G’ and excessive yawing was applied. There was nothing I could do but land with the ‘hang up’. Having touched down and rolled along the grass runway for some distance the Frantan came away from the carrier, bounced up into the tail plane and ignited. A fiercely hot fireball engulfed the fuselage right up to the cockpit for just a moment but I rolled to the dispersal area none the worse for the experience. Apart from mild scorching of my neck, similar to sunburn, and blistered paint on the aircraft’s rear fuselage, fin and tail plane no real harm had been done. Had the Frantan dislodged at slower speed the outcome might have been serious.
A close inspection of components revealed that the suspension lug, upon which the Frantan hung on the carrier hook, had been the cause of the hang-up. This was rectified and I flew many further Frantan tests after locally designed ‘multi-directional inertia pistols’ had been fitted to fire the flash-powder charge that assisted in bursting the tank to free and ignited gel.
During these trials I got to know Wing Commander Sandy Mutch better than before. Though still bulldoggish in manner, he listened to my opinions about our air weapons in general and grudgingly agreed that most were totally unsuited to the type of conflict we seemed headed for; counter-insurgency warfare. I committed these same opinions to writing and, through Group Captain Whyte, the paper was submitted to Air HQ.
The result was that the CO received a reply asking, “What does that puppy PB know about weapons effectiveness? Had he seen how 60-pound rockets destroyed German trains and how 1,000-pound bombs blew buildings to smithereens, he might be wiser." I knew very well that our weapons were effective in conventional warfare but nobody seemed interested in considering anything beyond the small fragmentation bombs and Frantans I had been testing for bush warfare. Twelve long years were to pass before I was taken seriously and, eventually, given authority to develop locally manufactured weapons that better suited our needs.
Deaths of Bruce McKerron
and Henry Elliot
ON THE AFTERNOON OF 22 June 1964 I was returning to Thornhill from Salisbury cruising at 15,000 feet. Strictly speaking the Provost was not permitted to operate above 10,000 feet because the unpressurised cockpit was not equipped with oxygen. However, out of curiosity, I was establishing the aircraft’s performance at that level. I suffered no ill effects and watched my nails continuously to make sure there was no bluing of the cuticles, an early sign of oxygen deficiency.
When I switched radio channel from Salisbury Approach Control to Thornhill, I was asked to divert to the Jet Flying Training Area. A mayday call had been received from Bruce McKerron who was flying an FB9 but nothing had been heard from him since. I made a long, full-powered descent directly towards a major feature named Umgulugulu where I intended to commence my search. Along the way I called Bruce repeatedly whilst scanning for any sign of smoke.
There was no reply and I saw no smoke. Over the massive granite dome of Umgulugulu, I looked down on the white painted numbers made by successive Pilot Training Courses. The smallest simply read ‘14 PTC’ and each PTC number was larger than the preceding one. 18 PTC was the largest and whitest having recently been put there above the others.
PB with Bruce during his BFS.
I looked at 15 PTC, which was McKerron’s course, and for some unaccountable reason sensed from it that Bruce was dead. It took me a while to spot the thinnest wisp of white smoke rising way back along the route I had just come. With nothing else to work on I flew to this point where a small fire was burning along a thin line of grass half way up the slope of a granite outcrop.
Looking back along the line of burnt grass I could see a black smudge on a flat rock surface at the base of the outcrop but could see nothing resembling aircraft wreckage. Then, a little way off, I noticed a group of men signalling wildly and pointing to a pyramid of newly cut branches. I made a slow low pass over six men who were all waving with one hand and pointing at the pyramid with the other. This, I was certain, was where the body of my ex-student lay so I returned to Thornhill having passed the men again waggling wings to signify that I had seen them.
In Royal Rhodesian Air Force colours, four of the five original Alouettes. Salisbury Airport is above the rotor mast of the nearest helicopter and New Sarum Airbase lies on the other side of the longest runway in Africa.
Our Alouette III helicopters had recently arrived in Salisbury and by pure chance one had just landed at Thornhill. I was asked to accompany Flight Lieutenant Rex Taylor and Doctor Kirk to the crash site. Not the best occasion for my first helicopter flight!
Upon landing we were met by four African males who all talked at the same time. In their own language I requested them to take down the branches to reveal Bruce’s body that was covered by a brand-new raincoat whose owner made sure we knew this. He gladly accepted a £5 note to have it cleaned.
On removal of the coat we were met with a very dismal sight. Bruce’s parachute was still strapped to his body, the
‘D’ ring still firmly set in its retainer pocket. Apart from Bruce’s legs having being pushed into his torso, his head was flat and both blue eyes were bulging out. This was clearly the result of a very high-speed impact with ground. The thing that struck me immediately was that every joint in the right arm had dislocated and the arm lay out to twice its normal length. This could not possibly be attributed to ground impact. Rex agreed with me that Bruce had bailed out in a steep descent, probably a stabilised spin, and his right arm had caught the tail plane. With such damage to the arm we were certain that Bruce had been knocked unconscious and knew nothing thereafter.
Keith Corrans headed the Board of Enquiry whose findings concurred with our assessment. I remember how frustrated Keith was with the verbal evidence given by many Africans who claimed to have seen the aircraft come down. Not one story fitted another so Keith was forced to submit a report based on his reasoned assessment of events.
Exactly six months after this tragedy, one of Bruce McKerron’s coursemates, Henry Elliot, died in another FB9 accident. He was returning to Thornhill from the Bulawayo area at night and was under Thornhill Approach Control. He was given a heading to steer and instructed to contact Radar Control when level at 6,500 feet. The radar controller observed the aircraft approaching on the correct heading before the blip disappeared off his screen.
Henry did not respond to Approach Control or radar calls so another Vampire was guided by radar to the point Henry’s aircraft had last been seen. Immediately he arrived in the area the pilot located a fire making it clear to all that Henry had flown straight into the ground. We learned later that Henry had not been feeling well before this flight but, refusing to let this be known, went ahead with his navigational training flight instead of going to bed.
Henry Elliott had dated Beryl’s sister Yvonne for some time but this changed and he was then courting a lovely girl. Wendy Miller was well known to Beryl and me so the CO requested that we go to her home to break the news to her. Wendy was in bed and had been asleep for some time when we woke her. This was my first experience of conveying bad news and it was every bit as hard to handle as I had imagined.
Henry Elliott.
First terrorist action
FIVE MONTHS EARLIER ON 4 July 1964, when Americans were celebrating Independence Day, a brutal act heralded the start of terrorism and savagery in Rhodesia. A gang of thugs of the Zimbabwe African National Union (ZANU), styled the ‘Crocodile Gang’ and led by William Ndangana, set up a simple roadblock with rocks and tree branches on a mountain section of the Melsetter road. It was late at night when Petrus Oberholzer and his family, travelling in their VW Kombi, were forced to a halt.
As Petrus alighted from the vehicle he was attacked by some of the gang with knives and was mortally wounded. Other members of the gang were attempting to drag his wife and children from the vehicle but Petrus somehow managed to get back to the driving seat to bulldoze his way through the road obstruction. He drove a short distance before dying at the wheel. The vehicle impacted the low verge of the road and stalled to a halt just short of a steep drop off the mountain’s edge. By this time all the doors had been locked from inside.
The terrified survivors knew the gang was back from their shouted abuses as they made an attempt to force open the doors. When this failed, the gang tried to light fuel streaming from the fuel tank damaged by the road obstruction. Thanks to wet matches and the timely approach of another car, the attack was broken off and the gang disappeared into the night.
Petrus Oberholzer was the first white man to die in an act of war since the Mashona Rebellion sixty-seven years earlier. The ZANU men responsible for his death were not yet armed with guns although these had become available to their Zambian-based rival ZAPU back in 1962. We knew that ZANU had started training in China in September 1962 so, considering the nature of the attack, it was feared that Mau Mau-styled operations might be opening up. These fears faded with time and armed offensives held off for twenty-one months.
Flying Wing Adjutant
IN AUGUST 1964 MY JOBS for Group Captain Whyte had been completed and I returned to flying instruction. My students were Officer Cadets Barry Roberts, Terry Jones, Blake Few and Steve Kesby. Teaching three of the students was straightforward but Blake Few suffered badly from airsickness.
I decided to apply on Blake Few the same treatment that had worked so well for Dave Hume. This time it was a dismal failure and I probably did Blake more harm than good because he continued to be sick, though less frequently. Nevertheless, this was enough to place his flying career in question. He transferred to Air Traffic Controller duties until, some years later, he returned to flying having overcome his motion sickness problem.
During the period of this course I flew two sorties with Officer Cadet Bill Buckle who I heard had the reach of an orang-utan. The average pilot had to undo his shoulder harness lock to reach over to the far side of the instrument panel to select two magneto switches for engine start-up. Bill could do this without unlocking shoulder straps, so far was his reach. Nobody could work out how he did it because he was a man of average height and his proportions were normal.
I had become bored with flying instruction and was longing for a posting. It came at the beginning of 1965 when I was moved to the newly established post of Flying Wing Adjutant. I was in this post for only nine months but enjoyed the break and was able to fly whenever I felt like doing so. I was also called upon to fly with Harold Grifths and Brian Jolley who were undergoing instruction in the Flying Instructors School.
Barry Roberts, Terry Jones, PB, Blake Few and Steve Kesby.
Deaths of Barry Matthews
and Sandy Trenoweth
ON 24 MARCH 1965 ELEMENTS of 4 Squadron were returning from a short camp at Tjolotjo where they had been involved in an exercise with the Army. Leading a flight of four aircraft, Mike Reynolds climbed out straight ahead until all aircraft were airborne then turned back to bid farewell to the Army guys camping next to the runway. He ran in and executed a barrel roll at too low an altitude for the inexperienced pilots following behind. The next in line, Barry Matthews, attempted to follow Mike’s manoeuvre but failed to make it through the bottom of the roll and slammed into the ground, belly down. The aircraft disintegrated and both Barry and Warrant Officer Sandy Trenoweth perished.
Sandy Trenoweth’s distressed widow requested that Sandy’s ashes be scattered from the air alongside the grass runway 13. In particular she asked OC Technical Wing for me to do this for Sandy’s sake. I had liked Sandy very much but was somewhat surprised and flattered by Mrs Trenoweth’s request.
With the urn containing Sandy’s ashes prepared and lying in the empty bucket seat next to me, I settled on line with the runway and opened the canopy. Using my knees to hold the control column, I held the urn in both hands and put it out into the slipstream. Immediately I removed the lid, the slipstream started emptying the box but some of the light ash blew back into my eyes. When the urn was completely empty the canopy was closed but I was battling to see. For almost thirty minutes I remained at height giving the tears steaming from my eyes time to clear my vision for landing.
Rupert Fothergill
ON 8 AUGUST 1965 I was sitting at my Flying Wing Adjutant’s desk when I received a distress call from National Parks Head Office in Salisbury. This was to say that a game-ranger had been gored by a rhino way up near Kariba Dam. Air Force assistance was needed to get morphine to the camp in which Rupert Fothergill had received first aid treatment but was in too much pain to face the long rough ride to the nearest hospital or airfield. A helicopter had been requested but this was going to take some time to reach him.
Having arranged a Provost with full overload tanks and collected morphine from Station Sick Quarters, I quickly fashioned a parachute and tested it to ensure a soft landing for the morphine and needles, which were neatly packed in sponge rubber. At the temporary game camp, I found the rhino pens where three of these large animals, disturbed by the Provost’s presence, wer
e running around in circles. A short distance away I saw the white sheets laid out as markers for the drop. The parachute deployed perfectly and waving bush hats and thumbs-up signals confirmed safe receipt of the morphine. Later, Peter Cooke with Dr Laidlaw arrived in an Alouette helicopter to fly Rupert to Salisbury Hospital.
How the rhino came to gore Rupert Fothergill I do not recall other than it was to be darted with a drug for capture and re-location to Wankie Game Reserve. Rupert Fothergill was leader of the much-publicised Operation Noah in which thousands of animals were rescued from certain death when the rising waters of Lake Kariba trapped them on newly formed islands that were going to disappear below water. Considering the nature of operations to capture panicking animals, it was surprising that Rupert was gored only this once and survived to continue his world-acclaimed work.
Posting to 3 Squadron
THORNHILL’S WORKING HOURS REMAINED 06:30 to 13:30, which gave everyone ample free time in daylight hours. Apart from boxing for Umtali High School and representing the school’s first rugby team once, I had never excelled in any sport. My sports involvement was limited to golf once gliding became too expensive. Even in golf my participation with Dave Thorne, Pat Meddows-Taylor and others was limited to one afternoon per week, so I looked to other activities to occupy spare time. Two of these were sewing and boat-building.
Winds of Destruction: The Autobiography of a Rhodesian Combat Pilot Page 20
