Participating in the Puma test flight were from left to right: Gp Capt John Mussell, Gp Capt Alec Thomson, Wg Cdr Charlie Goodwin, Air Cdr Jimmy Pringle, Mr Trollope (Sec Defence), AVM Archie Wilson, Monsieur Moullard, PB, Wg Cdr Ken Edwards and Henry Ford (Rhotair).
Board of Inquiry
ON 23 JULY 1969 I was summoned to Air HQ where I was instructed to head a Board of Inquiry into an accident that had occurred earlier in the day. This involved an accidental Frantan ignition in dispersals at Thornhill. Senior armourer Ron Dyer and I flew to Thornhill where we met the third member of the B of I, Justin Varkevisser. Varky had made a preliminary investigation into the occurrence and was able to give us background to what actually happened.
Cyril White and Prop Geldenhuys had returned from Kutanga Range with a Frantan hang-up, after all efforts to release the unit in the air had failed. Because the Frantan remained in position during the landing, the aircraft was taxiied into dispersals for a routine manual release. The Station Armaments Officer, Flying Officer Bob Breakwell, was on the flight line to meet the aircraft. With him were armourer Corporals Steve Stead and Ian Fleming. As soon as the Provost parked, but before the engine closed down, the armourers went under the port wing. Having removed the arming wire and ensured that the ground-safety pin was placed in the tail fuse, they prepared to remove the Frantan from the carrier.
Instead of using a stretcher-like carrier to bear the weight of the Frantan before Bob rotated the manual release mechanism, Steve and Ian put their arms under it. This had been done many times before but they obviously did not have a good enough hold because upon release the Frantan tail dropped to the ground. Immediately the fuse fired, thereby bursting the nose casing and spraying burning gel over Bob Breakwell. Because the weapon was static the main body remained intact and retained more than 90% of the napalm gel. Nevertheless some spilled and burnt Steve and Ian as they backed off.
Steve and Ian were extremely lucky to get away with scorched faces and hands. They were also able to shed their smouldering cotton overalls, which had given protection to their bodies. Bob Breakwell was not so fortunate. He ended up with third degree burns to most of his body. Although Bob had copped a heap of burning gel it was from his burning uniform that he received the majority of body damage. Not only did the man-made fibres of his summer-dress uniform melt intohis skin, his nylon socks did the same. But for his cotton vest and underpants, which prevented molten fabric from directlycontacting skin in critical areas, Bob would not have survived. Nevertheless he was in deep trouble.
Cyril and Prop were still in the cockpit when the Frantan ignited but, apart from suffering a severe fright and intense radiation heat, they were able to avoid the flame by exiting along the starboard wing. The Provost was burned beyond repair and stood forlornly over blackened concrete with blobs of molten aluminium outlining its position.
Bits and pieces of the Frantan fuse were handed over to us with the safety pin still in place. But an important component was missing. This was a soft metal dome that retained the 50mm steel ball that played a vital part in firing the fuse, irrespective of the attitude in which a Frantan impacted ground. The component was eventually located in grass a considerable distance from where it had been propelled by the igniter compound. The moment I had this in my hand I saw the deep indentation that clearly showed the Frantan had rolled slightly before striking tail down against the concrete. But this did not explain why the fuse had fired with a safety pin in position.
The burned Provost.
In my room that night I studied the offending pistol and fuse components comparing them with new ones. Though the details are lost to me now, I recall taking a long time to discover why the fuse had fired. In so doing I established that this could not have occurred had the Frantan not rolled to the precise angle it did. Next morning I demonstrated these findings to Ron and Varky and both were satisfied with what they saw. For the next four days we took evidence and statements from a string of witnesses and experts, including the Rhodesian manufacture of our Frantans.
Ron Dyer and I returned to Salisbury to interview our last witnesses who were Bob, Ian and Steve in hospital. It surprised us to find that all three were in the Lady Chancellor Nursing Home, the place where I was born. For some technical reason, plastic surgeon Mr Owen-Smith preferred to keep his patients in this maternity home.
As a WWII pilot, Mr Owen-Smith had been severely burned in an aircraft incident. His experiences in various hospitals made him determined to become involved with improving management of severely burned people and to undertake the cosmetic repair work that usually followed. I believe that, thanks to his wife’s hard work and financial support, he went through university in between many hospital confinements for progressive facial rebuild. He became world-renowned for his ability in his field and we all knew our Air Force fellows were in the best hands possible.
Ron Dyer and I were shaken when we first saw Bob Breakwell. His head was twice its normal size, completely ball-shaped and black. His eyes moved slightly behind burned slits and he could barely speak. His wife Joan was at his side where she remained all the time Bob was in intensive care. But for Joan and his cotton underwear, Bob would not have made it through the long and painful recovery process that followed.
Nextdoor were Ian and Steve, each with heavily bandaged hands, held high in slings. Their facial burns appeared like severe sunburn that made smiling painful but did not limit their ability to speak. Beside them were copious quantities of Castle beer, which they were required to drink through long pipes. They had orders to drink as much as they could manage.
Being told to drink beer for medical purposes was no problem to either of them but the consequence of doing so was the need to urinate frequently. Neither man could help himself and for some reason both had been refused drain lines, so they had no option but to call on the nursing staff to help them as the need arose. For this help they were prepared to wait, often in agony, for one or other of two coloured nurses to show up. They were too embarrassed to call on the white sisters who stood to attention, remained silent and stared into space whereas the coloured nurses talked and laughed all the time.
When we finally had all our facts assembled, I dictated the board’s findings and recommendations for Ron to record in his notoriously neat, easy-to-read, handwriting. Three thick files, the hand-written original plus two typed copies, containing supporting photographs and diagrams were submitted to Air HQ. About a month later I received a personal letter from Air Commodore John Deall saying the Commander had directed him to convey HQs appreciation to the Chairman and members of the B of I for an investigation thoroughly well done. So far as I know this had not occurred before, nor had such an inquiry been passed to the Prime Minister and cabinet to demonstrate how the Air Force conducted its inquiries.
Alcora
GOOD POLITICAL AND INTER-SERVICE relationships between South Africa, Mozambique and Rhodesia were being strengthened. The intention was to assess resources and develop plans for mutual support in the face of the mounting communist threat to southern Africa. Angola was obviously Russia’s key objective but exploitation of FRELIMO, SAANC, ZAPU, ZANU and other lesser African nationalist parties operating out of safe bases in Zambia and Tanzania were being encouraged through ever-increasing Russian and Chinese assistance by way of arms, advisors and instructors.
Joint military planning between the three countries commenced under the general codename ‘Alcora’. Several committees were established for airfields, mapping, radio communications, vehicle mine-proofing and so on. I was a member of the Alcora Mapping Committee. It was during the setting-up phase of Alcora that we received a large contingent of Portuguese political figures accompanied by senior Army and Air Force officers in what was called Exercise Cauliflower. Included in their itinerary was a large-scale demonstration in the farming area near Salisbury to show our operational techniques.
A wide valley allowed good viewing of a ‘terrorist group’ moving into the area and basing
up on a small bush-covered hill in the centre of the valley. This was followed by cross-graining troops that detected ‘the incursion’ before a hunter-tracker group followed-up leading to a vertical envelopment by heli-borne troops.
Under the shade of msasa trees on a brilliant clear day, the colourfully dressed spectators sat in comfortable chairs on high ground overlooking the demonstration area. Behind the visitors, Army caterers were putting finishing touches to a lavish luncheon in a huge marquee complete with a bar that served every conceivable drink. Brightly coloured mobile toilets were dotted around giving a carnival appearance in this park-like setting. The whole spectacle appeared more like a royal garden party than one intended to deal with the serious business of bush-warfare tactics. There was a great deal of noise and smoke in the final stages of the demonstration and the smell of burnt cordite coming to the spectators on a light breeze generated a strong sense of realism.
At the end of their three-day visit, our Portuguese guests said they had enjoyed a wonderful time and had learned a great deal from us. For this they were thankful and invited the Air Force and Army to send delegates to visit their operational area in the northeast of Mozambique. The offer was eagerly accepted.
It was at this time that Mr Clifford Dupont, until now the Officer Administering the Government, became the Rhodesian President. In 1969 the Rhodesian electorate had gone to the polls in a referendum to accept or reject a new constitution and to establish if Rhodesia should adopt republican status. The Republic of Rhodesia and the Presidential Office came into effect of 2 March 1970. This effectively severed our ties with Britain, or so we hoped.
The prefix ‘Royal’ was dropped. Along with national and other forces, the Rhodesian Air Force raised its new flag. Air Force rank badges bore the ‘Lion with tusk’ emblem in place of the crown. Aircraft roundels incorporating the same ‘Lion with tusk’ insignia replaced the three vertical assegai heads that dated back to 1953.
‘Lion with tusk’ emblem.
Visit to Cabo del Gado
IN MAY 1970 PETER COOKE and I were selected to visit Portuguese Air Force operational establishments and report on our findings. We flew by Viscount to Beira where we spent a night in the Air Force Officers’ Mess. Next morning we boarded a PAF Nord Atlas and flew to Nampula, capital of Cabo del Gado Province.
Here we booked into a mediocre hotel, which was the finest in town. Food and bar services were fair but the plumbing was something else. Peter’s bathroom and mine were back-to-back drawing off the same supply lines. Peter started pouring his bath before me so no water flowed when I turned on my taps. Once Peter’s bath was full, the taps in my bathroom flowed but the hot water had been exhausted. We were in no hurry, so I decided to order a Manica beer and wait for the water to heat up.
After a while I went to investigate a noise coming from my bathroom. Peter had pulled the plug to empty his bath water which bubbled up into my bath through the drain plug, bringing with it lumps of gooey muck. When his bath and mine reached the same level, both baths emptied very slowly. Eventually I had my bath and the incident amused Peter and me rather than annoying us. But we were both put out by boxes placed next to the toilet bowl into which used toilet paper was to be placed to avoid blocking the drainpipes. This would have been fine had soiled paper from many previous users been removed before we moved in.
The next morning we met Captain Joao Brito who was tasked to fly us around the operational areas in a brand-new Alouette III. We became friends with this good-looking young officer who spoke excellent English and accompanied us throughout our visit. Sadly we learned of his death two years later when he was killed in action in Portuguese Guinea.
Our first place of call had nothing to do with operations. Typically the Portuguese wanted us to enjoy our stay, so we were flown to Lumbo on the coast and driven by staff car down a long causeway linking the mainland to incredible Ilha de Moçambique.
Te mainland of Ilha de Moçambique.
Peter Cooke talking with the garrison.
Most of the black women had white mud smeared over their faces to prevent them from becoming ‘too black’ in the hot sun by day and to make their faces smooth and beautiful at night. With its crystal-clear water, coral reefs, palm trees and pure-white beaches this island should have been a big draw for tourists. Because of the war, however, Peter, Joao and I were the only visitors. Here we booked into a quaint, clean hotel before exploring Vasco da Gama’s old fort and other exquisite historic places.
Next day we flew up the unspoiled and breathtakingly beautiful coastline to Porto Amelia. The air base there was set on a long, high promontory with the Indian Ocean on its eastern side and the deep-blue water of Porto Amelia’s natural harbour on the western side. Just beyond the runway’s northern end lay the narrow entrance to the world’s largest natural deep-water harbour. The setting was quite magnificent and stimulating.
We were billeted in tents within the large Army base sited close to the runway and visited the docks and a factory that produced most of Mozambique’s famous castanha de caju (cashew nuts). The clarity of seawater in the harbour was amazing. The entire keel, propeller and anchor chain of a Portuguese naval frigate lying at anchor more than 200 metres from the docks, though compressed by light refraction, were clearly visible.
The Army garrison commander, a Mozambican officer, told us a great deal about FRELIMO’s operations in the Cabo del Gado region and why these differed so much from the situations we knew in Tete. It was because FRELIMO forces in this region were primarily from the warlike Makonde tribe.
The Makonde were of the same Nguni line as the Zulus down in South Africa and our N’debele in Rhodesia. However, during setting up of the international line between Portuguese Mozambique and German Tanganyika in the nineteenthcentury, no account was taken (as in almost every country during the scramble for Africa) of the Makonde people who became divided by a borderline with no fence. The Makonde were not affected until black rulers in Tanzania and white rulers in Mozambique interfered with their freedom of movement and right to tribal unity.
Just like their southern cousins these Nguni held all other tribes in contempt. The Makonde were only concerned in fighting the Portuguese to re-establish freedom of movement within the region they had always controlled. The border had no more meaning to them than in times before armed men of the FRELIMO movement drew Portuguese forces into their ancestral grounds.
Linking up with FRELIMO had not been for the good of Mozambique in general, but it suited the Makonde to receive free military training and arms of war to expel the Portuguese military. Any hope FRELIMO’s hierarchy had for the warlike Makonde to push south beyond their own homelands was wishful thinking. Not only were Makonde interests limited to regaining control of their own ground, they had no wish to have other tribes within FRELIMO using their territory as a transit area. It was largely for these reasons that FRELIMO had been forced to open a second front. Malawi was the preferred country from which to launch this new front but Doctor Hastings Banda’s refusal forced FRELIMO into using Zambia and the Tete Province.
Our flight to Mueda was at high altitude to avoid FRELIMO’s 12.7mm and 14.5mm anti-aircraft guns that made a low-level approach to the high ground on which Mueda stood too dangerous. Very little habitation existed between Porto Amelia and Mueda and the lack of game-trails suggested that all large game had been shot out. Otherwise the countryside was lovely. A widely dispersed Army establishment with the Air Force base and runway lying just to the south surrounded the small trading post of Mueda. Mueda was linked by a gravel road to the coastal port Moçimboa da Praia in the east. From miles out we picked up the line of this road because the bush had been cleared on both sides to a depth of 1,000 metres.
Joao remained at high level until directly over the runway where he made a spiralling autorotative descent to a gate leading into the air base. The high rectangular earthen wall surrounding the air base gave protection against FRELIMO rocket and gun assaults. Other than covered bun
kers for personnel, no overhead protection existed for mortar attacks, which occurred frequently. Pits with 81mm mortars at permanent readiness were sited close to the Officers’ Mess.
The entire base contingent was on hand to greet their first Rhodesian visitors and it was clear from the outset that we were going to enjoy typical Portuguese hospitality. Whereas everyone, including cooks and bottle washers, wanted to be photographed with us, only the fourteen pilots on base at the time were permitted to do so.
We were shown to the officers’ quarters. These incorporated two dormitories with heavy-tiered steel beds and simple lockers. Loos, showers and hand basins were in between the dormitories in a central ablution block.
Standing: Joao Brito, Base Commander (3rd from left), PB and Peter Cooke. The short pilot in dark overalls standing next to Peter flew the twin Dornier on hairy reconnaissance missions.
I wanted to wash my hands but the basins were so filthy that I started to scrub one clean. When one of the officers noticed this he summoned an airman to do the job. From then on this basin remained spotless in a line of otherwise filthy ones and, in Portuguese, was marked ‘Visitors Only’.
The toilets were just as I had expected-bloody awful. Apart from the seats and bowls being filthy, the boxes that were provided for used toilet paper were full to overflowing. Peter and I nicknamed them ‘skid boxes’. To avoid using the loos, I attempted to go off into the bush beyond the earthen wall but was disallowed from going through the security gate because, apparently, FRELIMO snipers often operated close by.
Winds of Destruction: The Autobiography of a Rhodesian Combat Pilot Page 38
