Winds of Destruction: The Autobiography of a Rhodesian Combat Pilot

by Peter Petter-Bowyer

  Keith Corrans and I were at Voortrekkerhoogte (previously Roberts Heights) in Pretoria for most of 1971, undergoing the South African Air Force Staff Course. In the latter stages of this eleven-month course we were shaken by news of the deaths of Flight Lieutenant Alex Roughead and Air Lieutenant Robertson.

  On 16 November 1971, a formation stream take-off of Canberras from Salisbury turned out right to climb through cloud. Alex’s aircraft did not appear when the other Canberras broke out above cloud. Following a short air search, wreckage of his aircraft was located and an inspection of it showed that Frame 21, which connects the airframe to the main spar of the mainplanes, had failed, resulting in loss of the starboard wing.

  Alex holding the Jacklin Trophy awarded to 4 Squadron in 1965. To his left are Bruce Smith and Prop Geldenhuys. Behind him are Henry Elliott, Tony Smit, PB and Ian Harvey.

  Prior to this terrible accident, hairline cracks in Frame 21 of all B2 Canberras had been a cause for major concern and they were monitored regularly. The RAF was aware of this problem caused by work hardening of the aluminium castings. This had been overcome by improved material and design for later Canberras, but Rhodesia was stuck with the MkB2 model.

  Almost daily, Master Technician Brian Goodwin was seen on the flight-line with black material wrapped around his head to protect him from the ultrasonic emissions of his non-destructive, crack-detecting equipment that tested Frame 21 sections. Whenever a crack was located there was need to carefully ‘blend out’ the offending area to stress-relieve affected sections. Why Alex’s aircraft suffered catastrophic failure of the Frame 21, having only just been declared free of cracks, was the subject of much conjecture but it was eventually concluded that Alex must have inadvertently exceeded the airframe’s ‘G’ limit in turbulence.

  Canberra pilots and navigators were already recording time spent in every condition of every flight and a ‘fatigue factor’ was being applied to each of these conditions. I do not recall the fatigue-factoring figures but they ranged upward from something like 1.5 for normal cruise at 250 knots in turbulent conditions to 30 for the speed range 330-350 knots. After applying the appropriate factor to the time spent in each flight condition, the ‘factored flight time’ was deducted from the number of airframe hours remaining. This substantially reduced our Canberras’ life spans even though Frame 21 cracks were occurring at progressively reducing frequency, thanks to successful stress-relieving procedures.

  Exercise Blackjack

  BY NOW THE AIR FORCE Volunteer force had increased considerably with VR Squadrons having been established at Bulawayo, Gwelo, Salisbury and Umtali-more were to follow. All VR personnel had undergone considerable field training in operations management, air movements, security and so on. Air HQ was pleased with progress and the fact that so many regular pilots and airmen had been freed to concentrate on their primary roles. But there was need to test the whole service in a countrywide exercise codenamed ‘Blackjack’.

  A long-range navigation exercise went badly wrong for the crew of a Canberra flying in the northwest sector. Due to weather and unreliable NDB aids, the crew became uncertain of their position and were forced to eject when their fuel ran out. A very uncomfortable night was spent on the ground where the widely separated pilot and navigator experienced the terror caused by lions roaring within yards of their locations.

  The exercise was a great success in so far as proving the VR. On the flying side it had also been a success save for the loss of the Canberra and the exercise finalé. This finalé included a series of airstrikes on the Army Weapons Range at Inkomo. Almost every weapon-carrying aircraft was involved, all approaching from different directions to conduct independent squadron attacks on targets assigned by grid reference only. Mistakenly, Air HQ invited top brass from Army HQ and Police General Headquarters to witness these strikes. The position selected as an ideal observation platform for the ground party was the wall of a small dam that would obviously be one of the reference points some pilots would need to confirm their targets. It so happened, however, that there were other dams of similar size close by.

  The Hunter and Canberra strikes went off fine. 4 Squadron was next in line but had the big brass diving for cover when the formation erred by attacking a point very close by. The strike leader had selected the correct point relative to the dam wall— but this was the wrong dam!

  All the spectators were up on their feet laughing nervously and dusting themselves down when they were forced to dive for cover again as Vampires unleashed rockets close by. Never again would Air HQ dream of exposing other services to exercises intended to test the force. There were many red faces that day but, when the crunch came, Air HQ would have every reason to be proud of all squadrons’ performances.

  Staff College

  IN LATE JANUARY 1971 KEITH Corrans and I were sent to South Africa to attend the South African Air Force Staff College (SAAFCOL) course. Prior to Rhodesia’s Unilateral Declaration of Independence, our officers, accompanied bywives and children, underwent Staff College training at RAF Bracknell in Britain. RAF staff courses were designed to run for twelve months with compulsory time-off every weekend for family affairs and rest.

  Although the subject matter of the South African course was taken directly from the RAF, a different approach had been adopted. The American technique of pressurising officers was applied by compressing the British course into ten and a half months. This meant having to work seven days a week with only two free days during the entire course; consequently heart attacks amongst older officers undergoing SAAFCOL were not uncommon. Because the South African course was less than twelve months, Rhodesian wives and families were not permitted to accompany husbands, so Sue Corrans, Beryl and the children had to stay home.

  For me it was a gruelling experience, particularly as I had been given only three months’ notice to learn Afrikaans having only learned French at school. Keith had studied Afrikaans at Churchill High School so he was better prepared than me. Although we had been led to believe that half of all lectures and presentations would be in Afrikaans and half in English, it turned out to be 73% in Afrikaans. This placed me at a distinct disadvantage, particularly when advanced Afrikaans was being spoken so quickly that I could not even pick up the trend of what was being said. Fortunately, Keith and I were allowed to write appreciations and papers in English.

  Because we worked all day every day and late into the night, Keith and I decided to take in a movie every Saturday to get a short break from never-ending studies and tasks. Only once did I go out for a night on the town and this turned out to be a costly error. A notoriously naughty SAAF pilot and an equally mischievous SA Army major invited me to accompany them for dinner at a posh restaurant. At this dinner I drank too much and was introduced to the art of eating carnations and other flowers that decorated our table. Following a good meal and having had more whisky than I was used to, I helped these crazy fellows swallow every one of about twenty goldfish swimming in one of the restaurant’s beautiful fish tanks. Not caring that our shirtsleeves were soaking wet right up to our armpits, we scooped out the highly prized Chinese Fantails whenever nobody was looking. These we swallowed head first and washed them down with a slug of whisky.

  The sensation of a panicking fish swimming down one’s gullet before thrashing around for a short while in the stomach is not one I would have chosen. On that night, however, I had no difficulty in meeting the unspoken challenge. Next morning things caught up with us when the restaurant owner pitched up at the college demanding replacement of his prized fish.

  The Afrikaans language was a major problem for me even though I could usually follow the gist of lectures. But there were occasions when I became lost the moment professors and other high-speaking lecturers got past the greeting ‘Goeie môre here’. Following such lectures I was surprised to find that my South African colleagues had experienced great difficulties in understanding new words and phrases of the still-expanding Afrikaans language. It was during one such presentat
ion when I noticed that Major Blackie Swart dealt with his boredom in a very strange way.

  Blackie was a very tall, slim, balding man who sat in front and to one side of me. With his right hand he took hold of his right eyelashes and, pulling gently, stretched the eyelid forward. When his eyelid sprang back, Blackie brought his fingers to his lips and made small sweeping motions. If he felt a lash tickle his lip he placed it on a matchbox lying next to his pipe on the broad wooden arm of his chair. This he repeated until no more loose lashes came away, whereupon he changed hands to subject his left eye to the same treatment. Next he turned attention to hairs in both ear-holes and the pile of hairs on his matchbox became visible to me. Then came the hairs in his nostrils. These were subjected to fiercer treatment as hand and head jerked in opposite directions. Wiping of eyes to remove consequential tears followed every successful extraction.

  When our lecture programme showed that one particular professor was returning, I asked my colleagues if they had noticed what Blackie did when he was bored. None had but all eyes were on him as he went through his strange ritual. None of us dared look at another whilst the lecture was in progress for fear of breaking into uncontrolled laughter.

  PB receiving Staff College graduation certificate from a very tall South African Air Force Commander, Lt-Gen Vestér.

  Sue Corrans and Beryl flew to South Africa to be with us for our end-of-course party. All men were dressed in full mess kit and wives wore long evening dresses. Beryl, dressed in a lovely sari, drew disparaging stares from the older women but my SAAF coursemates and their young wives thought she looked wonderful. Before the party ended Major Paul Nesser had somehow persuaded Beryl to bid the senior officers’ wives ‘good night’ in Afrikaans. His strange sense of humour was typical for his breed and I had suffered from this on a few occasions. But I was not aware of what had gone on until I noticed the horrified expressions on the faces of the ladies as they passed Beryl. I shot across and asked her what she was saying.

  “Leave me alone. I am saying ‘good night’ in Afrikaans.”

  “Yes Beryl, but what is it that you are actually saying?”

  “I am saying ‘harn kark’, which is Afrikaans for ‘good night’.”

  “Damn it Beryl, not only are you pronouncing the words incorrectly, the words ‘gaan kak’ mean ‘go shit yourself’.”

  It was an enormous relief to get back to Rhodesia and have time to spend with my family.

  Debbie and Paul were equally pleased to be home on their six-week Christmas break from boarding school.

  Following the successful completion of my staff course, I had naturally expected to be posted into a staff position in Air HQ. So it was something of a surprise to learn that I was to take command of No 4 Squadron at Thornhill.

  Deaths of Munton-Jackson and Garden

  I WAS STILL ON LEAVE WHEN, on 17 January 1972, Air Lieutenant Guy Munton-Jackson and Flight Sergeant Peter Garden were killed in a very unfortunate and totally unnecessary helicopter accident. From the time Alouettes first arrived in Rhodesia, warnings given by Sud Aviation never to fly these aircraft at night had been ignored. None of our high-ranking officers had flown helicopters themselves and they did not seriously accept that momentary loss of control could lead to airframe failure in flight. For ten years our helicopters had been flown at night with only minor accidents occurring during landings, so the Sud Aviation warnings had continued to be ignored until these men lost their lives.

  Two helicopters were tasked to fly from New Sarum to Thornhill to be available from first light to assist police against mobs that had started rioting in the Gwelo townships late that afternoon. It was known that the rioting would resume early next morning.

  Storms and heavy cloud in the vicinity of Gwelo forced both helicopters to enter cloud in turbulent conditions. On instruments and with no way around the storm clouds, both pilots asked for a radar-controlled approach into Thornhill. The first helicopter arrived safely; the second disappeared off the radar screen. Guy Munton-Jackson had almost certainly got into difficulties and over-controlled on cyclic causing the main rotor blades to pitch back severely enough to sever the tail boom.

  The Board of Inquiry into this accident was conducted by experienced helicopter pilots who recommended that, henceforth, helicopters should only be flown at night in clear weather conditions with a distinctly visible horizon. Air HQ accepted the recommendation and issued the appropriate Air Staff Instruction.

  Chapter

  7

  No 4 Squadron

  MY POSTING TO 4 SQUADRON was a huge disappointment because I had hoped one day to be given the helicopter squadron. There was another reason for my disappointment—No 4 Squadron was considered to be ‘a penal squadron’. The reason for this unfortunate reputation was obvious. The squadron operated the least inviting aircraft—Trojans and Provosts. Upon completion of OCU training, the best PTC pilots went to jet and transport squadrons and the balance were posted to 4 Squadron. For any young pilot coming off jets, the step down to piston aircraft was bad enough but, mistakenly, it appeared to them that their flying capabilities were in question because 4 Squadron’s flight commanders were senior instructors.

  When I reported to Air Staff for briefing, DG Ops, Group Captain Dicky Bradshaw, congratulated me before passing me on to D Ops, Wing Commander Sandy Mutch, for a detailed briefing. I could not see the point in being congratulated for what I perceived to be a low-grade posting until Sandy’s briefing helped me see my situation in a better light.

  Officers returning from Staff College had always been posted to Air HQ, but an increasing security threat required that 4 Squadron’s pilots become highly proficient in visual reconnaissance work. No serious preparation had been made to meet this need because there was nobody able to instruct pilots in the art. Since I was the only man in the force who had shown any interest in visual recce, and had a few successes to prove it, the Air Staff concluded that there was no alternative but to give me the squadron. Sandy Mutch also gave me the sop that I had been a particularly successful ‘A’ Flight commander on 7 Squadron and 4 Squadron was deeply in need of good leadership.

  This was somewhat flattering, but I had serious doubts about being the right man for the job. There were two reasons for this. Firstly, my entire bush-fighting experience was on helicopters, which seemed to me to be so much more worthwhile and exciting than the fixed-wing activities I had observed in the field. Secondly, Flight Lieutenant Gordon Wright was the current ‘A’ Flight commander on 4 Squadron.

  Flight Lieutenant Gordon Wright.

  Peter Cooke with Air Commodore

  Archie Wilson discussing newly

  acquired 37mm Sneb rocket system.

  Gordon and I had been students together on No 10 SSU. Unlike me he was a natural sportsman who always struck me as possessing a stubborn and difficult nature. But then Gordon had reservations about working under me because, not knowing how often I had broken the rules, he mistakenly believed that I was a man who worked ‘strictly by the book’. He was man enough to let me know his concerns, making it easier for me to express how I viewed my new job and how I was counting on his support. Happily our fears were misplaced because, from the start, we clicked.

  Top Row: WO 1 ‘Spike’ Owens (Sqn WO) Flt Lt Gordon Wright (‘A’ Flt Cdr) Sqn Ldr Peter Petter-Bowyer (Sqn Cdr) Flt Lt Rob Tasker (‘B’ Flt Cdr). Standing: Sgt Cox R, Sgt Sinclair D, Sgt McCormick H, Sgt Britton J, A/S/L V Culpan, A/S/L A W. Wild, A/S/L SM Caldwell, Air Lt John Carhart, A/S/L Mike Litson, A/S/L Tony Oakley, A/S/L Dave Rowe, Flt Sgt Bruce K, Sgt Jelliman N, Sgt Smit C. Squatting: Sgt Forrester N, Sgt Menhenick C, Sgt Mare N, SAC Bartlett A, SAC Jenkins D, Cpl Tubbs P, SAC Keightley B, SAC Louw P, SAC Singleton R, SAC Wilkinson B, SAC Parker M, Sgt Charles R, LAC Besant P, Cpl Badenhorst B, LAC Steyn M, LAC van der Merve J. Sitting: Sam, Philip, Karata, Ayton. Inserts: Sgt Jarvie H, Flt Lt Bruce Collocott, Air Lt John Blythe-Wood.

  During my first days with 4 Squadron I felt distinctly uncomfortable. Having be
en away from Thornhill for a long while, I had lost touch with junior officers and technicians and knew only a handful of my men. To me there seemed tobe a depressed atmosphere, one totally lacking in spirit. This surprised me because, notwithstanding the ‘penal squadron’ tag, Squadron Leader Peter Cooke followed by Squadron Leader Peter McLurg had both led what I understood to be a cheerful unit. However, so far as I can remember the next in the line was Flight Lieutenant Peter Knobel, as acting OC, who lost allof 4 Squadron’s experienced pilots on various postings. Flight Lieutenant Gordon Wright, again in an acting OC position, followed Peter. Together with Rob Tasker and Bruce Collocott, Gordon had found himself in a particularly difficult position with a bunch of puppy pilots with no experience whatsoever.

  The building in which the squadron was housed was set way back from the flight lines. This was unacceptable to me because the squadron building that had been vacated when the Canberras moved to Salisbury had been taken over by Station Equipment Section. My first priority was to have the situation reversed and within four weeks we were on the flight line in our freshly painted building. This in itself lifted spirits.

  During my first month with 4 Squadron I was in need of a haircut and visited Mac the barber in Gwelo. Mac only knew one cut, which left me almost bald. Reaction to this was “Oh boy, we are in for a tough time with this boss!” It was certainly not the image I sought and I wondered how I might weld the personnel into a spirited group of men determined to make 4 Squadron great. Beryl gave me the lead on how to do this.