Bob d’Hotmann (hat), technician John Potts, Chuck Dent (glasses) PB (right) Len Pink (kneeling, left) and telegraphist ‘Tweaks’, Fawns.
Having prepared everything for the first leg of the ferry, which was on the night of 14/15 January 1976, we made a curiosity flight to the coast that particular afternoon. This was not a requirement but it would familiarise us with the ground over which the ferry flight would route when it turned eastwards from the Atlantic to head for Ruacana. Bob d’Hotmann, who had flown us to Ruacana in a Dakota, flew us over territory that was completely unknown to any of us.
The terrain around Ruacana was familiar savannah country with large expanses of treed areas and narrow open grasslands running along the river-lines. As we progressed westward this gave way to very broken dry rocky terrain and a range known as the Zebra mountains. Any artist painting this incredible spectacle might not be believed because the sharply defined black and white stripes that cover the mountains looked so much like zebra markings that it was hard for any of us to accept that they were natural.
Beyond this, scrub-covered slopes met the brilliant white sands of the coastal desert in a defined line with no transition from one to the other. High, sharp-peaked dunes running in lines roughly parallel with the coast curved their way beyond sight. Next, the deep-blue Atlantic added yet another dimension to changes of scenery that had us spellbound.
As if this was not enough, ahead of us was spread an enormous fleet of Russian fishing vessels with three large ‘factory ships’ festooned with eavesdropping radio aerials and receiver dishes. We counted over sixty vessels spread either side of the extended borderline between SWA and Angola. Our excited report-back to the South Africans was met with a very casual “Thanks buddy, we know all about the Ruskies. Maritime surveillance has been watching them for over two weeks. Their interest seems to be with the fighting in Angola.”
Our doubts about the effectiveness of Chuck Dent’s aerial increased when we had heard nothing from the aircraft following an Air HQ signal that let us know two flights of four aircraft were airborne and heading for Palma. Rhodesians, each with a French co-pilot, flew six aircraft. Two experienced French airline pilots flew two aircraft but only one of these had a second pilot. This was due to my having been withdrawn too late to find a suitable replacement.
At around 10 o’clock on the night of 14th Chuck’s optimism had already turned to serious doubt when Squadron Leader Eddie Wilkinson’s voice came through faint but clear. He said, “I have been receiving you strength five all the way. Landing in ten minutes. Second flight thirty minutes behind. Will call airborne 09:00 Zulu. Cheers for now. Out.”
The first and final legs of this ferry were conducted at night for security reasons. Brightly coloured aircraft in formations might attract attention over France, but over Rhodesia they would undoubtedly cause unwanted excitement. The four intermediate legs were flown in daylight.
The legs from Palma to Agadir, Dakar and Cotonou were uneventful and we had communication with the aircraft all the way. However, out at sea on the leg to Port Gentil both formations encountered frontal weather conditions with visibility so poor that visual contact between the aircraft was often lost. It was in these conditions that Dave Thorne experienced falling rpm on his rear engine and was forced to close it down.
In a twin-engined aircraft it takes both fans turning to keep pilots cool over land, never mind flying way out over the ocean in heavy storms. So, with only one fan thrusting above a vast expanse of storm-tossed ocean, Dave and his French copilot were in a real sweat. There were still three hours to reach destination at normal cruise speed but, with his reduced speed on one engine, Dave had to make a decision on whether to hold heading or divert to a closer destination. In the event Dave elected to turn left for Libreville and take his chances if he was forced to land there; providing he reached the coast in the first place.
Dave, my coursemate back in 1957, had left the Air Force in the mid-60s to join the Australian airline Qantas. He had enjoyed flying in the comfort of Boeing 707 airliners but, for family reasons, had returned to Rhodesia and the Air Force. Flogging across the Atlantic on one engine in bad weather must have made him long for those safer times flying four-engined airliners. As it happened, Dave and his wide-eyed Frenchman made it to the coast at Libreville then turned south staying over the sea within gliding distance of the steamy coastline until they reached Port Gentil safely. The reason for the engine problem was detected and easily rectified. The next morning the aircraft took to the air heading south for Ruacana.
Lynx formation.
Lynx line-up
The arrival of the Cessnas left me with a lasting impression of how ugly the aircraft appeared in flight and how noisy the machines sounded as they streamed past before landing. On the ground they looked much neater as they taxiied quietly to line up in a single row. Three colour schemes had been used and all were very bright and cheerful. The elaborate crests of the fictitious fisheries surveillance company were eye-catching— intentionally so!
The crews were clearly delighted to be on friendly ground following four whole days of long flights with periods of tension between. Cameras were uncovered and a babble of French and English voices dominated as crews instructed each other on how they were required to pose. Whilst this was going on, storm clouds were towering in a continuous line to the east with much lightning and grumbling thunder.
Keith Corrans, held back for the second ferry, arrived at Ruacana to take the place of the one missing French pilot and following a happy evening, the crews were able to lie in next morning. However, one French airline pilot who was to fly the only aircraft with a French crew decided he needed to get back to France in a hurry and insisted on being taken to the nearest international airport. According to other French pilots, this fellow had become afraid of African weather conditions following the Cotonou-to-Port Gentil flight. When on arrival he saw the line of storm clouds building near Ruacana and learned of ITCZ conditions prevailing over Rhodesia, he was very jittery and became determined to get off the last leg.
Air HQ instructed a very annoyed Bob d’Hotmann to fly the Frenchman the long distance to Windhoek and I was instructed to take that Frenchman’s place. Immediately I signalled Air HQ to make certain that DG Ops knew that I had not flown a Cessna 337 before and that my instrument and night ratings had expired 18 months ago. In his reply DG Ops said he was aware of these issues but was relying on my experience and the French co-pilot’s assistance to get the aircraft safely home.
The shirtless man and the short-arse one seen talking to John Barnes, Eddie Wilkinson and Rob Gaunt were two of the nine French pilots.
Our brief was to enter Rhodesian air space after dark, but all eight participating French pilots were very eager to see the Victoria Falls. By staggering take-off it was decided that only two aircraft would be seen at any one time over the Falls and that nobody on the ground would know whether they were Zambian or Rhodesian sight-seeing flights.
We were happy to comply in any event because with bad weather forecast over western SWA and much of Rhodesia, and with difficult featureless terrain to navigate along the Caprivi Strip, it would be good to have a precise start-point before nightfall. During the flight we were not permitted to contact any Air Traffic Control centre other than Salisbury. Thornhill was available for diversion, but only in dire emergency. The specified natter frequency allocated for the ferry was to be the only one we could use until Salisbury’s control boundary was reached.
I invited my French pilot, Monsieur José, to take the left-hand (captain’s) seat. He declined, saying I was the one who knew how to handle the weather he could see building up across our path. He said he knew how to manage the fuel and oil transfer systems and this was best handled from the right-hand seat. M José’s English was only marginally better than my all-but-forgotten schoolboy French, so we relied on single words and hand signals. Pointing his finger at switches and instruments M José guided me through pre-start checks and engines
start-up. His double thumbs-up signified all was well. We taxiied out sixth in the line of eight aircraft and lined up on the runway to watch number five labouring into flight and heading for the cloudbanks we ourselves would soon encounter.
The aircraft was loaded beyond design maximum weight so acceleration was slow and there was not much runway left when she lifted off with an uncomfortably high-nose attitude; but she soon accelerated to climbing speed. Response to rudder and elevator control movements was familiar but I found that the control yoke, which was narrower than any I had used before, made aileron handling heavy.
Transfer to instruments was made before entering cloud with instrument lighting set to maximum. Turbulence was mild in the climb to 11,500 feet where we levelled off. For some time I could not understand why we had not accelerated to the cruising speed I was expecting and it took a while before I realised that I had not raised the wing flaps after take-of. M José had not spotted this at all. With flaps up the speed stepped up nicely.
Not long after settling in the cruise, the rear-engine rpm started to hunt and I could not settle it down. M José’s response to my query was the typically continental one of screwing the face and raising both hands and shoulders. John Barnes, flying eighth in line, told me to do something or other, I cannot remember what, and the problem cleared. From then on both engines purred in perfect synchronisation for the rest of the fight.
Halfway to Victoria Falls we cleared the cloud that, though dense and dark in patches, had been relatively smooth and had given me no difficulty. I searched all around but could not see any of the other aircraft. From there on it was a matter of working out our exact location from the limited information printed on the 1:1,000,000-scale maps. M José shook his head when I confidently pointed to our position on the map. To him everything on the ground looked flat with all vleis (wetlands along river-lines) running almost parallel to our course.
Fifty kilometres before reaching the Victoria Falls we could already pick out the vertical pillar of spray from the falls illuminated by the setting sun. Once over the Falls, M José was amazed by the sight of this great wonder and took many photographs as we made one wide orbit. I have no idea how well the photographs turned out because the sun had just set below the horizon.
Even before we reached the Falls I heard the seventh and eighth aircraft broadcast that they were leaving Victoria Falls on course for Salisbury. Only then did I realise that both of them had passed me in the cloud, because of my flap selection error.
The Rhodesian weather forecast received before take-off warned of the ITCZ storm-line we could see running eastwards from Wankie. I had no desire to fly the direct route to Salisbury in such rough weather. Instead I chose to fly to Sinoia in clear skies, and then turn southwards for the shortest possible run through bad weather to Salisbury.
Eastern half (Zambian side) of Victoria Falls with part of the Main Falls (left) and famous road–rail bridge bottom left.
M José and I flew just south of the Zambezi Gorge to the headwaters of Kariba Lake, which was barely visible before it became totally dark. Flying conditions were smooth with absolutely nothing to see below us. M José pointed to the sky and my schoolboy French recognised sufficient words to understand that he had never seen so many stars in his life. The conditions were perfect and I had to agree that the brilliance and multiplicity of the stars was awesome.
Whilst we were enjoying our smooth ride and admiring God’s heavenly firmament, we listened to transmissions between the other pilots who were having a very rough ride down the ITCZ storm-line that we could see continuously illuminated by rippling lightning flashes way off to our right. Why the other pilots had not taken our ‘soft option’ route I cannot say, but I know that flying Trojans had taught me a thing or two about avoiding bad weather whenever possible.
All the other aircraft had landed by the time we eventually entered the bad weather about ten minutes’ flying time from Salisbury. We passed over the city in cloud and rain that was illuminated all around us as we descended towards the airport. Salisbury Airport controllers had no idea of the aircraft types arriving that night because one of our Air Force ATC officers, I think it was John Digby, sat with them to assist with what he had said was ‘the recovery of 4 Squadron aircraft returning from an operation in the Wankie area’. Approach Control expressed some concern because no one had heard from my aircraft until the last of the others had landed.
My French companion had been completely lost without the ILS-VOR assistance he relied on wherever he flew in Europe. On the other hand, I had never used such aids before. Under his guidance I learned how to interpret the instrumentation that brought us in for a bad weather landing which was so smooth it surprised me. After such a good let-down and smooth landing, M José made it clear that he was sure I had lied to him about never having used ILS-VOR or flown a Cessna 337 to before.
When we taxiied into dispersals at Air Movements Section, there was not a single Cessna 337 to be seen. M José and I climbed out of our machine into soaking rain and ran for the Air Movements Section. As I entered the building I looked back and saw our aircraft being towed away to a top-security hangar where the other aircraft already stood dripping water onto the concrete floor.
Inside Air Movements Section, Air Marshal McLaren and his senior staff officers were celebrating with the other crews. Eight Cessna 337s were home. Ten to go!
For the second ferry, Chuck Dent’s special HF aerial was erected at New Sarum to provide communications for Wing Commander Keith Corrans and Squadron Leader Mike Gedye.
Mike Gedye, Eddie Wilkinson, Len Pink and Keith Corrans, photographed at Ruacana.
This is Keith’s account of the second ferry:
The second ferry comprised 10 aircraft (2 sections of 5 aircraft led by Mike Gedye and me, the only Rhodesian pilots on this route). To minimise the risk of compromise Mike and I had been “kept back” as even the most simple en-route immigration official might have wondered, from our passports (false as they were) why we had been in West Africa, heading south, only 10 days or so before we were in their area heading the same way. The second, but shorter, route down through central Africa was, as a result, largely rejected to ensure additional distance between East and West Coast ‘tom toms’. In retrospect the ploy worked and we routed across North Africa and down the East coast departing Europe on 27 January 1976. The first leg to Las Palmas (3 hrs 40) was a ‘swan’ although we left departure point a little hurriedly ahead of an oncoming snowstorm. Leg 2 (6 hrs 30) was east across the Med and the foot of Italy (intercepted by a section of Italian Air Force F104s) and on to Ikaklion in Crete after an unplanned 1-hour dogleg to avoid a weapons range on the west coast of the island.
The next legs were to be the longest and potentially most dodgy. We departed Ikaklion before dawn on leg 3, penetrated Egyptian airspace west of Alexandria, routed up the Nile to Aswan and were provisionally flight planned to land at Port Sudan, assessed to be potentially the highest-risk location. Fortuitously, by cruise climbing to Flight Levels around 120 we were able to pick up a favourable tail-wind and, by “rationing” 6 1/2 hrs oxygen to cover an extended flight time, managed to stretch the leg for eventual landing at Djibouti in Afas Isas (formerly Somalia in the late 1950s). It would seem that the in-flight destination change (plus perhaps the number of aircraft in the 2 section ‘gaggle) generated “agitated” RT. transmissions from Ethiopian Military ATC (all totally and studiously ignored) who seemed to be attempting to drum up aircraft to intercept us. As the leg had been intentionally planned for Saturday, and it was late afternoon, they did not really have time to get their act together and we departed the area hastily, descending to low level on the Red Sea Coast somewhere near Massawa Island. After a 10 hrs leg we eventually arrived at Djibouti after dark in the “Mother” of all thunderstorms, and had a most magnificent meal at a local Shebeen in the town square (probably camel steaks) with copious quantities of Stella Artois and French wine, before kipping in primitive conditions—on bar
e mattresses—in a local downtown Djibouti/Somali “hotel”.
Leg 4 was to Mombassa, the next high-risk point. After a flight of 6 hrs 30 east and across the Somali Desert to the coast (Indian Ocean) and then south, at a comfortable altitude down that attractive coastline, we landed (in old stomping grounds) and were surprised by most efficient and courteous arrival procedures. Overnight accommodation was at a superb coastal/tourist hotel; we did however have to wait until almost midnight for the resident German/Scandinavian tourists to vacate the rooms and catch their flights north before we could take occupation! And then we found that the water supplies to the hotel had been on the blink for about 2 weeks and there was no hot or cold running water and the toilet had to be flushed by bucket using water stored in the bath! The breakfast next morning on the verandah did however partially offset the hassle and the lack of sleep.
The next leg started in superb weather; the scenery down the coast was fantastic. The colour of the water on the coral at Pemba and Zanzibar Islands has to be seen to be believed; shades of Bazaruto and Paradise Island, Mozambique. And then one of the French crews, who had consistently failed to maintain any semblance of formation discipline—dropping out of formation to low-fly down the “mile-long” beaches, declared an emergency/instrument panel fire and made a precautionary landing at a disused airfield a little north of Mtwara on the south-eastern border of Tanzania. Sods Law! The ant bears had got there before them and the landing path was pitted with holes! Exit one Cessna prop, nose wheel and wingtip! After 2 or 3 circuits of the scene it was obvious that there was little or nothing “we” could do to assist and the 2 French crew had to be left to their own devices (with ferry tanks there was no room in any aircraft to rescue them).
Winds of Destruction: The Autobiography of a Rhodesian Combat Pilot Page 63
