by Mike Edwards
In the UK, 1952 was time for a change. King George VI died, leaving the 25-year-old Princess Elizabeth to become Queen of the United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa and she was still the Monarch of Pakistan and Ceylon. India however, had already become a Republic, so she was not to inherit the title ‘Empress of India’, like Queen Victoria before her. On the day of her Coronation, Edmund Hilary finally conquered the roof of the world just beyond Simla; Mount Everest had been climbed. The pictures he used to plan his route were taken from those modified Wapiti aircraft that had lifted off from India as Harjinder joined the IAF. The Wapitis were gone, and the IAF was now in the jet age. One of the first tasks for the new Monarch was to send a senior RAF man to India to take control of the IAF for the final time.
Sir Ronald ‘Ronnie’ Ivelaw-Chapman became the new Indian Air Force Chief, just as the Indian Government recognised the need for a larger Air Force. The IAF was to grow, and so Kanpur would expand massively, flourishing as it did. Chapman decided to pay Harjinder a visit. He had heard about Harjinder’s private army, but what he witnessed far exceeded anything he had previously come across in India or the UK. Harjinder had not just a military unit under him; he had created a complete community. Chapman was so pleased with the running of Kanpur, that later, in Harjinder’s office over a cup of tea, he said, ‘Harjinder, you have done an excellent job here, really first class. Ask of me anything you will; I will grant it, if it is in my power.’
Harjinder wasn’t expecting such a request, but knew exactly what to ask for; ‘Sir, please give me permission to fly any IAF aircraft I want.’
Chapman kept his word and put the instructions in writing; Harjinder could fly the Vampire whenever, and in front of whosoever he wanted. If such an offer was unforeseen, the next turn of the conversation came as an even bigger surprise. Chapman offered Harjinder the rank of Air Commodore. However, with one thick string attached, he would have to leave the IAF to become the Chairman of the Government run aircraft manufacturing company, HAL. Harjinder immediately dismissed the idea, explaining that he would not leave his IAF. There is no doubt that the offer of such a position in the Government was meant as a compliment, but Harjinder instead wondered if people back in Headquarters were losing faith in him. Not one to tiptoe around an issue, he marched into the office of Air Vice-Marshal Mukerjee. ‘Since when have I lost the confidence of the Air Force?’
Mukerjee laughed and said, ‘I know what you mean. I told the Chief that nothing would induce you to leave the IAF, but he would not believe me, and you are going to stay. When it is time for us to leave the Service, I would like to go out hand in hand with you. We have stuck together through thick and thin so far, so we will stick together all the way.’
There can, perhaps, be no greater compliment.
On the 4th February 1952, Mukerjee summoned Harjinder to Delhi. The Defence Secretary, Patel, wanted to see him most urgently. That urgent call was nearly the end of Harjinder Singh. The only way to get there for the 11 o’clock appointment was by air and the only aircraft available at short notice was the good old Harvard. The weather man said that Delhi was completely overcast with low, grey, threatening cloud. Rain was forecast at the Air Force Station Palam, Delhi, but the circumstances, the urgent call from Patel, and Harjinder’s overconfidence in his flying abilities, combined and soon he was airborne in awful weather.
He climbed higher and higher through the grey filth in an attempt to break into that burning blue that bores into your eyes when you first burst through the blanket of cloud. Harjinder stared over the round nose of his Harvard, just occasionally flicking his eyes down to check that he had the best climb speed, and that all the engine temperatures and pressures continued to stay nailed in the green ‘all-is-well’ arcs. Several times, a lighter patch of cloud would zip past, but it was a false sign. In reality, the clouds were becoming increasingly dense, with no sign of the sun-filled world above. The sound of the rain beating on the Harvard was deafening, the water streaming in from the top and sides of the canopy. Little rivulets were getting past the rubber seal and spitting into the cockpit.
Agra Control answered Harjinder’s radio call, but their report of cloud down to 200 feet, lashing rain, and winds at 30 miles an hour, was not what he was hoping to hear. Soon, he could raise Delhi on the radio, but they passed on a similar report with winds even stronger, at 35 miles an hour. That made up his mind, he would try to return to Kanpur, where, at least, he knew every tree and building around the airfield. After an hour he was in radio range, but Kanpur had even worse news for him; they were effectively closed, the weather had worsened since he’d left for Delhi. He turned again for Palam, which, at least had proper Air Traffic control facilities to try and talk him down to terra firma. Had there been a life before the start of this flight? Time seemed to be suspended, except for the fuel gauges which seemed to be playing with him as they sped towards zero. His personal history seemed to just involve this grey gloom and the endless wisps of cloud. Visions of Beant Kaur and his son seemed from another life. Working only with estimates of wind speed and direction, knowing by flying back and forth multiplying any errors, Harjinder hoped, more than assumed he was near Delhi.
A voice came through the headphones. For a moment it felt as if he was communing with someone from the beyond, it was so surreal, for the whole world seemed to convene into the cockpit, the glass canopy spitting raindrops at him, a thick, swirling greyness making him feel like he was floating in a dream. He had somebody to speak to; somebody to share his existence with. The voice was a welcome comfort, but they had no words of comfort for him – he was not given permission to land. He had no alternative but to bailout, and hope that his men in the parachute section had packed his parachute with meticulous care.
The plan was to estimate a position where he would pop out of the cloud cover, away from any buildings, as he dangled under his parachute. He could only hope that his aircraft would find a convenient place for its last, and most spectacular arrival. As he tightened his parachute and his hands moved towards the top of the canopy, and the canopy jettison lever, he heard an American accent crackle through on the radio. It was a Flying Fortress bomber talking to Palam control. They were seasoned pilots and moreover, carried the equipment that might help him get through this dark, totally enveloping hell. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, he shouted his problems into the radio and requested for help, this was no time to observe radio discipline.
Any pilot, anywhere in the world, would have offered to help a brother aviator in distress, especially under the given circumstance. The Americans told him what height they were at, they estimated that they were directly over Palam, right at that moment. They commenced flying in lazy circles over the airfield in the cloud. Harjinder climbed the Harvard to the height the Americans had reported, and headed to where he thought they were now circling. He knew he was running the massive risk of hitting the Americans before seeing them but the thought of plunging out of the Harvard into the swirling maelstrom outside drove him to grasp at this slim hope.
Harjinder saw the sky in front of him begin to glow, as a soft beam of light pierced through the rain and clouds. Somehow, he had ended up close enough to see them and with enough time to pick out the source of the light; it was passing from right to left. He hauled the nose of the Harvard onto a similar path to slow the rate that he was closing in on the glow. A shape formed around the glow, and that form took on the shape of a silver fuselage. Harjinder flew his Harvard as close as he dare to nestle alongside that fuselage, wings overlapping. Sweat added to the seeping rain, replacing the cold grip of the terror from only minutes earlier.
Now his fate was in his own hands; he could use his own skill to remedy his own poor decision-making. The Americans brought their aircraft down through the gloom as smoothly as they could in the conditions. Harjinder’s Harvard bobbed around in the air currents, but he kept his eyes glued to the side of the Flying Fortress. The Americans saw the runway lights at abo
ut 200 feet from the ground and wrestled the 4-engine bomber onto the concrete. Harjinder finally tore his eyes from his saviours and focused on the bubble of ground, runway, now distinct from the all-pervading greyness. The American pilots let their bomber roll to the end of the runway giving Harjinder the room he needed to drop behind them and slide over the runway in their wake. The Harvard tyres splashed through the puddles of water to give the most gorgeous sensation of firm land under the wheels as the speed dropped to zero. As he cleared the runway Harjinder had to prise his death-like grip from the control column before parking the aircraft and opening the canopy to let the full force of the weather in. Flying control demanded to know how the area control had cleared Harjinder’s takeoff in the conditions, but he told them to obtain that information from Air Vice-Marshal Mukerjee. This silenced their queries, which was fortunate because Harjinder knew that the whole close brush with death had been down to his own poor judgement.
So what was the urgent call from the Defence Secretary that had nearly resulted in Harjinder’s death? It was Patel who had originally wanted Harjinder to become the Chairman at HAL, and he now wanted to speak with Harjinder in person, to try and convince him to take the job. Adrenaline still pumping through his veins, and still flooded with relief at still being alive, Harjinder had no patience for pleasantries. Diplomacy went out the window, and he gave Patel short shrift. ‘Neither rank nor pay will ever induce me to leave the IAF. I am quite definite about that, Sir.’
The blunt approach failed, so Patel’s next move was to butter him up. ‘You are the first IAF officer to have won my deepest respect. You are a patriotic Indian, an aircraft Engineer with an unparalleled record and now you have won your wings (but had just nearly died using them!). You have reclaimed fifty Liberator bombers out of the junk yard in Kanpur. What is more, your administrative ability is outstanding, as I have seen for myself in Kanpur.’
These were all flattering comments, and under normal circumstances, it would have been a delight to hear them, but flattery never sat well with Harjinder. After his experiences over the last few hours, Harjinder just wanted an end to this discussion, so off the top of his head he told Patel that his application to return to Engineering within the IAF had been submitted, and that he was moving away from Administration. Mukerjee was in the room, and his eyes widened when he heard this, but he picked up on Harjinder’s exit strategy. He added that Harjinder’s replacement was being sought. That ended the matter.
Harjinder’s ‘replacement’ couldn’t be found for another 3 years, so life continued in Kanpur, but with one great addition, one that would influence the rest of his life, and beyond. Harjinder was given a Staff Officer to help with his increasing workload in Kanpur. While it would be wonderful to imagine that the IAF Personnel Department took time to carefully select the man for the job, but their perfect selection was most likely down to luck. The officer selected would very quickly become something more than an assistant. Amrit Saigal had started as a Sepoy, just as Harjinder had done. He had loaded the bombs on to the Lysanders in Burma as part of Harjinder’s team. As Dr Nanda had predicted, the husband he had chosen for his sister was now racing up the ranks, he had already reached the rank of a Squadron Leader. Later, Dr Nanda even sent his own son to live with Squadron Leader Amrit Saigal, so he could finish his education. The relationship between Amrit and Harjinder was very much like the one Harjinder had shared with Jumbo Majumdar ten years earlier. Now, Harjinder was the senior man, but just like Jumbo before him, he largely ignored the rank difference, regarding Amrit as a close friend, and the main port of call to seek advice and discuss the thorny issues at hand. Harjinder had looked up to Jumbo with an unsurpassed level of respect. Amrit now offered that same respect to Harjinder and could not do enough for him. He made sure Harjinder’s drive from his family house into the camp would pass smoothly every day, even if it did mean holding up the train that used the railway crossing bisecting his route. Amrit was always with Harjinder, and when the young Nanda boy arrived, he spent as much time as was possible with his Uncle. Harjinder was to make a great impression on the young boy as he grew up in the long, barracked accommodation on the Kanpur base.
Harjinder used his rebuilt Bonanza 4-seater aircraft to fly around the county when not using IAF aircraft. His wife had witnessed firsthand how the flying bug had crawled under Harjinder’s skin and she now decided to put to test the old adage – if you can’t beat them, join them. So in 1952, she completed her own flying training to become one of the first women to be issued an Indian pilot’s license. She went on to fly regularly, when with Harjinder they took turns to fly the aircraft, or occasionally she headed out on her own. She not only spent her life encouraging women to fly, but promoting the idea that women should have a place in traditional male spheres of employment.
The list of aircraft Harjinder had brought back to life was long and impressive. It seemed as if there was something deep in Harjinder’s psyche that wouldn’t let him walk away from an abandoned aircraft. The Czech built Aero 45 could never be described as a good-looking aeroplane; with a big, bulbous front to the fuselage, it resembled a tadpole with wings. On each wing an engine, similar to that in a Tiger Moth, was bolted on. In 1951, this particular aircraft had crashed on landing nearby, and, as soon as Harjinder saw the wreck he was transported back to the North-West Frontier and his days with the Wapitis. The Aero 45 was a mess, having turned upside down in the crash landing, its nose, cockpit and tail were all crumpled, one engine had been ripped off and the other smashed under the wreck.
Anyone one else looking at this mangled mass of metal would have consigned it to another life as kitchenware, but not Harjinder. He set his men onto the task of a complete rebuild, without plans or diagrams to fall back on. When news of this rebuild reached the Czech Automobile and Aircraft Works (later to be known as Skoda) they felt compelled to write a letter to Harjinder:
‘We hear with what energy and skill you and your staff are endeavouring to repair Mr de San’s damaged Aero 45 and how ingeniously you are rebuilding those parts which have been completely destroyed. Being quite conscious of how difficult a task you have undertaken, more so as the Aero 45 is a design hitherto surely not known to you, we wish to tell you how much we appreciate your readiness to give help even under most adverse circumstances and how we admire the spirit which enables you and your staff to tackle successfully all the problems that necessary must arise thereof.’
It was clear that they thought Harjinder was in for a tough job. The task was completed, and the aircraft tested, before the owner, Mr de San, returned to the aircraft he thought he would never fly again. Mr de San lost no time, and, after reassuring himself that it was a job well done, he set out for Europe. When he arrived in Belgium in the repaired machine, it seemed as if Harjinder had lost none of his aircraft resurrection skills.
‘I made Belgium in 4 days, alone, without a single trouble. This aircraft flies better than when I bought it from the factory. The Certificate of Airworthiness has been immediately granted by the Belgium Directorate of Aviation, who praised the work; they found it an unbelievable feat.’
With his family established, and the personnel under him feeling like an extended family, life at Kanpur was idyllic for Harjinder, but all good things must come to an end. The Korean War had finished with a very uneasy ceasefire in place; with troops staring down the barrels of their guns over the border, as they still do to this day. In the early 1950’s, with hostilities at an end on the Korean Peninsula, world attention turned to the world’s other flash points. India-Pakistan was high on the list. The Indian Government wanted military expansion, and the British wanted no further part in the region, taking this opportunity to finally pull out their last influence over the IAF and hand over all responsibility to India. Air Marshal Gibbs of the RAF stepped down as Chief of the IAF on the 31st March 1954. The next day, on the 1st April 1954, the twenty first anniversary of the Indian Air Force, nearly a hundred aircraft flew over Delhi, as Gibbs hande
d over complete control of the IAF to Air Marshal Subroto Mukerjee OBE. Subroto Mukerjee had come a long way from his early days of chasing pilotless Wapitis through the dust in Afghanistan. He would now lead the IAF into the jet age. Another of the original musketeers and Harjinder’s good friend, Aspy Engineer, was promoted to become the Deputy Chief. Arjan Singh too was in Headquarters, close to finishing his time as Head of Personnel. He would soon be taking over the complete Western sector; the defence of the disputed borders would fall in his domain. As these three men took control, the IAF took a great leap forward. They knew that if they had a solid support structure behind the Operational Squadrons, they could push for an increase to fifteen Squadrons and exceed the size of the World War II RIAF. After all, India’s own sovereign Air Force had already been called into combat, and the rising tension with Pakistan indicated that they would be required again soon. The IAF needed a Maintenance Command, gathered together in a single place with a single point of contact. The men at the top knew that single point was Harjinder.
