The Kalahari Killings

by Jonathan Laverick

  The first half of 1940 saw sixty-two pilots gain their wings and a further fifteen complete their advanced training, a remarkable achievement given the availability of only six instructors and twelve assorted biplanes commandeered from the flying clubs. From this small beginning the Rhodesian Air Training Group would develop.

  As early as October 1939, the Southern Rhodesian government had suggested that the country could supply and maintain three squadrons for the RAF. This would include all the necessary training. However, this proposal was dwarfed by what the British Government suggested. Recognising that the need for trained pilots was going to grow exponentially, Britain requested the creation of three pairs of flying schools, one pair at Salisbury, one pair at Bulawayo and the final pair at Gwelo. The selection of these sites followed surveys looking for areas with sufficient water and with a low risk of malaria, both important factors for incoming trainees fresh from Britain and encountering Africa for the first time. Despite the care taken, insufficient rainfall often led to water restrictions with RAF Moffat, Gwelo, being the worst affected. At least one Englishman got into hot water, literally and metaphorically, for having a bath rather than the proscribed twice-weekly showers.

  By February 1940 a Group Headquarters had taken residence in Jameson Avenue, and nearby Cranbourne had taken delivery of its first Oxfords and Harvards. These aircraft were assembled and flown up from Durban, as the packing crates they were shipped in were too large for the local railways. The following month saw the first arrival of RAF personnel, under Squadron Leader Eady, consisting of eleven officers and ninety-two other ranks, and these saw the incorporation of the Rhodesian Air Training Group (RATG) into the rapidly growing Empire Air Training Scheme (EATS). This in turn was part of the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan, an agreement signed between Great Britain and its dominions, Canada, Australia and New Zealand. As a colony, rather than a self-governing dominion, Rhodesia was not part of these negotiations and was the last country to officially join the EATS, but was the first to turn out qualified pilots. It is perhaps little known that a similar scheme had operated in Canada during the First World War. More than 3,000 pilots for the Royal Flying Corps, and from April 1918 the Royal Air Force, gained their wings in American-supplied Curtiss Jennys above the wide open spaces of the Canadian countryside.

  Under the direction of Group Captain Steele, the Rhodesian branch of EATS grew dramatically over the next two years, with four bases around Salisbury, three in the Gwelo area, and four in and around Bulwayo. Each region had an Elementary Flying Training School (EFTS) for basic flight training, a Service Flying Training School (SFTS) that taught navigation and basic military aviation skills, such as gunnery and bombing, and a Maintenance Unit (MU). Most of the bases were built from scratch, with everything from the front gate to the officer’s mess, from the headquarter offices to the fire tender station, going up in record time. Bungalows were built for officers and married airmen, complete with a single room building in the garden, something that might have puzzled those who had not been to white-run southern Africa before. These one-room apartments were for the black servants. Another feature of all the bases was the excellent provision for sports. As well as football and rugby fields, most bases had excellent outdoor swimming pools too.

  While the countryside and accommodation may have differed, similar arrangements were also in place in Australia, Canada, New Zealand, South Africa, the United States and, for the lucky ones, the West Indies. Generally, the sites chosen offered good flying weather and were a long way away from any enemy air activity.

  Training was often eventful and not always smooth – this Southern Rhodesian Air Force Tiger Moth came to a sticky end. (Master Tech. Joe Bugler)

  Gordon arrived in Bulawayo on 9 December 1942 and was immediately bussed, or more accurately ‘lorried’, to Hillside Camp. This was one of the few bases that was not new. It was a converted army barracks, but despite this the accommodation was comfortable and the sports facilities excellent.

  Gordon had met Walter Adamson on the boat to Durban and by the time they arrived at Hillside they were already good friends. Walter was a couple of years older than Gordon and had celebrated his twenty-third birthday during the journey from Egypt. Like many his age, he had volunteered as soon as the war started, but bureaucracy had delayed his call up until the end of 1939. Like Gordon, he had hoped to become a pilot and he was posted to 2 Flying Training School, but before he could start the course he was sent to Egypt where he had spent the next two years. Shorter than Gordon, Walter made up for his lack of height with his Yorkshire bluffness and his pride in his Castleford roots. Another new friendship was that formed with the Scot Harry Tait. Harry had also joined up early in the war, leaving his native Edinburgh to protect the naval base at Scapa Flow as a radar operator. Given this experience, when Harry’s application for aircrew training was accepted he fully expected to be trained as a navigator rather than a pilot.

  While many of Gordon’s group had similar stories to tell, having been accepted onto aircrew training after a couple of years in other trades, there were also plenty of raw recruits among them. It could not have been easy for those with service experience to arrive at Hillside, as every member of the course was treated as if they had just joined up. A welcome speech by the CO was followed by medical inspections and allocation of quarters. After briefly settling in, the new arrivals were subject to endless square-bashing and drill. Parades and inspections did not amuse those that had already seen active service. However, training lectures and cockpit instruction gave some realisation of how close they were to learning to fly properly. This provided enough encouragement to ensure that the three friends went on to pass their exams and move onto the next part of the course.

  MISSING

  RAF INDUNA

  RAF Induna had gained its name from a flat-topped hill a few miles to the north-east of Bulawayo, N’Thabas-Induna, translating as ‘Hill of the Headman’. This suggests it had once been part of Great Zimbabwe, where the rulers of a town would live on top of such a place. The job of this station, as an elementary flying school, was to take would-be pilots and turn them into efficient fliers in the least amount of time.

  Tiger Moths were used for this basic training. These classic de Havilland aeroplanes had seen countless airmen take their first flights, but the local environment did put them under extra strain. For a start, Induna was situated at 4,000 feet above sea level, or roughly halfway to the Moth’s ceiling in hot conditions. And the conditions were hot – temperatures of over 100°F were common. The tropical sun would heat the earth, causing severe turbulence that often ruled out flying during the hottest parts of the day. This meant that flying usually started at 6 a.m., with inexperienced pilots back on the ground by 9 a.m. It was considered that those with more flying hours could cope with the bumpier air until about midday. If necessary, some flying was also done after teatime once the turbulence started to subside.

  Thousands of pilots took their first flights in the trusty Tiger Moth. (Botswana Aviation Art)

  Other than the limitations imposed by local conditions, the training syllabus was that being taught in flying schools throughout the Empire. This was laid out in Air Publication 1732, the ‘Instructors’ Handbook of Elementary Flying Training’. This rather thick pamphlet set out twenty-eight exercises, starting with cockpit familiarity and ending with formation flying, that prospective pilots were expected to master. These exercises could be combined; for example, exercises 7 and 8, climbing and descending, could be taught, or practised, in the same flight.

  Gordon, Walter and Harry were all posted to the same course and would have undergone several hours of ground school together before their instructors gave them their first air experience flight (exercise 3, following on from cockpit familiarity and preparation for flight). This was the same for the other seventy-seven men on the programme.

  Life for the budding pilots at this time was fun. They all had been promoted to flight sergeants and, altho
ugh for most this was an ‘acting’ rank, the extra income was appreciated. Bulawayo was relatively close by and had an exciting night life, including the infamous Bodega Bar. Regular ‘bush bashing’ trips were organised, especially to the nearby Matobo Game Reserve. This region of unusual rock formations was a particular favourite, being strikingly beautiful as a well as having a range of large game. The Matopos consisted of more than 150 square miles of granite kopjes weathered into the strangest shapes, with boulders of enormous sizes balanced precariously on top of one another. For those in need of exercise, a trip to Cecil Rhodes’ grave atop a bald smooth hill aptly named ‘World’s View’ was in order. He and the other pilots would have had a chance to feed the rainbow skinks that inhabit the cracks between the stones. The brightly coloured lizards had become used to visitors to the grave and, even today, will come when called in the hope of a treat. Bushman rock art, dating back at least 2,000 years, and an interesting series of caves formed another distraction. Most pilots also had the opportunity to travel further afield, with Victoria Falls being a popular destination. There were regular sports meetings against the other RAF stations and each area produced its own service magazine. Perhaps best of all, there was unlimited food. For those who had been used to service rations the idea of fresh fruit on demand was amazing, but nothing compared to being able to help themselves to as many helpings of bacon and eggs as they could manage.

  The only people that were not happy were some of those teaching the cadet pilots. Before fully fledged pilots were posted out of the Rhodesian Air Training Group, the cream of each course was sent to RAF Norton, near Salisbury. At this elite station they would learn to become instructors and be retained in the RATG to train more students. RAF Norton had a certain refined, academic air about it and it could have been considered something of a flying university. As can be imagined, those retained had a range of reactions to being held back as their friends and comrades were posted to front-line squadrons closer to home. Some were relieved, some were stoical, some disappointed and some were little less than furious. Two instructors who were kept in Rhodesia against their will came up with the bright idea of giving their superiors no choice but to post them on. This scheme involved a mock bombing attack on Bulawayo city centre. When the big day came, they put on a display that the Rhodesian city has never since seen the like of. Low pass after low pass, up and down the wide streets of Bulawayo they roared, often below the level of the buildings to each side of their wing tips. Their self-imposed mission was a partial success. The two pilots were relieved of their instructor jobs and were posted. Unfortunately for them, their new post was still in Rhodesia and they were still involved in training. They were both given the job of piloting target tugs, flying up and down trailing a large banner behind them while ham-fisted new pilots practised their shooting!

  The tame and ever-hungry rainbow skinks that live around Cecil Rhodes’ grave atop the Matopo Hills. (Botswana Aviation Art)

  Despite the carefully chosen sites, Gordon and his comrades arrived at the start of the malaria season. A shortage of quinine had led to a spike in cases the previous year, but a combination of new supplies and stockpiling through the safe months of June, August and September meant that by the end of 1943 all the airmen were being administered the prophylactic. In addition, mosquito nets were in mandatory use. Tuberculosis and typhoid had been particular concerns of the air force authorities, but inoculations had meant that not a single case of either had been reported in the six months before Gordon’s arrival. Flu was the greatest threat at that time of year for those in Bulawayo. Another hazard for the hard-living airmen far from home were the ever-present venereal diseases, with just under 200 cases being diagnosed in 1942. Given that the forces population at this time was 10,000, this was considered not too bad. However, medical officers on every station gave regular lectures on how to avoid VD by taking ‘proper precautions’.

  In fact, the chance of catching an embarrassing disease was similar to that of being killed during training. The April–June report into the health of the Southern Rhodesian training scheme listed twenty-six flying deaths, compared with twenty-eight cases of VD. Of these accidents, twelve fatalities were in the Bulawayo region. There were also two fatal road accidents during that period. This report concluded that the overall health of the groups continued to be good. Some evidence for this can be taken from the surviving baptism records from the Gwelo section. Here, there were seventeen babies born between July 1942 and June 1943. All of these were to married couples at Guinea Fowl, Thornhill or Moffat. Guinea Fowl was the most remote of any of the RAF stations, being more than eleven miles out of town. Its inhabitants considered it, with some justification, to be well and truly the back of beyond. It should not have come as any surprise then that the reproduction rate there was double that of the other two stations!

  Gordon’s logbook would have rapidly filled with dual control hours, as his instructors showed him the basics of flight. It would also have started to gain a number of certifications, confirming that he understood the aircraft’s systems and that he knew how to swing a propeller and safely start the Tiger Moth. After between eight and fifteen hours of instruction he would have been given the opportunity of his first solo flight, something that no pilot ever forgets. This was far from the initial training over, however. At least fifteen hours were required in the station’s Link Trainer, a very early form of flight simulator. This bellows-powered blue box gave pilots a chance to practise instrument flying without leaving the ground. Once this was mastered then another five hours in a covered Moth cockpit were added. At the same time, more intensive flying manoeuvres and aerobatics were included, initially with an instructor and then solo. Often flying twice a day, the flying hours soon started to add up.

  Navigation also formed a part of the course, teaching basic map-reading along with formation flying. This was one of the last skills taught, by which time a fair proportion of the eighty men who had started the course would have been ‘scrubbed out’. Failing the course, they would have been posted to other flying duty courses and continued as gunners, flight engineers or navigators. This was the fate of just under 40 per cent of those who began pilot training.

  Part of the required reading for the budding pilots was Tee Emm, an Air Ministry publication that was intended as a serious instructional read, yet one that was heavily dressed up in humour. To accomplish this difficult task the Air Ministry relied upon the writing talents available at Punch, particularly those of Anthony Armstrong Willis and William Hooper. It introduced a generation of fliers to the bumbling antics of Pilot Officer Prune who offered such gems of advice as ‘If we just steer west we will get home’ and ‘I never make a test burst as we have to clean our own guns’. Bill Hooper’s creation was much loved, although at one point he had to write to Tee Emm’s letter section in an attempt to prove that he was real. In one memorable feature-length episode in Punch, Prune and his colleagues spend a valuable night in the mess discussing how flies land on the ceiling. A tricky aerodynamic problem, if ever there was one.

  Tee Emm was short for ‘Technical Manual’ and it did include much sensible advice on air safety, written by experts. Much of this guidance focused on navigation of a higher standard than Prune’s. The need for good pre-flight preparation of maps and a mental rehearsal of landmarks the pilot would see on the flight was emphasised, as were the more technical points of using a compass. In 1942 the publication started awarding its own decoration to aircrew. In true Punch style, the Most Highly Derogatory Order of the Irremovable Finger (MHDOIF) was in a very different class to the VC and, although its recipients had their names redacted in the magazine, no doubt many were still embarrassingly recognised. An early award of the MHDOIF was made to a bomber crew whose navigator had set up his compass incorrectly over Germany and had been flying a reciprocal course. Realising his mistake, the aircraft, now short of fuel, turned around with the pilot doubting they could reach England. When the fuel eventually ran out, the pilot m
ade a good forced landing and, once his crew had safely disembarked, set fire to his aeroplane to save it from falling into enemy hands. Setting off across the fields to make good their escape, the unlucky airmen soon came across the Rose and Crown, a pub well known to them all.

  Two of the most challenging drills on the syllabus were numbers 21 and 22: precautionary and forced landings. As the instructor’s handbook pointed out, forced landings were rare and usually due to engine failure. The reason for engine failure was, nine times out of ten, running out of fuel, a lesson drilled into the hearts of all new pilots. The secret to a good forced landing was ensuring that the pilot had sufficient height when the emergency occurred. The special case was the event of engine failure on takeoff, where the only advice was to land straight ahead, avoiding obstacles as much as possible. These forced landing exercises would have started at Induna, with the instructor showing how a stationary propeller would affect the gliding angle. Following this, cadets would be constantly asked to pick out fields suitable for emergencies. This was not easy given the Rhodesian landscape, which consisted mainly of low scrub, with few open spaces. The occasional road or farm gave some choice, as would a dried-up riverbed in a real emergency. Once pilots had experience in picking fields, the instructor would then simulate an engine failure and the pupil had to make a ‘dead-stick’ landing. According to the handbook, the aim of the exercise was to make such actions second nature so that a pilot would not waste time wondering what to do in a real emergency.