Winds of Destruction

by Peter John Hornby Petter-Bowyer

  I was very dissatisfied with the squadron’s poor gunnery results and wondered what I could do about it. Then, upon close inspection of the .303 Browning machine-guns, I found that they whipped about in poorly designed wing mountings. This problem was the consequence of the manufacturer having to convert Provost T1 trainers to MkT52 in too great a hurry to meet contract deadlines. I knew exactly what needed to be done and asked my OC if I could fix the problem. Not only did Ozzie approve this; he turned the issue into an official instruction to be certain I received maximum assistance from the Station Armoury and other technical sections at New Sarum. Initial resistance to a pilot leading the technical work came from two technical officers but Ozzie, who took absolutely no nonsense from anyone, sorted this out.

  The mountings I designed were manufactured and fitted and ground-firing tests showed a great improvement in the accuracy of the guns. More important than this, from my own point of view, was the fact that I had established close relations with all the technical officers and technicians with whom I dealt; all were really top-line operators.

  A task Ozzie pinned on me was to become the RRAF’s low-level aerobatist on Provosts; my first exhibition at an Air Show occurring at Lusaka on 26 May 1963. Of all the low-level aerobatists who ever flew for the Air Force, I was certainly the least enthusiastic. Nevertheless my display at Lusaka and many to follow went off well enough.

  A couple of years later I was pleased to hand this task over to Spaz Currie, a gifted young pilot who not only flew better aerobatics than me, he enjoyed it. I flew with Spaz on low-level aerobatic instruction, but it was really Dave Thorne who had brought him to the standard of excellence for which Spaz became well known. Dave Thorne and I were rated above-average pilots but it seemed to me that, as instructors, we both had the gift of being able to teach others to fly better than ourselves.

  Almost any person can be taught to fly an aircraft but few people are ‘born pilots’ possessing natural flying ability. Yet, every now and then there arise those who possess a God-given ability to handle aeroplanes with amazing precision. So far as I can recall the ‘born pilots’ of our force were Charlie Paxton, Colin Graves, John Mussell, Mark Smithdorff, Keith Corrans and Spaz Currie. Bob Woodward was rated as a top line aerobatist but when flying with him I found his control movements to be incredibly harsh.

  The RRAF was somewhat under-manned for situations requiring deployment of squadrons into the field. To cater for this a Volunteer Reserve (VR) force was established under Group Captain Charles Green, himself a volunteer. He had seen service during WWII and distinguished himself when commanding 266 (Rhodesia) Squadron operating Typhoon fighter-bombers that specialised in ground-attack. As a consequence of his extreme aggression against German tank concentrations during General Patton’s push in the Ardennes campaign, Charles was shot down and became a POW.

  In the initial stages there were so many Rhodesian Greek volunteers that some of us nicknamed the VR ‘The Hellenic Air Force’. Four VR officers were attached to 4 Squadron for orientation purposes, though none of them was Greek. They were Derrick Whelehan, Brian Patton, Derrick Purnell and Trevor Ruile. Their arrival coincided with my request to introduce flying exercises designed to hone pilot skills in low-level map-reading, powers of visual observation and mental retention. Our technicians were to be included in most exercises as were the four attached VR Officers. Ozzie Penton’s permission was enthusiastically given before he turned things around and, in typical Ozzie fashion, ordered me to do exactly what I had asked for. I set about preparing exercises for counter-insurgency operations even though I knew absolutely nothing about COIN operations. I had to rely entirely on my imagination and plan accordingly.

  A points system was established for all these exercises which engendered a strong sense of competition amongst the participants, making the training seem more like a game than serious business. There were continuous variations introduced into the exercises, all flown at low level to simulate worst operating weather conditions.

  A typical single flight task might be to: (1) find the most suitable site for float plane operations in clear water having a straight run of 800 yards within thirty nautical miles of nominated place; (2) identify features at grid references a, b, c and so on; (3) make a single pass on the bridge at grid reference so and so and have a sketch and written report on the bridge air-dropped to police station such and such.

  The British South Africa Police were very helpful in providing observers at bridges, or any other place involving a single pass. Aircraft numbers were recorded and passed to the squadron so that anyone making more than one pass would be spotted and disqualified.

  In the initial exercises there were wide variations in results but, with persistence, we reached a point where all results matched, thereby indicating that good standards in map-reading and recce observations had been achieved.

  We returned to Kutanga for another weapons camp. The gunnery results improved unbelievably. Pilots who had previously scored around 15% hits were recording better than 60% and Ted Brent managed to score 100% on one of his solo flights. Air HQ was well pleased with the marked improvements in our gunnery, rocket and bomb results. This precipitated a visit to Kutanga by the Director General Operations, Group Captain John Deall.

  During WWII at the tender age of twenty-three, John Deall relinquished his command of No 266 Squadron to take over a wing of Typhoon and Spitfire squadrons, including 266 Squadron. Later he returned to Rhodesia as a Wing Commander with five proven victories, a DFC, a DSO and the Netherlands Flying Cross.

  Air Commodore John Deall.

  Though of small build, Johnny Deall was a giant in all respects and greatly revered by all ranks. He always remained cool, was softly spoken and had an ability to admonish men with very few words. By far the worst chiding I ever received from anyone came from John Deall in the mid-1970s when he was Chief of Air Staff in the rank Air Commodore. He called me to his office and, holding a draft paper in front of him, simply said, “I feel let down PB. I expected better of you!” I was floored and deeply embarrassed by the quietly spoken words. I received his apology the moment he realised that I was not the writer of the paper. Nevertheless, I left Johnny Deall’s office feeling decidedly crushed.

  John Deall had not flown for some years when, at Kutanga, he went up with Ted Brent to try his hand at firing rockets from a Provost; a far cry from Typhoons and Spitfires. After a couple of dummy runs he fired four rockets, one off each of four live passes. We were all stunned because he scored direct hits every time. When invited to try his hand again, Johnny declined saying he would be a fool not to quit whilst he was on top.

  Warrant Officer Tommy Minks headed 4 Squadron’s technical team, made up of a lively bunch of mischievous men. One of these was Marlow Sharp, a foul-mouthed ex-Fleet Arm type who delighted in taking the mickey out of pilots and using bad language to shock young ladies.

  When our beaten-up old Bedford van arrived from Que Que with a bevy of girls escorted by the unmarried guys they were met by Ted Brent. Always the perfect gentleman, Ted lifted the wet hessian screen that served as back door and dust trap. Then, one by one, he greeted each young lady and holding her hand helped her down the back step. Once inside the large marquee tent containing bar, food and chairs, Ted would satisfy himself that every lady was attended before retiring to his tent for a full night’s sleep. It was in the marquee that I first witnessed Marlow Sharp’s naughty antics.

  Provost armament: Teargas canisters, 4-inch rockets with 60 lb. concrete practice heads, 24 lb. practice bombs (white concrete bodies), 28 lb. Mk1 fragmentation bombs, 250 lb. GP high-explosive bomb and a parachute container for emergency delivery of medical supplies and other small items. Not shown are belts of .303 Browning machine-gun ammunition and illuminating flares. Note the squadron building and hangar. These were built at Thornhill in 1940 for the RAF’s RATG needs and were still in use beyond the ’80s.

  Pilot Officer Henry Elliott had a reputation for snaffling the pretti
est girls before any one of the other single fellows could make a move. However, on this particular evening, Marlow decided to turn things around. He went to a small group of girls, who he had seen sneaking looks at Henry, and said something along the lines, “Do not look now, but that good-looking pilot by the centre tent pole—such a pity about his malady. His ears are healed now. Only the deep holes behind the ears remain from where the disease started. It has moved down to his chest now, but do not be put off by that, he is well covered with special dressings so you will not smell the rotting skin." With that Marlow excused himself and left.

  In no time at all every girl had learned about Henry’s ‘rotting flesh’. As it happened Henry had deep wells behind his ears and though these were part of his natural make-up, the girls had surreptitiously checked them out. Poor Henry could not figure out why his usual ability to attract girls was failing; each one he approached found reason to drift off somewhere else. Henry’s weapons results over the following two days were pathetic until Marlow told him why the girls had avoided him. Henry’s smile returned and his weapon scores improved.

  Federal break-up

  DURING MY TOUR ON 4 Squadron the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland was dissolved by the British Government to meet black nationalist demands. Northern Rhodesia and Nyasaland, having originally been British protectorates, were both granted independence by Britain. Respectively, they were renamed Zambia and Malawi. Southern Rhodesia had been self-governing since 1923 and reverted to this status with her name reduced to Rhodesia. Britain had guaranteed that, for agreeing to the dissolution of the Federation, Rhodesia would be given full independence at the same time as Zambia and Malawi. Sadly however, the true nature of Britain’s political expediency and its policy of appeasement, as witnessed in Chamberlain’s dealings with Hitler, became fully revealed when black governments in Africa successfully pressurised Britain into reneging on this solemn undertaking. This was but the first of many broken promises and agreements that Rhodesians were to face throughout eighteen long years of communist-inspired political turbulence.

  When it came to sharing out Federal assets one of the thorniest issues was the matter of what was to be done with the RRAF. The British Government realised that the Air Force, having been built into a well-balanced force, could not simply be split three ways—this was neither practical nor sensible. It was also recognised that the majority of the costs in creating the Air Force had been borne by the people of Southern Rhodesia who, in any event, were more capable of operating the Air Force than either Zambia or Malawi. An equally important consideration was the matter of its serving personnel who had either been born in Southern Rhodesia or had set up permanent homes there.

  The only component of Air Force eventually affected by share-out was No 3 (Transport) Squadron. Six of the squadron’s aircraft, four Dakotas and two Pembrokes, were allocated to Zambia. Nothing was given to Malawi.

  Although the Federation was officially dissolved on 3 December 1963 the Royal prefix to Rhodesian Air Force was to remain until March 1970 when Rhodesia became a republic. In the meanwhile all members of the force were given three options before the break-up. These were to remain under their existing contracts, to join the Zambian Air Force with attractive incentives or, to leave the force permanently.

  The latter option was disgustingly close to an invitation to quit the service because of the excellent terminal benefits offered. To placate those who remained in service, guarantees were given that men who accepted a ‘golden handshake’ would never be accepted back into the force. These guarantees were later ignored when Rhodesia needed experienced men in troubled times. Many were allowed to rejoin and, considering the times, this was perfectly acceptable to those who had remained. What was irksome, however, was that too many returnees were coerced into rejoining with the same rank and benefits they would have enjoyed had they not left.

  Federation had been a great success yet its destruction had been forced on Rhodesia to appease black politicians bent on personal gain. Like my colleagues, I chose to ignore the dire warnings given by politicians and news media and simply put my head in the sand, got on with my work and hoped for the best. I was not alone because the majority of white Rhodesians ignored anything they preferred not to hear. Life had changed little after ten years of Federation. The beer was good, we still had the finest beef in the world and there was no shortage in any of life’s comforts.

  I recall that my biggest concern in those times was that Beryl had been incapacitated by chronic asthma for the ten months since we moved from Thornhill to Salisbury. Any amount of medical effort had been given to resolve her problem but nothing helped. Then, out of the blue, my father suggested we visit Leslie Shaw, the chiropractor. We were willing to try anything at that stage and despite our doubts paid him a visit. Beryl’s asthma was so bad that she was hardly able to take four steps in succession over the short distance from our car to his rooms.

  Leslie amazed us by saying that 90% of asthmatic problems stem from spinal misalignment. He asked me to wait for twenty minutes whilst he took Beryl off for X-rays of neck and spine to determine if her problems lay there. Happily they did and, after three further visits to Leslie Shaw over a period of ten days, he corrected Beryl’s misaligned neck and upper spine. This put an end to Beryl’s inhibiting asthmatic problems. Thanks to Leslie Shaw, and indirectly to my Dad, they have not recurred for the thirty-five years leading to this time of writing.

  Return to Thornhill

  FOLLOWING THE DISSOLUTION OF THE Federation, the RRAF found itself short on manpower, necessitating many adjustments. At the same time Salisbury Air Traffic Control was seeking a reduction in an existing high level of slow aircraft movements to improve safety and control in the face of ever-increasing volumes in jet traffic. This brought about the move of 4 Squadron back to Thornhill. At the same time Nos 5 and 6 Squadrons were amalgamated into No 5 Squadron and the Canberras moved to New Sarum. For a while, No 6 Squadron did not exist until it eventually took over 2 Squadron’s role in pilot training for BFS and AFS with 2 Squadron retaining responsibility for weapons training only.

  Beryl and I were pleased to be returning to Thornhill. However, the wind was taken out of my sails the moment the squadron taxiied into dispersals where the Station Commander, Group Captain Doug Whyte, met us.

  Having welcomed our OC, Squadron Leader John Mussell, he came to me with a broad grin on his face to say he had both good and bad news for me. The bad news was that he was taking me from the squadron for an indefinite period to be his Station Administration Officer, a post that had hitherto not existed. The good news was that I would be doing a limited amount of flying, most of which would be developmental testing of locally manufactured weapons.

  Doug Whyte had been Station Commander in the rank of squadron leader when Thornhill was taken over from the RAF in 1955 and he remained there until my course had reached solo stage on BFS in mid-1957. Now he was back in command of a much larger station and had many things he wanted doing to get things running his way. Working directly under him was fantastic and I did not miss flying as I thought I might. The tasks I was required to perform were clear-cut, wide-ranging and quick in coming. One of these was to prepare Kutanga Range for an air weapons demonstration for cabinet ministers, African chiefs, the Army, the British South Africa Police and the press.

  Group Captain Doug Whyte welcomes Squadron Leader John Mussell to Thornhill .

  Doug Whyte.

  Kutanga Range was well known to every pilot who underwent weapons training because all had performed Range Safety Officers duties and all had enjoyed this task. Warrant Officer Nobby Clarke was the Range Warden who had a small permanent staff. One of these was John MacKenzie (Kutanga Mac), an excellent ranger who would later replace Nobby.

  The Fire Section supplied a fire Jeep and crew who were housed on the range during their seven-day stints on range duties. Three domestic workers and six labourers with their wives and children lived on the range permanently whereas Nob
by and John commuted daily to their homes in the town of Que Que.

  A lone kudu at Kutanga Range.

  Surrounded by large cattle ranches, Kutanga Range was more like a game reserve than an air-weapons range. It had large expanses of mopani bushveld and an abundance of small game, the largest species being kudu. About 3,000 acres of bush had been cleared eastward from the northern boundary fence to give visibility to widely dispersed targets. Though primarily intended for air-weapons training, Army used Kutanga for field gun, armoured car, mortar and jungle-lane training. The BSAP also used the range occasionally.

  Sleeping accommodation existed for ten people and the large kitchen was able to handle many additional people whether on day visits or camping in tents. One tarmac runway and a grass runway catered for piston-engined aircraft and both could accept fully laden Dakotas. Three high, brick-under-iron roof structures, widely separated and known as quadrant huts, were used to take bearings of each rocket and bomb strike. The hut nearest the domestic area was the ‘master quadrant hut’ where the Range Safety Officer resided with radio communications to aircraft. Telephones linked it to the two secondary quadrant huts.

  Two bearings were necessary to plot the position of each projectile’s impact point. The Range Safety Officer took one bearing and received the second bearing from one or other of two secondary quadrant huts. The two bearings when applied to a plotting board gave the strike position. Each result was passed to a pilot by radio within ten seconds of his strike. When the datum lines of both quadrant huts were ‘zero’, a pilot was given one or other of the following calls: “Direct hit”, “DH” or “Coconut”. These were music to every pilot’s ear but as often as not impact error would be given along the lines “six yards, four o’clock”. Errors given at 12 o’clock were overshoots along the attack line whilst 6 o’clock errors were undershoots on the same line.