The ever-playful cub became over-excited one evening and sank its teeth and claws deep into Willie de Beer’s back and shoulder. It was amazing to see how Willie managed to keep still whilst drawing the lion’s attention to a fly switch he flicked around. When the cub let go, Willie removed his shirt to inspect and clean up the wounds. I noticed that the puncture marks were very deep and black in colour.
Posed on the rear fuselage of a Trojan.
Willie’s lion took a liking to my helicopter.
Not too long after this Willie had two hairy encounters with full-grown lions. The first involved a lioness that wandered into his thatched home in the Wankie National Park and inadvertently cornered his frightened wife in the bedroom. A neighbouring ranger responded to her screams for help but was killed by the panicking lioness before she broke clear just as Willie arrived. He was knocked down and slightly injured by the escaping animal.
The next encounter occurred when Willie had to shoot a large lioness that was killing villagers’ cattle in the Tjolotjo Tribal Trust Lands. His first shot only wounded the lioness, which immediately attacked Willie and sent his gun-bearer running for safety. Willie had the presence of mind to ram his left arm way down the lion’s throat but he was being savagely clawed all over his body while his left arm was being mauled by the cat’s huge teeth. It was impossible for Willie to use his rifle as he frantically called for his gun-bearer to come back and help him. After a while the trembling man arrived. Willie, holding the gun-barrel to the lioness’s head, instructed his shaking gun-bearer to manoeuvre the rifeinto the right position before telling him to pull the trigger. His scars bore testimony to this awful experience, which he was lucky to survive.
Trojans
THE TROJAN AIRCRAFT THAT 4 Squadron operated was nothing like the Trojan aircraft originally ordered. During October 1964, AVM Bentley initiated inquiries through the Ministry of Rhodesian Affairs in Washington in his attempt to find a suitable training aircraft to replace our ageing Provosts. He made it known that such replacement machines should, ideally, have a much better ground-strike capacity than the Provost.
The most suitable machines available at the time were American T28 Trojan trainers. There were a fair number available with 800hp engines and life spans ranging downwards from three years to zero life. It so happened, however, that a number of handpicked T28s were being completely stripped down and rebuilt to create T28D models powered by 1475hp motors. Their mainplanes were also stressed for high loads and incorporated six, instead of the original two, hardpoints on which to carry weapons. At the time, each T28D was available at $125,000 per unit. Though this was more than Air Force intended to spend, eighteen of these aircraft suited AVM Bentley’s needs perfectly. So, in a letter to the RAF Chief of Staff, Air Chief Marshal Sir Charles Elsworthy GCB, CBE, DSO, MVO, DFC, AFC, our Air Force Commander wrote, The US State Department has replied to the effect that there were many difficult considerations affecting the export of commodities of this kindto Africa, and that it would greatly ease these difficulties if the British Government could say they had no objection to the deal. The Royal Rhodesian Air Force need was duly relayed to the British Government which had no objection to the acquisition by Rhodesia of ‘training aircraft’. Nevertheless the US State Department refused to let a deal go through.
Precisely what occurred thereafter is not altogether clear to me other than that Rhotair (Pvt) Ltd, of Salisbury got in on the act by using their strong association with Français D’exportation de Matèriel Aéronautique (OFEMA). The French had no difficulties with American attitudes and offered to upgrade T28s, from either Algeria or Iran, to French Air Force standards closely equating to the American T28D.
Wing Commander Harold Marsh.
Crates used to smuggle the Trojans into Rhodesia.
The first that I knew of these huge single-engined aircraft having been sent to Rhodesia occurred some time after the Americans had spiked the French deal. A senior officer on Air Staff told me about the T28 deal and why it had gone wrong. He said that when the ship carrying these aircraft and their spares to Cape Town was in sight of Table Mountain, the ship’s master received orders to turn about and return his cargo to France.
At the time it was considered that this disastrous failure to secure ideal machines was the consequence of some loose-mouthed bragger’s words reaching top officials in the US State Department. Because the T28 Trojan aircraft rebuilt under licence in France, the USA had used its power to force France to observe UN sanctions and recover the machines to French soil.
Since nobody at squadron level knew anything about the huge T28 Trojans, there was no disappointment when the small Aeromacchi/Lockheed 260 aircraft arrived in crates for secret assembly at New Sarum.
T28 Trojan.
Yet in this deal the supplier had duped Air HQ. Instead of receiving 450hp aircraft, as ordered, we received 260hp machines whose airframes made it impossible to upgrade them with 450hp motors.
Despite this, the name Trojan was given to these piddling little aircraft because of the paperwork previously completed for the big machines. At squadron level it was thought, erroneously, that the name derived from the ‘Trojan Horse’ type crates used to smuggle the machines into Rhodesia.
It was not until the year 2000 that I learn from historian Richard Wood of documents he had located in UK from our Director of Legal Services Wing Commander Harold Marsh ’s office telling of the impending arrival of the Trojans. By then, however, it was too late for the shipment to be intercepted and impounded by Britain.
What other secrets Harold Marsh passed on to the Brits, or how many others like him were acting against Rhodesian interests I cannot say, but it helps explain why we lost the T28 Trojans and why there were so many more problems of ‘leaked’ secrets yet to come.
Roll cloud incident
AFTER THE 4 SQUADRON RECCE exercise my technician Butch Phillips and I had to return to New Sarum via Thornhill. Heavy storms were forecast for the flight that commenced after lunch. About halfway to Thornhill we encountered large storms that I was able to avoid until we were passing one huge cumulonimbus on our left and noticed the rapid development of a strong roll cloud to our right. Turning back I found the roll cloud was worse in the direction from which we had just come so I turned to resume our course to Thornhill.
Ian Smith with Group Captain Dicky Bradshaw and the technical team that assembled the Trojans.
It was not possible to break away left or right from the serious condition developing so unbelievably fast around and ahead of us. Very quickly, heavy rain was falling out of the base of the cumulonimbus and sweeping outwards to remove the ground below from view. For a short while we remained in smooth air in a huge tunnel such as surfers enjoy when riding under the curl of a breaking sea wave. But this tunnel was dark and ominous.
The smooth ride suddenly changed when the aircraft entered turbulence and started to rise in super-strong uplift. Collective pitch was dumped reducing power to zero but the ascent continued. As the aircraft was about to enter cloud, the ascent turned to a descent which maximum power failed to check. Full power only helped reduce the descent rate to something in the order of 3,000 feet per minute in turbulence. I knew that this powerful down current would not drive us into the ground but I feared entering the heavy sweeping rain we were approaching. Converting to flight instruments, we entered the blinding noisy torrent and almost immediately were lifted by another invisible force for a powerless climb through the centre of the swirling tunnel. The end of this passageway of cloud and rain came into view just as the climb reversed into another descent that, again, full power could not counter until we broke out into clear smooth air. Having recovered our senses, we landed to inspect the aircraft for stress damage.
None was found.
Bad weather and violent wind conditions did not only concern pilots. I witnessed a strange incident that was caused by a passing whirlwind. Flight Lieutenant Boet Swart, the senior PJI (Parachute Jumping Instructor) in charg
e of the Air Force Parachute Training School, had just landed on the normal training drop zone next to runway 14. He was drawing in his parachute when a whirlwind inflated it and lifted him into fight.
On the opposite side of the runway, next to the security fence where I was standing on the helicopters concrete pad, OC Flying Wing Ozzie Penton was sitting astride his service motorcycle watching the PJIs do their mandatory monthly parachute descent. He saw Boet land then lift upwards and drift rapidly in his direction. Boet returned to earth but was dragged roughly across the ground as Ozzie desperately tried to kick-start his motorbike to get the heck out of Boet’s way—but Oz was too late! The parachute canopy knocked him half over before Boet crashed into the bike, whereupon a jumble of motorbike, OC Flying and senior PJI went sliding for some distance amidst bellowed curses until the whirlwind let go of the parachute!
A roll cloud developing along the advancing front of a cumulonimbus storm.
Engine failure
HAROLD GRIFFITHS WAS POSTED TO helicopters in February 1969. I had instructed him on BFS in 1963 and flew with him again during his Flying Instructor’s course on 2 Squadron. Of all the pilots I instructed on helicopters, I enjoyed teaching Griff most. In and out of working hours we became close friends and our families got together regularly. At the swimming parties Beryl and I held at our Hatfield home and those in the garden of his own home, Griff was always happiest braaing (barbecuing) and handing around ‘snackers’ to all and sundry whilst he sipped away at an ice-cold beer. I have never met anyone who enjoyed food to the extent Griff did; yet he retained a relatively trim figure throughout his service life.
During his operational conversion phase, we were flying in the farming area north of Salisbury when I surprised Griff by cutting the fuel flow to test his reaction to engine failure. I had done this with everyone on 7 Squadron ever since Roland Coffegnot of Sud Aviation told me it was the only way to confirm that pilots reacted correctly to this potentially deadly situation.
Griff acted as he should and was autorotating towards the landing point of his choice. I was satisfied and prepared to advance the fuel-flow lever to bring the engine back to its governed speed of 33,500 rpm for a powered over-shoot. As I looked down at the rpm indicator I was astonished to see that it was reading way down near zero meaning that the engine had flamed out instead of maintaining idling rpm.
I immediately took control from Griff and transmitted a Mayday call to Salisbury Approach whilst turning for a gentle up-slope landing on a fallow field that was covered by tall dry grass. A strong flare cushioned the aircraft’s high rate of descent before collective pitch was applied for a slow roll-on landing. We had rolled no more than two metres when an unseen contour ridge stoved in the nose-wheel causing damage to its mountings. Our technician, Willie Jevois, only realised that we had made a genuine forced landing when the rotors stopped turning with no noise coming from the engine.
Whilst waiting for the squadron technical team to come in by helicopter, I considered the implications of having tested Griff, and many pilots before him, in a manner contrary to the Air Staff Instructions (ASI) that disallowed engine-of testing of students anywhere but at New Sarum. Although I had been in trouble so many times, particularly during my tour on helicopters, I had always stuck with the truth. But this situation had me in a quandary because, although it was obvious that a technical fault had caused the idling fuel-fow valve to close down the engine, I had knowingly tested Griff in a manner contrary to the ASI that I had signed.
There was another matter too. I had recently been told, on the quiet, that I was about to be promoted to Squadron Leader, a situation I did not want to jeopardise. Wrongly I know, I asked Griff not to say anything about my having cut fuel flow but simply to tell the inevitable Board of Inquiry that the engine had failed in flight.
When my time came to give evidence I said the engine quit in flight—which it had—but I said nothing about having deliberately reduced fuel-flow to idling rpm. Had the right question been asked, I would have been forced to admit my guilt. Fortunately a technical inquiry had already established that a faulty electrical micro switch, which cut off the idling fuel flow, could just as easily have cut fuel flow in powered flight. A minor modification was introduced to prevent this happening in future and the matter was laid to rest.
Joint Planning Staff
I LOOKED FORWARD TO BECOMING A staff officer, which I knew would be quite different to any administrative post on any air base. Until now I had considered everyone working in, or for, Air HQ was flying on ‘cloud 9’.
Following the retirement of Air Vice-Marshal Ted Jacklin, the post of Commander of the Royal Rhodesian Air Force became limited to a four-year term. AVM Jacklin was followed by AVM Raf Bentley smartest dressed officer I ever encountered in any force.
AVM Raf Bentley was followed by AVM Harold Hawkins, an Australian by birth.
AVM Archie Wilson became our fourth commander following the retirement of AVM Harold Hawkins in April 1969.
Just before he became the commander, I received official notification of my promotion and posting to the Joint Planning Staff (JPS). Keith Corrans gained his majority at the same time and our independent interviews with the new Commander took place on the day of my move to JPS.
Keith Corrans and I were very conscious of having been promoted over many senior Flight Lieutenants, most of whom we held in high regard.
AVM Raf Bentley (top left), AVM Harold Hawkins (top right), AVM Archie Wilson (bottom left), Keith Corrans.
In my interview this was the first matter that AVM Wilson raised by telling me my promotion was purely on merit and that I must not be embarrassed or concerned about superseding men who had been my senior. He told me a number of flattering things that had led to this early promotion before telling me he also knew more about the naughty side of me than I would have wanted him to know.
First he told me of Beryl’s nightly visits when he had made me Orderly Officer over Christmas and New Year back in 1957—a story I have already covered. My flights under the Chirundu and Victoria Falls bridges had not passed unnoticed nor the ‘looping’ of the Victoria Falls Bridge in a helicopter. The latter arose from a silly bet with the local Police. All I did was fly under the bridge, rise up, reverse over the top of the bridge then descend to pass back under it, all in a manner that described a complete vertical circle. The AVM knew all about my family’s ride in a helicopter at Kariba in 1967, including the circumstances and names of the NCOs that had brought it about. He knew I had mastered a technique of catching guinea fowl with a helicopter and that other pilots had followed my example. The AVM covered other misdemeanours, including the unauthorised project works, but it was clear to me that his whole purpose was to let me know that he received more information about the goings-on at squadron level than any of us realised.
The Joint Planning Staff, sited in Milton Building close to Air HQ, was under the chairmanship of Group Captain Mick McLaren, who was my first flying instructor. His was a two-year posting that alternated between Army and Air Force. Mick’s promotion to Group Captain had brought him level with his archrival, Group Captain Frank Mussell.
Some years earlier, when Frank Mussell was promoted to Squadron Leader in command of No 6 (Canberra) Squadron, Mick McLaren was still a flight lieutenant. AVM Wilson had changed this and was later responsible for Mick’s meteoric rise to succeed him as the Air Force’s fifth Commander.
As Chairman of JPS, Group Captain Mick McLaren’s responsibility was to provide secretarial and joint planning services to the Operations Co-ordinating Committee (OCC) and to conduct studies and produce papers on matters required by the OCC. His permanent staff consisted of six officers, two each from Army, Air Force and Police plus a typist and an Army Warrant Officer as Secret Registry clerk.
The OCC was made up of the Commanders of the Air Force and Army, the Commissioner of Police and the Head of CIO (Central Intelligence Organisation). Mick produced the minutes for all meetings and received instr
uctions for JPS tasks. His staff operated as three teams of two and met regularly under his chairmanship to receive OCC instructions as well as discuss every paper produced. I worked with Lieutenant-Colonel John Shaw. Wing Commander Harry Coleman worked with a Police superintendent and a Police chief superintendent worked with Major John Cole. Anne Webb, who I nicknamed ‘Machine-gun Annie’ because of the incredible speed at which she typed, was typist for the whole staff. Warrant Officer Shaun Stringer ran the Secret Registry.
Initially, I felt awkward with John Shaw; not that he seemed to be aware of this. He was a graduate of the British Army Staff College, had an excellent command of the English language and indulged in crossword puzzles at every opportunity. I learned that he had been a heavy drinker with a very rude and abusive manner but, having dropped the habit, he had become a much nicer person. Because John Shaw did not talk very much and would not join us for a drink in the small JPS bar after working hours, I did not get to know him too well. However, he was great at delegating all work to me so that he could concentrate on the most difficult of crossword puzzles, which he imported from Britain. I profited from this and learned a great deal from him whenever he went through the drafts I had prepared.
Winds of Destruction Page 36
