Thursday 28 December 2017

CORRECTIONS TO CHAPTER 37 PROVIDED BY ROD MURPHY AND JOHN PEIRSON

Rod Murphy and John Peirson have kindly provided me with additional information regarding the Parachuting competitions against our South African friends and as a result I am able to put names to all the South Africans in the photograph outside the Super Frelon helicopter.  John Peirson has alsocorrected my recollection regarding the second competition held at Salisbury Airport in September1972. John's is as follows.

 Memory is a fickle thing Derek de Kock. In fact the second competition against the South Africans at New Sarum did take place and we did kick arse. Although day one was washed out, day two dawned bright and clear and we crammed 4 jumps into one day. 2 different SA loads were fooled by the variable winds and managed to miss the target completely thus handing us the competition on a plate. I won best individual with a high total score and a best jump of 15 centimeters. If you remember, that night we all were driven to the newly completed Mermaids Pool Hotel for a memorable 5 course meal and prize giving. 






I am now able to provide the names of all the competitors shown in the above photograph with many thanks to Rod Murphy who trained the South Africans. Left to Right Standing Garth Barret (Rhodesian SAS), Derek de Kock (Rhodesian Air Force PJI),Rich Carrol (Rhodesian Air Force Safety Equipment Worker who packed all my parachutes at this event, I never packed parachutes in those days I just unpacked them), Iain Bowen (Rhodesian Air Force PJI), Pat Smith (South African), Kevin Potgieter (South African), Johnny Kieser (South African), South African Minister of Defense  dressed in collar and tie, Col.W.P.Louw (South African), Left to Right Kneeling Frank Hales (Rhodesian Air Force PJI), Sege Edelson (South African), John Peirson (Rhodesian Army), Jakkals de Jager (South African), Ollie Holthausen (South African). I apologize for any errors which may have occurred in this chapter but 45 years has dimmed my memory a little.




The above photograph showing some of the Rhodesian Combined Services Parachutists about to climb aboard the Trojan aircraft behind us. We were trying out for a place in the accuracy team to take on our nemesis the South African Armed Forces. We are from LtoR standing Sgt  Iain Bowen, W.O. Trevor Smith, Sqn/Ldr Derek de Kock,  Maj.John Peirson. Kneeling LtoR Cpl Dereck Taylor, Sgt Rich Carrol, Sgt Ralph (The Rat) Moore. 

Many thanks once again to Rod Murphy and John Peirson for correcting the omissions I made on this blog.










































Wednesday 27 December 2017

CHAPTER 37 SHOWING OFF AT THORNHILL OPEN DAY

SHOWING OFF PTS STYLE

The Commander of the Air Force was impressed. He came up to me and said “That was bloody clever”. The crowd were impressed - one even yelled, “Christ! Those are men!” Dammit, I was impressed too. So much for aeroplanes, and helicopters; HALO parachutists are better scene-stealers any day.
 It was October 1972, and there was an at-home day at Thornhill Air Base – an opportunity for the Air Force to strut its stuff in front of family, friends, and the media. I drew the short straw and elected to jump out of a Trojan from 3000 feet and do about a 15-second delay. This meant pulling the ripcord at around about 1000 feet, which is inclined to give one a sense of impending doom.
The plan was that the Trojan would fly in front of the crowd, and make one hell of a noise. Suddenly the power would be turned off and the noise would, dramatically, cease. Then, I would operate a smoke grenade attached to my foot, which was dangling outside the door. I’d jump, fall like a brick to 1000 feet, open my parachute and land, to much applause of course, somewhere near the crowd.
Well, this last part did not happen. I landed on the other side of the runway, close to the fire section, who kindly gave me a lift to my star-struck fans. I took my bow and then waited for the air display to continue.
The Hunters did their thing. The Vampires did their thing. The Helicopters did their thing and last of all, the Dakota stole the show by coming in at 15,000 feet. A stick of eight PJIs jumped out, all were trailing smoke on their feet, all the smoke worked (for once). Every member of this stick then turned onto a given heading and did a Max Track to 2000 feet. Finally they all opened their parachutes and landed in a circle around the airfield, each one about a km apart. It was a magic display, and on this day, because all the smoke grenades worked, it was like looking up the inside of a funnel. Damn, damn impressive!
As the war heated up, things became more serious and we no longer had time to give demonstrations. But at this stage, it was considered a great morale booster, a bit of a recruiting drive, and a chance to show our military might. We also took part in the occasional parachuting competition, and in September 1971, we formed our first Defence Force, parachuting team for a competition against our nemesis, the South Africans.
The basic idea was to hurl yourself out of a Cessna 185, then try to land on a 150mm diameter disc, which was placed in the middle of a circle about six meters in diameter. Sounds easy enough, but when you’re coming in from a great height, at great speed, with the variables of wind, and parachute type to contend with, it’s not that simple.

The Rhodesian team was not restricted to the PTS staff but also included some men who were sky divers with the local club. One of these was Major John Peirson who rivalled Mike Wiltshire in the joke telling department.

A rookie at competitive jumping, I was a little unsure of how to go about it. So I just did my usual thing, come in downwind over the target, turn into the wind when I thought appropriate, and do a proper parachute landing, hopefully on top of the disc. The scoring was such that you were given points based on the distance from the disc where you hit first. If you landed 100 centimetres away from the disc, your score was 100, 200 centimetres away, it was 200 etc.  So as in golf, the lowest score wins.

I managed to do fairly well, and in fact only lost the best on target on the third day because, although I had been offered a re-jump, I was happy with my score of less than one metre from the disc on six consecutive jumps. I was always a cocky bugger!

The South Africans were amazed at our accuracy. They would come in downwind the whole way and land by sticking their feet out and sliding in on their backsides. This was not the PJI way. We did it properly, complete with parachute landing roll on every jump. And, the results would show, our way was better.



This photograph was taken with the Rhodesian Army/Air Force Parachute team and the South African Combined Services Parachute team and includes the South African Minister Of Defense. We were about to board the huge single rotor Super Frelon Helicopter behind us. From Left to Right Major Garth Barret Rhodesian  SAS, Flt/Lt Frank Hales PJI (kneeling),Sqn/Ldr Derek de Kock PJI, Sgt Rich Carrol Rhodesian Air Force Safety Equipment Worker, Sgt Iain  Bowen PJI,  Major John Peirson Rhodesian Army,is seated second from the left in front of the South African Minister Of Defence. Unfortunately I am unable to name the South Africans in this photograph especially after 45 years. The down wash from the huge rotor on this helicopter caused me to somersault soon after I stepped off the lowered ramp but Frank Hales and I still got the base going very smartly. I wish we had been able to do more than the one jump from this chopper the next jump would have been better.  


Whilst we were in South Africa on this particular competition, we had the opportunity to do a fun parachute jump out of a Super Frelon helicopter. This was probably one of the most frightening things I’d ever done up to this time. The idea was for me and Frank Hales to go off the lowered ramp at the rear of this huge chopper and form the base for a big freefall star.




This photograph shows a South African Air Force Super Frelon Helicopter similar to the one we jumped from. It was capable of carrying 38 combat equipped soldiers. Bigger than our Dakota's


The ramp was lowered. Frank and I walked to the end of it, and, although we were about to jump out of the silly thing anyway, I felt extremely unsteady as there was nothing to hold onto. It was a lot like walking the plank. Anyway, we managed to stand there for a while on the run-in and pretty much just fell off when ordered to do so.

 I clearly remember this particular incident because of the insecure feeling I’d had. This defies logic as I was about to jump off it anyway, so balance really did not matter.  The other thing I remember about this jump was the tremendous, and totally unexpected, down wash from the massive rotor blades.

Frank and I very soon had the base going and I think we eventually formed an eight man star before we ran out of time and deployed our parachutes. I would have loved to repeat the jump but unfortunately we were only given one opportunity.  

In September, 1972, we were again involved with a competition against the South African parachutists. The difference this time was that jumping would take place at New Sarum and we would jump from the Trojan.






This Photograph shows some of the Rhodesian combined services parachuting competitors who were about to climb aboard the Trojan aircraft behind us. We would  jump out and try to land on a 150 mm dia disc placed in the middle of a ploughed up area of our DZ off the end of runway 32  Salisbury Airport. The Trojan could take 4 parachutists in the cabin with ease but it was under powered and struggled with the load at Salisbury Airports altitude of 4896 ft ASL. During the selection stage of our competition a fair number of these aircraft had engine problems due to the max power required to get us up to 4500 ft AGL. The photo shows Iain Bowen, Trevor Smith, Derek de Kock,      John Pierson. Kneeling Unknown, Richard Carrol, Ralph(The Rat) Moore.  


The Trojan, as the Rhodesian Air Force called it, was an Aermacchi Lockheed AL60C aircraft which had been obtained in 1967. It had a reasonably spacious fuselage and 4 Free Fall parachutists could fit inside comfortably provided they were not required to carry suspended loads. It could also be flown with the starboard door off.  PTS did a number of trial jumps and frightened one or two pilots by having four of us hanging on to the strut outside the starboard side of the aircraft and then all letting go at once.

The problem with the Trojan was it did not have enough get-up-and-go. All it did was make a lot of noise. It was better suited to operations at sea level, not the 5000ft ASL of Salisbury Airport.  In about two days of training, I believe three or maybe four aircraft had engine problems. They were just not designed for this sort of caper. 


The problem was solved when it actually came time to do the competition. The wind was blowing in excess of 40 knots so we all retired to PTS and drowned our sorrows in beer. The best way to end any competition – I’m betting, as in the previous year, we would’ve kicked South African arse! 

Wednesday 20 December 2017

CHAPTER 36 CULTURE WARS THE EFFECT OF CULTURE ON OUR TRAINING


The cultural divide caused us a few problems. Not only did our instructors come from all corners of the world, and have a variety of exotic accents and phraseology, but many of our black African students had little or no English, and a large proportion came from rural back-waters without any mod-cons.

It was, of course, essential that all students be made to understand safety protocols and this was where the brilliant communication skills of our PJIs came to the fore. For example, one of the PJIs responsible for ensuring the troops understood what was said to them was Paul Hogan, an Australian with a suitably thick Aussie accent. When he conducted his first lesson to a section of Rhodesian African Rifle troops, he would teach them to say “G’day, Sergeant Hogan” for 30 minutes, or until they got it right. This was not as silly as it seems, by doing this he learned their names, got their attention, earned a few laughs, helped them relax, and taught them his name in a way they would never forget.

Another problem with training the Rhodesian African Rifles, and black Selous Scout soldiers was their general inexperience with, and therefore lack of understanding of, and, most importantly, trust in, modern technology. Even small things, like running water, and flushing toilets were new to the men who had joined the RAR straight from the Tribal Trust Lands. Considering these men were being asked, in a language they did not always understand, to use equipment they had never seen before, to jump from a plane they’d never flown in, shows quite remarkable bravery.

As he spoke the language, it was often left to Selous Scout RSM, Sergeant Major Mavengere to instruct some of his troops in how to behave on a sophisticated Air Force base, especially when it came to using the toilets. A notice on one toilet door in Number 3 Squadron toilet, read “Please flush twice, Selous Scouts eat anything.”
But the greatest concern, as always, was over safety. The lack of understanding sometimes resulted in failure of technique which was unacceptable. The SAS in Rhodesia had a 98% pass rate in parachuting, with a 2% failure due to injury, on basic training. The RLI had a 96% pass rate, and a 4% failure rate due to injury on basic training. Usually those who initially failed, completed their parachute course later and were eventually awarded their wings.

The RAR, on the other hand, had about a 70% pass rate, and with the exception of one or two, the 30% who failed the course were returned to their units. Only a small number of these failures managed to sneak back at a later stage and finally pass.
The Selous Scouts only had about a 56% pass rate. This was largely due to the ‘turned terrorist’ factor – as mentioned in an earlier chapter, some of the Selous Scouts were recruited as captured terrorists. These men would be given the option to change their allegiance, or to be sent to trial.

When these Selous Scouts failed, very few would be retrained. Naturally, this caused some frustration amongst the staff of the parachute school, including myself, but I cannot say that I completely blame the turned terrorists for their lack of enthusiasm. I am sure parachuting was never mentioned when they were persuaded to change sides. These things were sent to try us, and we just got on with the job.

Lack of experience, sometimes made parachute training a trial for all troops. For example, when troops were taken up for air experience flights, we’d bring them to the stand-in-the-door position and ask them to look out. This was a bit frightening for those who had not flown before, but was usually ok first thing in the morning, when the air was relatively calm. But everything changed when the pilot was told to take evasive action, or to throw the aircraft around a bit. Then the troops became weightless and it was not uncommon for even the most experienced flyers to empty the contents of their stomachs. On a few occasions some of the RLI troops, who’d had previous parachute training with other forces around the world would try to jump out. The instructors would hang onto their harnesses to prevent them from abandoning the aircraft.


It is a testament to our PJIs that our injury rate due to parachuting incidents remained so very low. Not only did they have to deal with a huge number of trainees, but they also had to contend with a language barrier and a cultural divide. They were damn good teachers.  

Saturday 16 December 2017

MEMORIES OF A PARACHUTE DISPATCHER BY MARK ZAMBRA Part 2




The regime eased a bit once we had qualified and we now started to feel a part of the PTS staff. We were quickly shown the ropes about getting the hanger ready, equipment was serviceable and ready for the training courses that were coming through the school. We were allocated to various PJI`s and assisted in the mock ups dispatching and training the troops, a selection from most of the regiments of the Rhodesian Army. We issued instructions with no fear or favour to troopies and Officers alike and were looking forward to doing it for real.

That day came and we got a chance to test out our finely honed skills:-
Line up all the troops, get them into their kit, equipment check and then march out with them to the waiting aircraft. Up and through the door, sit, lap straps fastened and ready for takeoff.

As we rolled out onto runway 32 or 06 the look upon the faces, the white skin and large eyes and hard swallowing, full of nervous expectation especially if it was their first jump. I can still picture the wide eyed look and remember the smell of adrenaline induced fear.

A great rattling roar as the Dakota accelerated down the runway and we were airborne. The Dispatchers and PJI stood and clipped themselves on in preparation to get the first stick ready. With a signal from the PJI we step to the front of the line and yell to the troops,
 `Right, listen in. Stand up, hook up and check equipment`
There would be a hesitant fumble for the lap straps and then an almost reluctant rise to hook on the Static Line and proceed with the equipment checks. When we were dealing with more experienced troops in the field this all happened much quicker as those guys couldn’t wait to get onto the ground and do the job they were trained to do.
We would then do our checks and wait for the instruction to call the troops to action stations.
`Action stations` and the troops would shuffle uncomfortably towards us, 1,2,1,2,1,2.
A big grin and a thumbs up to the bloke at the front of the stick, one eye on the lights above the door.
Red light on, `stand in the door`, green light `go-go-go`.
A slap on the arm, static line clear, a push or slap on the back of the leg and the stick was moving.
`Troops gone` and then grabbing hold of the bags and pulling them back into the aircraft against the slipstream and stowing them away and getting the next stick ready for their turn.
And so it went on for the next few weeks. If we were not dispatching then we helped out the other members of staff on the DZ in laying it out, driving vehicles and assisting wherever we could or were instructed. We also jumped when we could and rapidly gained more experience.

Then one day Flight came to us and said `OK you lot, we will be going operational tomorrow, pair up and you will get a PJI who will fill you in as to what is going to happen`.
At last!  We were to go out into the bush, to a Forward Airfield where we would meet up with whatever Regiment was based there and get involved with them in defending our country.
I remember packing my kit bag, collecting my rifle from the armoury and going up to the hanger. Then it was down to chat up the girls at Parachute Packing as we picked up a supply of parachutes to take with us. We then trundled them up to the aircraft, loaded, and were soon on our way to the allocated FAF.

A couple of flying hours later we would arrive and having found the parachute store, unload whilst the PJI would report in. We would check out our accommodation and then explore the area, peering into the revetments at the G Cars, the K Car and the other aircraft that happened to be there. We talked and watched the 7 Squadron guys getting ready and tried to get the lowdown on what was happening and what to expect.
Normally the troops we were to dispatch camped a little way from us and we really only got to meet them when the Fire Force was called out and we were equipping them for a jump.

When there was a call out the PJI would come to us and say, `an OP has reported a sighting of X number of gooks and the choppers will be leaving at such and such a time, we will take off approximately X minutes after they have gone. Let’s get all the equipment out and ready`.

We would then lay the parachutes out, ready for the troops just to buckle in to. As the designated time drew near the troops would arrive and with much banter and  humour  we would assist them to kit up and then wait until we got the indication to load the aircraft. When that happened there was a flurry of activity, things quietened down a bit amongst the troops as they prepared themselves physically and emotionally for the jump. Final checks were done and then we boarded and buckled up. We would then take off and proceed to the contact, where we would orbit, watching the proceedings unfold on the ground. If we were called in for a drop, and this did not happen on every contact, we would get everybody up, run through the checks and when prompted get them to the door, red-light, green light, troops gone!

We were able to listen to the radio on a headset and get info on how the drop had gone and how the contact was proceeding. Normally we would then fly back to the FAF or in some circumstances we would proceed to another airstrip where we would wait for the ground forces to be choppered in to us and we would take them back to base.
Most of the trips I have done have become a bit hazy after thirty odd years but there are some occasions that stand out for me, watching from above as the K Car did its stuff, frantans and snebs being used by the Lynx, the mass external drops in Zambia, the forays across the border into Mozambique flying at treetop level, pulling up over a railway line and watching the tracer from the train mounted 12.7 or 14.5mm arching towards us, then going out and wondering if it would hit us. Casualties being collected by us or assisting in the unloading of stretchers from the helicopters. Prisoners being flown to the nearest airstrip to be collected by Special Branch, the organised mayhem of a big external out of Mabalahouta, the thump, thump of the Bells overhead and the sight of foreign registered aircraft on the hardstand. All of these are memories both good and bad but some of the special ones are as follows;

Once, based at Kariba Airport things were pretty quiet as we waited to be called into Zambia so we organized a training jump, both for ourselves and the troops based with us. The troops went out at 800` along the runway and we then climbed to 3000` where I was going to go out as the Freefall drifter. As I stood in the door waiting to go Flight Hogan shouted in my ear ~watch out for the Viscount` and gave me a hefty push out of the door. Out I went thinking Viscount? I did my all round checks and there in the distance I saw a large aircraft away to my right. It was the Air Rhodesia Viscount on finals coming in to land at Kariba. I watched it touchdown and taxi to the terminal before I had to concentrate on my own landing. I thankfully made a decent landing opposite the terminal and was cheered loudly by the watching passengers.

The next day we were called out and after dropping the troops we gave Carabia Bay an almighty beat up in the Dakota, good fun!

Another was when we were based up at Mtoko. We had a trainee pilot in the left seat and I think the Professor in the right. We had dropped the troops and were coming in to land. By now we had accumulated a fair number of flying hours and could tell reasonably well when things were OK or that something was amiss. We noticed the ground getting closer as we approached on finals but the aircraft was slewing sideways and one wing was definitely lower than the other.
`It’s Alright, he will power up, pull out and we will go around again` we all thought. The realisation that this wasn’t going to happen sank in quite quickly and we all buckled ourselves in tightly without saying much and braced ourselves.
When we did hit it was with an almighty thump, we bounced into the air again, came down with another crash, clouds of blue smoke billowed past the door, the tyres were squealing as the pilots fought to regain control and keep the plane on the ground and in a straight line. Once we had stopped and got our breath back we walked up the runway and the skid marks were very, very impressive, at least a couple of a hundred meters long and very snake like!
 Other memories of events happened closer to home. When we were doing a practice jump on runway 32. one of our crew was blown off course by a wind change and could not steer himself away from the Radio Masts and got his parachute tangled up over the top of one of the masts. These masts had to be 70m high and he was up there a long time before they managed to get him down.
Then there was the officer doing his freefall course, his first jump with a square chute and his inability to control it as he disappeared over the fence and behind the trees. Oh heck, we all know what is behind there. ` You, off you go and pick him up, but don’t get the vehicle dirty`. I drove out through the security gates of New Sarum and down the road towards where the officer had last been seen. There he was, all in one piece, parachute all rolled up neatly but neither it nor the officer were the same colour as they both had been earlier. As I got closer I now knew why I had been instructed to not get the vehicle dirty, the officer and all his kit was filthy and the smell would have knocked you down at 20 meters. He had made a graceful landing in the Stations Sewerage Farm.
 `Sorry sir, you will have to ride in the back! `
And so it carried on, three weeks out, a week or so back at PTS catching up, doing a few jumps and then back out again until it could be seen that the writing was on the wall and the powers that be were negotiating an end to the Bush war and we were all called back to New Sarum for good.
Once there we discovered that the Yanks were coming!!. Not only the Yanks but the Canadians and the Poms too. A huge field camp was being put up and the enormous Galaxy Starlifters were being parked on the civilian side of the airport and huge quantities of equipment were being unloaded.
The Monitoring Force had arrived and the changeover to Zimbabwe had begun.
Realizing that we were not needed any more we went through the process of signing out of the Army, bidding a fond farewell to  that  tremendous collection of people and nationalities who made up the Parachute Training School and moving out into civilian life.
To all the guys that were there with me, both above in rank and below, thank you for the memories.
Mark `Harry` Zambra

Dispatcher

Friday 15 December 2017

MEMORIES OF A PARACHUTE DISPATCHER BY MARK ZAMBRA Part1



THE STORY OF THE PARACHUTE TRAINING SCHOOL TERRITORIALS 

The Rhodesian Air Force Parachute Training School was required to provide at least two PJI's per Dakota load of paratroops, or one PJI and two trained Parachute Dispatchers. The PJI was responsible for the safe dispatch and had the authority to stop a para drop if he was not satisfied with all the safety procedures involved. Due to the shortage of PJI's required for training more and more Static Line and Free Fall paratroops it became necessary to train a number of Territorial Force (T.F.) personnel to fill this role. All dispatchers in Rhodesia had to complete a parachute course. This is their story. Derek de Kock  

The papers arrived in early 1978; report to Moffat Hall at 0800hrs. Upon arrival a  seething mass of young men, all looking terrified, signing on, mums and dads trying to say goodbye greeted us before we were all herded onto large trucks and shipped out to Cranbourne Barracks. We were then told to fall in onto the playing field, all the while trying to chat with people you recognize, asking them what or where they were trying to get into, all of us bewildered and unsure.

Then in front of us, taking it in turns, appeared various representatives from different units, describing the activities and responsibilities of their particular mob, looking for volunteers to stand and be prepared to join them. At intervals guys were standing and being whisked off to places unknown by these regulars in front of us.
I remember hearing the word `aeroplane` being mentioned as I was watching the chaos around me and my ears pricked up as I had tried for the Pilots Training Course and had been turned down because of my height - `you will lose your legs if you have to eject from a Hunter` was the reason given. I listened to the guys in blue in front of us, regaling us with stories about how rewarding it was to jump out of fully serviceable aircraft, the thrill of floating down under a full canopy to alight gently in a field of mown grass, as well as the satisfaction of  helping and teaching others how to do all this. I thought at the time this sounds just for me, the thought of flying, both in an aircraft and under a canopy so I found myself on my feet and volunteering. The only problem to the details told to us, as I was to find out a lot later, not all DZ`s are a field of mown grass!

The few other guys and I that had stood up were hustled away by the men in blue and what seemed in great haste we were chucked into the back of a Land Rover and rushed off to New Sarum. I think this was in case we changed our minds as the thought of what we had done was now sinking in.
The first couple of days seemed to pass in a bit of a blur as we were issued with uniforms, mess kits, bedding and all the other paraphernalia that we now had to sort out, polish and fold to the highest military standard. We were shown to the Barracks to select a bed, make it and put away your clobber in the lockers just, so otherwise at inspection, if it was a hair out of alignment the bed was out the window and your kit scattered across the room and you had to start again
.
While we were sorting out the Barrack Room, chatting quietly to the other guys around us, about and generally trying to discover what the form was, an almighty BANG and a roar like thunder pierced the air. Our nemesis had arrived, Warrant Officer Jackman! I am pretty sure that I still carry the scars from that Pace Stick on my shins and head.
`You, is that a button undone` smack `don’t look down` smack `I didn`t tell you to do that` smack `around the Drill Square at the double until I tell you to stop` smack. Oh I have vivid memories of that ebony and brass Pace Stick.

Basic training continued, drill, inspections, weapon training, medicals, cross country runs, firing range and then doing it all again day after day.
 W.O. Jackman in his element!

Then one day the men in blue reappeared and rounded up all of us that were due to join the Parachute Training School. We were formed up one morning and doubled up to the PTS Hanger.
The first impression of PTS was one of a very large building, huge doors open at each end and a strange rhythmic chanting emanating from it; 1,2,1,2,1,2,1,2, people running everywhere, seemingly falling over at random intervals and swinging from various pieces of apparatus, bewildering and confusing.




This is the only photograph I have been able to obtain showing the Territorial Force Parachute Dispatchers who were trained by Flt/Sgt Paul Hogan. In Rhodesia all the Parachute Dispatchers had to complete a basic static line parachute course. They were then taught all the necessary checks and procedures to ensure that the paratroops arrived on the DZ in readiness to fight. They were all volunteers and once trained were sent out to join their PJI on Fire Force. They were to man the Dakota thus relieving one of the PJI's who could then train more Paratroopers at PTS. The only two I am able to name are the two seated PJI's Sqn/Ldr Frank Hales and the PJI instructor Flt/Sgt Paul Hogan 

`Halt and wait here was the order` we stood transfixed watching the melee, when we were greeted by `G`day you horrible lot`. Flight Sergeant Paul Hogan had just introduced himself to us. Flight was to become our Parachute Jump Instructor and guide us through the next three weeks of ground training.

Over the course of our training Flight Hogan instructed and guided us all through our paces and gradually the whole chaos and confusion began to make sense.

We were being trained to jump out of an aeroplane safely: - `Forward left, go! Back right, go! Side left, go! Elbows in, chin down, feet together, knees bent, fall, twist and roll and so it went on. The acrid smell of the coir mats as you fell heavily upon them,
 `Do it like that in the field and you will end up in hospital, you horrible little man`,
 `Yes Flight, sorry Flight`
The incessant drone and repetitive actions from the mock ups along the hanger walls –
`stand up, hook up, check equipment, snap hook and pin, helmet, reserve, quick release box, safety clip, body band, thump on the back, action stations, 1,2,1,2,1,2, red light on, stand in the door, green light, go, go,  go!`
An uncomfortable roll on the mats and the `right back inside, let’s do it again until we get it right`.
`Tomorrow we are going up there` yelled Flight as he gestured upwards.
Now we had all been watching with, I must admit, with trepidation some other poor  unsuspecting souls being thrown off this platform high in the dark regions of the hanger roof and had wondered when it would be our turn. Well, it was upon us.
Up on the platform the people looked minute, the fan that we were clipped onto with a very thin wire even smaller.
`No worries, just jump out on my command as you have been instructed and the fan will soften your impact` yelled Flight.
`Yeah right` muttered quietly to oneself.
`Stand in the door, green light – go`
Bloody hell, on the mat, nothing broken and feeling a quiet sense of achievement.
`You horrible little man, what kind of exit was that, legs apart all the way down and you call that a parachute roll, up and do it again, properly this time` soon woke you out your reverie.
Then it was onto other pieces of equipment, the swinging harness was one.
`Lift him up, OK canopy drill` from Flight.
`Look up, check canopy, kick out of twists, all round observation, adopt proper parachute position` from the hapless student.
`Right oh! Forward left landing, turn your feet and tuck your elbows in`
A clatter of the rope, the pulleys and, smack, into the mats, winded shocked and a bit stunned – no roll!
`Stop reaching for the ground, back up again and again, side right, side left, back left, back right, forwards, sideways until the perseverance of Flight Hogan got us all through it.
And so it went on and before we knew it Flight came to us with a sadistic grin and said `right boys, tomorrow 0600, your first jump, clean fatigue from 1000`.

An extraordinary feeling, knowing that tomorrow we were going to jump out of an aeroplane and hopefully float gently to the ground. Not much sleep was had that night.
A clear morning greeted us, not much chatter as we doubled up to the hanger in the first light of dawn.
`Grab your chutes and reserves, lay them out and check, then kit up`
The butterflies were enormous, the body bands and straps felt too tight, difficult to breathe. Chinstrap too tight, not really noticing the other guys going through the same emotions, more worried about one’s own self preservation.
`Fall into two lines, forward march` yelled Flight. We marched outside through the hanger doors following the PJI`s towards the Dakota parked 100m away with its motors running.
`OK, listen in. The first stick will board now, the rest of you wait till the plane gets back`. I was in the second stick and waiting wasn`t going to help how I was feeling. I started smoking at that point, having never touched a cigarette before and only gave up in 2004. I don’t remember who gave me that smoke but I won’t hold it against them!
The roaring of the Dak as she came back up the hardstand was mind blowing, the beckoning hands of the PJI`s calling us aboard, the clumsy steps towards the aircraft, the clambering up the steps and then pushing and making your way down the fuselage to your hard and uncomfortable seat, all vivid in my mind – what happened subsequently is not.
I have a vague recollections of the plane taking off, standing up, hooking up, equipment check and then 1,2,1,2,1,2, to action stations; the howl of the wind, the grinning face of Flight Hogan and the other dispatchers as they prepared to chuck us out.
Suddenly the blokes in front of me were gone and I was thrust out into what seemed to be a hurricane.
Instantly it was quiet and the rigorous training took over, look up and check canopy and all round observation, kick out of seat strap and adopt parachute position.
`Bloody hell, I can’t see anyone, the canopy is round and full, must be alright, where do I go? `
Looking down I can see a lot of little people looking up and they seem to be shouting at me. They might as well have been using a foreign language, I couldn’t understand a thing.
Another look around, look down and hell that ground is looking close, oh boy it is and it is getting closer rapidly.
Think, remember, proper parachute position, elbows in, check direction of drift, get ready for a roll, bang, I am down.
I do remember lying there checking various portions of my anatomy thinking `yep, it’s all where it should be, bloody hell, I have just survived my first jump out of an aircraft`, when:-
`Oi, don’t just lie there, get out of your harness, roll your chute up and double back to the truck`.
The next jumps over that week, clean fatigue, with weapon, with CSPEP, with weapon and CSPEP and at different heights all seemed to go well and I found myself starting to enjoy them.
The night jump out at the Aero modellers Club was exceptional. The night was clear, I could see lights in the distance, I could hear the aircraft flying around for the next run in and the stars were shining as I floated down. To cap it off, it was my first stand up landing, soft as anything, not that anyone knows this of course! I walked out from under my canopy thinking that this is what those boys in blue must have been talking about all those weeks ago.
Our ninth jump came around all too soon and we were congratulated by all the staff upon us passing our Parachute Training Course. We were now well on our way to becoming fully trained Dispatchers.
A short time later the CO came to us and said that we would be doing a qualifying jump after which Wing Commander Grier would present us with our Berets. Parents and others would be allowed onto the DZ to watch the event.
It was a very proud moment for me to stand in front of the Wing Commander and receive my Beret knowing that my parents were there to witness it all.

Thursday 14 December 2017

CHAPTER 35 WHAT WE GOT UP TO WHEN WE WEREN'T PARACHUTING: SNAKES,STUPID BETS& THINGS THAT GO BANG




This photograph shows a 3 Squadron Rhodesian Air Force Parra Dakota  parked on the hard standing outside
the Parachute Training School Hangar at New Sarum. The anti Strella exhaust  shields can be seen fixed under the wings and the aircraft is painted with the anti Strella camo paint scheme.  

We were a multi-talented bunch in the PTS, and, on the rare occasion when things were quiet, we were given a bunch of other stuff to do. At the time we liked to think it was because of our great ingenuity and enterprise, but now, I suspect, it was mainly to keep us out of mischief.

As an example of the odd jobs we were given, towards the end of 1964, PTS was tasked with guarding a number of detainees. These prisoners were picked up from New Sarum, flown to the low-veld and finally handed over to the police. Many of these men did not understand English, and had certainly never flown in a plane before. They thought they were about to be knocked on the head, or thrown out of the aircraft, which caused quite a lot of anxious sweating on their part. The resulting smell inside the cabin was eye-watering.

 We took the parachute door off the Dakota to let the smell out and the fresh air in. In retrospect this action would not have helped their nerves and may have increased the adrenalin induced smell. We never thought about it at the time. We all wore dispatcher parachutes or safety belts hooked to the overhead parachute cable, and we were armed with baseball bats for our protection.

These guys had been rounded up by the police and were being shifted into other areas where it was hoped they could be observed in an environment which did not allow them to create mischief. To my knowledge, nothing was ever done to these chaps, certainly not in my presence. But this was our little contribution to the prison services of Rhodesia.

Another of the sundry tasks we were set, was to organise and run the Annual President’s Medal rifle shooting competition on the New Sarum rifle range, which was also built by the Parachute Training School. I learned to drive a bulldozer, was dragged into being Station Adjutant from time to time, and was also the President of the Mess Committee for a short time. Other members of PTS filled in as Station Warrant Officer and OC Admin Wing, and we did learn to play very good Bridge. On top of this, we were occasionally charged with such tasks as a FAF (Forward Air Field) Commander or FAF Guard Commander and were also involved with building chalets at the Air Force Welfare Site in Kariba.

Whilst in Kariba, we often drove to the township for a few beers after a long day’s work. On this memorable occasion, we were in a truck, with Mike Wiltshire and John Boynton standing in the back, looking over the cabin. As we drove down the main road, towards Kariba, we ran over a Black Mamba snake, lying, stretched across the road. It was a big bugger. Mike, always a font of useless information, said, with great authority, “Do you know, John, snakes sometimes wrap themselves round the back axle of a truck. Later they come up through the floor and bite somebody in the back of the truck?”
 “Shut up,” said John, “I don’t want to hear that sort of crap. I hate snakes.” (I’m pretty sure Mike knew this already). And so the seed was sown.

About half an hour later, there was a mighty, high-pitched scream, followed by a lot of jumping and stamping in the back of the truck. We pulled over quickly, concerned, judging by the racket, one of them was having a major seizure. What we saw was two hysterical men – one with laughter, and the other with anger.

Mike had allowed the seed he had planted to germinate for a while. Then, just as John was beginning to relax, he got two matchsticks and jabbed them into the back of John’s leg. Convinced he was under attack from a partly squashed, very angry snake, he almost jumped off the back of the truck.

A murder was almost committed when he realised what had happened. We entertained ourselves for many days, maybe even months afterwards, teasing John.  Soon everyone in PTS greeted him with, “Seen any snakes today John.”

Another job we were tasked with happened after an attack on New Sarum by an enemy mortar team, who fired a number of 60 mm mortar rounds at the station. Fortunately, they weren’t very good at it, and missed by about 1000 yards.

When I arrived at the gate to carry out early morning parachuting, I was told we could not parachute that day as there may be unexploded mortar bombs on the DZ. “Don’t worry,” I said, “If we find any, we’ll call you to remove them.” So, parachuting took place that morning as usual. Afterall, a 60 mm mortar bomb is a very small target for any parachutist to hit, and, luckily, we never found any.

 But, after this incident, it was decided the Air Force would be responsible for guarding its own airfields. The Army could no longer guarantee the security of the airdields due to the escalating terrorist problem, and therefore, the Air Force, had to provide sufficient personnel from its own resources to carry out this task. Approximately 80 technicians were trained to be combat ready to carry out this security. Of course, as the PTS had the only trained soldiers in the Air Force, this task had to be allotted to us.

We asked for 20,000 rounds of 7.62mm ammunition per week, 10 MAGs, 20 NATO grenades, 10 AK 47s and 2000 rounds of AK 47 ammunition, a number of thunder flashes, some terrorist stick grenades, and various other things that went bang. In an indication of our limited resources, Air Force headquarters nearly had a fit. I’d asked for more than a year’s supply of 7.62mm ammunition for the entire Air Force for one week’s training.

The only thing we’d teach these men was to patrol as quietly as possible, and to shoot at terrorists and not each other. With a MAG firing at a rate of approximately 1000 rounds per minute, this allocation would only give each man one minute’s training. They eventually gave it to us, but then there was another issue.

 The armaments people thought the PJIs were not qualified to instruct in the use of small arms and grenades. Max Caton the WO/IC the armaments section came to PTS to test the PJIs.  I tossed a grenade to Charlie Buchan and said “Sergeant, please tell us about that.”  Charlie gave, a completely off the cuff lecture on grenades and on how to prime and use them. Max was most impressed – it was one of the best explanations he’d ever heard. He let us get on with the job and we never heard from the armament section again.

Of course we knew what we were doing. At times there were more explosives inside the PTS hangar than there were in the Air Force Bomb Dump, especially when parachuting operations were about to take place and hundreds of troops were involved. If the PJIs did not know how to handle weapons or explosives, then PTS would have been a very dangerous place to be in.

  Mike Wilsthsire was the absolute master of our famous, can-do attitude. It was not beyond him to modify anything – even, as it happens, a Dakota. Whilst on one Fire Force, it was necessary to drop resupplies to a number of SAS call signs operating over the border inside Mozambique, but every time they flew these missions they were fired upon. Our Mike was not about to accept this! They would just have to turn the ol’Dak into a fire-breathing fighter plane that could definitely shoot back.

He, the Dakota crew and his RLI mates, turned the plane into their own version of Puff the Magic Dragon. They made up a steel frame, and mounted four MAGs onto it. This contraption was positioned in the parachute door, secured to the floor, then, when needed, all four guns were fired together, with a high mixture of tracer rounds in the belts.

Apparently, the performance was something to behold. The pilot had a mark on his side cockpit window which he lined up on to the target then ordered the PJI in the rear to open fire. He then flew the tracer stream onto the target.
The only problem was to ensure a decent supply of ammo and to prevent the cartridge cases from damaging the aircraft or creating a hazard in the cabin.  I never saw it myself, and at the time thought it best not to mention it to anyone else. But this was the sort of thing these guys would do and I often wonder what other things they got up to without my knowledge.


I couldn’t really say anything though, because when it came to not exactly following protocol, I set the tone. Once, for example, I was the FAF Commander of FAF2 at Kariba. Things were very quiet so I decided to fly on a reconnaissance trip down the Zambezi River to Kanyemba. The aircraft was to fly low and slow, down the river to check sandbanks for human footprints, which could indicate a terrorist presence. 

In order to make life a little more interesting, and also because it was very hot, I removed the door and sat in the second pilot’s seat.The pilot was a South African, and did not know I was a parachutist. He just assumed, justifiably, that I was a fellow pilot. After about an hour of flying at 50 feet above the Zambezi, looking for tracks, he asked if I would like to drive for a while. I couldn’t believe my luck!  ‘Sure,’ I said, pretending it was an absolutely routine question, ‘Not a problem.’

Of course, I’d never touched the controls of an aircraft in flight before. But hell, I’d seen it done hundreds of times. It looked simple enough – and really, what could possibly go wrong? I eased the stick back a little, until we were flying at approximately 100-200 feet and basically taught myself how to fly! On the approach to Kariba, the pilot asked, “Have you landed one of these tail-draggers before?” After a moments hesitation, I decided I’d better answer truthfully, so said “No.” “Well, okay, follow me through.”I supposed he meant me to keep my hands on the controls and follow what he did without taking any action. Everything went fine and he plonked it neatly on the runway.

After we taxied in and shut down, I said “As a matter of interest, I’m not a pilot, I’m a parachutist, and that was the first time I ever touched the controls of an aircraft in flight. Thanks very much.”  The blood drained from his face. But we’d survived and that night had a few beers together. He offered to teach me to fly legitimately but, unfortunately the war returned, and I had to get back to the PTS.

Then there was that time, very early in my career I have to say, that a number of stupid instructors, including myself, decided we would have a race to the ground. We’d jump out in a stick of four instructors, and the last man on the ground would buy the beer! We were geniuses!

The idea was to pull the rigging lines down until we had the canopy in hand, collapsing the parachute. This, of course, enabled you to hurtle ground-ward. At a crucial moment, we would let everything go, the parachute would fully open, and we would have enough time to slow down before actually hitting the dirt.

 Being young, stupid and (theoretically) bullet-proof, I did not look in the direction I drifted. Just as I decided I was close enough to the ground to let everything go, I collided with Mercer Thompson. I was the low man and slammed into the ground flat on my back. I heard the DZ Safety Officer shout “Is he dead? Is he dead?” I was so winded, I could not reply, but managed to sit up to indicate I was still, miraculously, in one piece. I did not buy the beer but it did teach me I was not bullet-proof. Just incredibly stupid. I never made any reckless wagers again. At least not any involving parachuting.

As the war escalated we did not have the time to mess around, and our job became less varied, but more exciting.


Thursday 7 December 2017

THE DENIS (CHARLIE) BUCHAN STORY



-Memories of a great time with friends and colleagues at No 1 PTS New Sarum

. Denis Buchan known as Charlie by everybody was the epitomy of the best possible PJI. He was short in stature extremely neat and tidy in appearance had a cheerful attitude but had bite when giving orders..,One took him for granted at one's peril.Charlie was a very experienced British Soldier who had served with Britain's 22nd SAS in Borneo and in Yemen and Oman. Charlie was the only person I know who was able to take down morse code being sent at speed by another, PJI Ralph More. Charlie was also an excellent weapons instructor and explosives expert, in fact a very handy chap to have around in the Parachute Training School It was not long before Charlie was promoted to FLt/Sgt then Warrant Officer and he became my Operations Officer as an Air/Lt. Charlie was awarded the Commander's commendation for saving the life of a helicopter pilot when  their aircraft hit power lines and crashed into a dam. Charlie's cool actions and sound judgement in releasing the pilots harness from the up turned helicopter undoubtedly saved his life. As far as I was concerned Charlie Buchan had the most amazing ability to turn the ordinary RAT PACK into a gourmet feast fit for any table.As usual Charlie Buchan's Story is almost all of the amusing times we had and very little of the deadly serious times we had, in other words a typical serviceman's story. I am sure you will enjoy his tale. Last but not least Charlie Buchan is the only person I know who looks the same now as he did 40 years ago. Must be the brand of Scotch you drink Charlie.  Derek de Kock  

Hi Derek
  As requested I am going to attempt to cast my memory back a long time ,and hopefully give some input to the book about the school. My first recollection of the school was Boet Swart calmly informing us new, hopeful recruits that he personally Hated Parachuting. Which we were soon to find out was very true. He would study the wind machine very carefully each morning and any wind over 5 knots was a definite NO NO. It was also quite nerve wracking watching our Trg Officer Derek each morning using I would guess about 3 or 4 metres of bandages for strapping around his knees. It doesn’t give one much confidence i’m  afraid.  What a happy bunch we were. Ralph the rat. Mike Wiltshire ,John Boynton,  Iain Bowen. Paul Hogan who was just as mad as his famous Aussie namesake

   I remember during our training descents I had on one occasion a visitor into my rigging lines, a very worried Mike Wiltshire. A few words were passed. CB “Where the F******K did you come from.”MW. “ I don’t  know, will I die”. CB if you don’t stop thrashing around like a bl++++++dy maniac we both will.” Needless to say we both survived. It was a very proud moment when we passed out ,and I remember a certain Sqn Leader in 3sqn commenting that we were all dwarfs as Derek didn’t like anyone taller than him on parade. Quite amusing as George Alexander was no giant himself.

Sargent Denis Buchan being presented with his PJI Brevet by the Rhodesian Army Commander
Lt/Gen Coster on 10th September 1971




The senior PJI s of the Rhodesian Air Force Parachute Training School in Sept !974. Lto R Kevin Milligan, ,Iain Bowen, Derek de Kock, Mike Wiltshire,Ralph Moore, John Boynton, Charlie Buchan Frank Hales, with David Bar Bear.


 It is without doubt a great honour to have been taught the trade of PJI with the stalwarts that were there when I arrived. I must admit it gives you a great feeling to have the power of despatching those of a very high Rank out of an aircraft ,and even Generals have to GO. However back to memories. On the lighter side before the day’s of fire force and deep drops in a few neighbouring countries we as a team excelled in many Demo drops. One comes to mind that our beloved leader Derek organised near Gwelo. A free fall demo to a school. Don’t ask, none of us knew why. After a nice flight down we finally exited the Dak. Horror on looking down I was staring down the barrel of a power station stacks. Which I may add was belching forth in all it’s glory. Trailing our own smoke, no competition to what was coming up, we set off on the fastest track I believe ever done by members of the school. I thought I was quick but I believe Ralph the Rat broke the sound barrier on the way past me. Derek on the ground said to us (wasn’t that exciting) if he heard our reply we would all have been subjected to a court martial.  





Iain Bowen Charlie Buchan and one of our Safety Equipment Workers Rich Carrol when they formed a team to compete in the local Sky Diving Championships.


 During my time free falling I had my moments. Two main canopy failures, one after the other at New Sarum testing the Tactical Assault Mk2. Only to be encouraged by Derek’s remark.”Carry on like that Charlie and you will have Knees like mine.” Heaven forbid. My favourite memory however was night free Fall. Our brilliant Professor Mike Wiltshire designed a set of lights to put on our back so we could see each other at night. When we walked around at night these lights flashed off and on like those on a xmas tree. The night free fall trials started with great gusto. Alas this was not to continue. As the nights and the jumping continued and the fit PJI’s got less and less. The hangar began to look like the Salisbury Hospital Orthopaedic Ward. You can imagine the faces of the recruits when they arrived to start their Basic Course. Soon we were down to three. This experiment was finally cancelled on the night I had inverted rigging lines. A strange experience at night when toggles are in the wrong place and steering becomes a nightmare. What’s forward, or worse Backwards. “Thanks Merv great packing”. The final straw for Derek was that Frank, our Trg  Officer, landed very hard on a rock. As we walked past him he called out in the pitch darkness, “Where are you”?  I replied. “Over here”. Frank then proceeded to walk over the edge of a bloody great rock he had landed on, and if I remember correctly broke his ankle. My delight was great as our beloved leader finally called it a day. I still get a laugh when I remember watching my mates instructing recruits with arms in plaster ,and hobbling around on crutches, never mind the look on the recruits faces.

   Another great experiment was the BOX. A free Fall box to go with a team of SAS Free Fallers on OPS.I believe we must have destroyed quite a few well made crates before we got it correct. The fun was in following this torpedo on it’s way towards earth. I remember on one occasion it failed and crashed into the ground in Seki quite close to a village. On arrival we were met on the DZ by Derek in a bit of a panic .When we arrived near the village we went a hunting. We finally found the BOX very close to an African long drop toilet. As we approached clothes and a lone boot could be seen sticking out from under the box. Staring at this with a very serious look on his face Frank Hales turned round  and said to Derek. “There is the Nigger in the woodpile”. Needless to say we all collapsed in hysterics except Derek. He didn’t know we had filled the box with old clothes and boots from the QM’s store. I will never forget the look on your face Boss.

   Another incident was when I was the no.1 and Ralph and Mike were to push out the box. As usual Mike was carrying on in the back and not paying much attention. We had placed the box right on the edge so it would be easy to push out. When the Green came on I gave the signal and Ralph pushed it out. MIke suddenly realised what was happening turned round to help. TOO LATE. He pushed at nothing and fell in the door, half in and half out. Not hanging around Ralph jumped over him and I grabbed his legs and tossed him out. Mike reckoned he screamed for 10seconds before he suddenly realised he was wearing a chute and that he was supposed to be doing this.

     As you will have noticed by now The memories have been of amusing encounters I was involved at whilst at the school. I am going to continue with this for a while and bring up the more serious things at a later date. One memory that really sticks out occurred late  during the day. We had been sitting in the film room a large contingent of the SAS about to take part in an Operational jump. It was decided by higher authority that a nice Blue Movie rather than a training one be shown to the waiting troops. If my memory serves me correctly the name Debbie Does Dallas comes to mind. However the movie was brought by a member of the SAS unbeknown to our Leader Derek. During the showing we received a visitor in the shape of Col Breytenbach visiting us from South African Forces plus others. The cinema was dark and we did not know there was a lady present. Enters Mike Wiltshire late as usual, and in his own way sums up the situation wrongly. Peering through the peephole cries out in a very broad American accent for all to hear. “Suck my D ********K”. Imagine the panic inside the room. The troops collapsed in an uncontrollable state of laughter, I myself collapsed on the projector floor. Ian Bowen told Mike who was in the room. Mike exited at the speed of light, closely followed by Derek from the cinema. Derek was not amused. We as a team missed the meeting between them, much to our dismay. Life in the Para school was anything but dull.





This is a photograph of Basic Static Line Course 49, and shows the senior PTS staqff seated from LtoR Sgt Ralph (the Rat) Moore, Flt?Lt Frank Hales,Sqn/Ldr Derek de Kock, WO2 Denis (Charlie) Buchan, Flt/Sgt John Boynton,Sgt Mike Wiltshire.


 When the introduction of the fire force came into being our life changed quite dramatically. The PJI’s were suddenly subjected to heavy bouts of training on an never ending sequence. To train a whole Regiment of RLI and later on RAR was quite a feat. A great deal must be said for the stamina of the PJI’s who worked all hours to train the recruits and still flew with them on OPS and took part in Fire Force .To be attached to a unit in the bush for a month at a time and then return to training was a none stop cycle. During this time we still had to take part in Demos to show the flag, and various other duties agreed upon by our beloved Boss. One being Training the Air Force Regiment security as some of us being SAS trained were ideal for the job. Or so Derek told one and all.

   My beloved leader even roped me into flying in a chopper for Radio signals and distance trials. This resulted in the chopper hitting illegal power lines strung across the dam, resulting in the pilot ( Ken Blain )and myself going for a swim in the dam. Another one was flying with  the pilots when the new training aircraft arrived. Have you ever sat beside a pilot doing aerobatics, who has the nerve to tell you to take notes when you are upside down or hurtling towards the earth at a great rate of knots. Not Funny, and then complain he couldn’t read my writing. Revenge would be mine.

    Revenge would come in the form of an annual Water Descent. Every year the pilots and other members of the air force and the army used to take part in an annual Water Jump. This was to ensure they would know what to do if the occasion arose when they would need to abandon an aircraft, or just to keep up their parachuting skills as required by the army. It gave us much delight to have them in the hanger for training as when do you get the chance to order around Senior Officers ,who have to obey your every command. From General Walls, to high ranking Air Force officers they were all there to leap into Lake MckiIwaine. My favourite of them all was our Padre Norman Wood, quite a nervous parachutist. Remarks to him like (This is the closest to Head Office you have been in a long time ) or singing Onward Christian Soldiers when the Red Light was on, went down like a lead balloon.
Well this is my first couple of pages for you all to peruse and when I get a bit more time I will put a little bit more to paper
   Take care of yourselves
       Yours aye

     Charlie Buchan.