CHAPTER 25 TARGET MARKING FOR 5 SQUADRON

6th of January 1977, a normal day at PTS, beginning with a 3.30am start. Over a cup of hot tea in the crew room, I briefed the 3 Sqn Pilots for the usual early morning training sorties. On this occasion we had static line drops followed by HALO training from 8000ft AGL on each sortie. I despatched the stick of static line, and then the free fall sticks. I also followed down some HALO trainees to report on their landing technique, after which we were all picked up for a second HALO lift, and again I followed these guys down to check their performance. This was all before an 8.30am breakfast. Just another day in the office.

We had just sat down to breakfast when I was called to the phone and told to report to O.C. Flying. First, I finished my breakfast – I was very hungry. Then I reported to O.C. Flying who handed me a Top Secret Air Task - I was to HALO drop two Selous Scouts. Nothing too unusual about that, but normally these soldiers jumped way over the border. This time they were to be dropped at a point inside Rhodesia, a remote area inside the Gonarezhou Game Reserve. Strange. Very strange. Had the terrs moved in and occupied a piece of Rhodesia? Mine was not to reason why, just to get on with the job and drop these two Selous Scouts on to the target.

 We collected the usual maps and photographs and obtained a weather forecast for the area up to 20000ft AGL. The PJI working with me, made sure the oxygen bottles were charged and working and we also collected and cleaned our personal weapons.

At about 3pm the two Selous Scouts, Capt Chris, “Schullie,” Schulenberg and Sgt Steven, arrived in the hangar and the HALO box was collected from #3 Air Supply Platoon. I noticed this particular box had a crash pad on the bottom and assumed it was packed with something delicate. I was told it was a new electronic gizmo called a RAMS or a Radio Activated Marker System. I would learn of the impact of this new gadget later.

We all studied the map and aerial photos and selected the spot to aim for. The Air Task called for a last light drop which meant about a 4.30pm take-off. The pilots arrived, including Skipper Flt/Lt Walker-Smith, a VR Dakota Captain, and were briefed on the route and the direction for final run up to the drop point.

It was a very warm January  afternoon and I was sweating after pulling on all my extra clothing for the cold air at altitude. We fitted parachutes and rifles and headed out to the aircraft. We took off in a southerly direction at a steady climb rate.

As we flew along, I occasionally stuck my head out the door to check our progress and give the odd course correction. Just as it was getting dark we turned onto our final run up to the drop point. We were now at 17000 ft AGL and running in. The drop point was clearly visible so I called the stick of two to action stations and pointed out the target and the drop point. I pushed the HALO box into position, and armed the KAP3 auto opener. As we flew over the spot I shoved the box out and the stick followed. As usual we flew on and soon got the news that the box, and the stick, had landed Smack. On. Target. Gee I was getting good at this caper!

Next morning it was back to the usual: Up at 3am, cup of tea at 3.30am, brief the pilots, climb on board the ever faithful Dakota, climb to 8000ft AGL, jump out, follow a trainee down, land, debrief trainee, put on new parachute, climb on board again, follow another trainee, land, debrief, fit another parachute, climb aboard, follow yet another trainee, land, and debrief. All before breakfast.  Phew! PTS was a very busy, very exhausting place at this time. It was the same most days and it was the same for most of us.

 On 11th January 1977 I received another top secret Air Task. Again I was to drop two Selous Scouts and a fragile HALO box. This time, they would not be landing within our borders but deep inside the Gaza Province of Mozambique.

Fortunately because of early morning training drops the PTS hangar was clear in the afternoons so when two scruffy looking Selous Scouts arrived no questions were asked. Who should these two men be? You guessed it, none other than the famous Capt Chris Schulenberg and his side-kick Sgt Steven.

Turns out the previous drop was a trial run. The RAMS was a device developed by the Air Force radio section at New Sarum. It would be placed near the intended target by special operations forces such as Schullie and Steven. Contained within the RAMS were one or two flares which could be ignited by a signal from the approaching plane. The flares would indicate the location of the target and allow for accurate bombing.

This was to be the first operational use of the device. Schullie came into my office and we studied the 1 in 50000, very detailed map, and the aerial photo of the spot he wanted me to drop him. We obtained the met forecast for the winds every 1000 ft up to 20000ft and plotted the spot where we needed to drop the box and the two HALO soldiers.

Because of the very clandestine nature of this operation the parachute drop had to be just on last light. The plan was for Schullie and Steven to position two RAMS at precise points. These flares would be operated by a radio signal to enable the 3 Canberra bombers to accurately drop 900 bouncing bombs on an occupied terrorist camp at 4am the next morning. The camp was a transit camp for terrorists on their way into Rhodesia and was called Madulo Pan. It was a very significant target and could not be attacked using ground forces as there were too many escape routes.

 We boarded the Dakota at about 4pm and set off climbing to a drop height 20,000ft AGL, and about 21,000ft ASL over Madulo Pan. Fortunately the weather was clear and I was able to pick up my chosen navigation points down to the chosen spot where we flew over the border.

Now we were over enemy territory and the dead-flat, featureless country of Mozambique. Luckily the Cabora Bassa power line was easily seen and from there it was press the stop watch type navigation. I had my head out of the door looking for a gully and a clump of trees in a clear area. We flew on at a steady pace until the pilots advised we were about 5 mins out. I called the two men down to action stations, armed the KAP3 on the box, and hooked the static line for the pilot chute to the overhead cable.

 Just as it was getting dark down below I picked up the gully and there was the clump of trees which marked the drop point. Luck was on my side or was it now becoming a well-honed skill? A few minor corrections and we were over the exact point. Out went the box followed by the two, very brave soldiers.

We carried on for another ten minutes before slowly turning and heading for the safety of the Rhodesian border and home. Schullie came up on the radio and said they were spot on target and he, Steven and the box were all safely on the ground.

Great! Now for a bit of shut-eye on the bloody hard seats. But at least I was out of the drafty bit right at the back of the Dakota. The PTS part of this Operation was over. Now it was up to Schullie and Steven to place the RAMS in the correct spot, and the Bomber pilots to blow the crap out of the place.

This photograph shows a Canberra B2  Bomber doing a high speed low level pass.In Rhodesia these Aircraft were loaded with 300 locally manufactured round bouncing bombs which had a devastating effect on almost all soft targets. However if the ground was soft the bombs did not bounce and detonated under ground with minimal effect. 

Next morning, at 4am, 3 Canberra Bombers, each loaded with 300 of Rhodesia's bouncing bombs, and flying at 300ft AGL at 350kts, activated the RAMS. And dropped their loads exactly on target. Great work Schullie and Steven!

Unfortunately the ground was soft and instead of the bombs bouncing they buried themselves and exploded harmlessly under-ground. Still the Madulo Pan Operation was an absolute success, from the trial HALO drop and RAMS trial in the Gonarehzou Game Reserve, to the HALO drop near Madulo Pan, and finally the bombing of the target. Unfortunately a fourth Canberra, which was used to activate the RAMS by radio, inadvertently flew over Malvernia and was shot down with the loss of all on board – even in the midst of victory there was sadness and loss.

This was just one of many similar Air Force operations. I included it to show the contribution of PTS and paratroops went beyond just the delivery of Fire Force or special operations troops. Although this was primarily a bombing mission, it would not have been possible without the set-up provided by PTS and, of course, the bravery of Schullie, Steven and others like them.   

EARLY DAYS AND OTHER THINGS BY TREVOR SMITH episode 5

Another extraneous chore tackled by PTS was the development of 18 acres of land on the shores of Lake Kariba which had been assigned to the Air Force for use as a holiday resort.  This became known as the Welfare Site.  I accompanied Bill Maitland on several of the early visits when we positioned two caravans (ex Roads Dept), built an ablution block and made a start on a brick-built chalet.  Bricks were moulded on site with cement that we hauled from Salisbury.  Our efforts in this connection of course were well known so when the need arose for semi-permanent buildings on forward airfields, PTS was the obvious choice.

As long as our para commitments would permit, staff from PTS was frequently in hot areas doing construction work.  By "hot" I don't just mean in the sense that there were gooks hanging about who were always a threat to the unwary, but actually hot in the climatic, temperature manner.  In the Zambesi valley, and many other areas in the Lowveld, a normal summer day would see temperatures of 40+, and on exceptional days very nearly 50.  Devotion to duty and determination to get the job, done no matter what, was perfectly illustrated many times by the team of PJIs, stripped to the waist, toiling away in the most inhospitable conditions.  Tools became too hot to handle if left unattended so the normal tool-bag was replaced by a bucket of water in which tools were kept when not in the hand.

My ramblings about all these other things may give the impression that parachuting and para training was being neglected.  On the contrary, our activity in this connection never waned.  Boet Swart had returned to duty with the SAS and Derek became the new OC PTS.  Frank was commissioned to fill the post of Training Officer.  Bill Maitland was also commissioned and took command of the General Service Unit at New Sarum.  I was elevated to the position of School Warrant Officer with the rank of WO2.

In 1969 it was agreed that there could be some tactical use for freefall parachuting .  At the time we left Abingdon, the Royal Air Force had established a freefall team which, to the best of my knowledge, was then mainly for display purposes. As trainee PJIs we had no connection with that team, or any schooling in the principles involved. Frank Hales became our guide and leader into the different world of skydiving.

I had completed 327 static line descents when I made my first freefall.  Unlike some of my colleagues I did not take to this new business like a duck to water.  At least ten unstable, untidy, and very scary jumps were made before I began to feel comfortable, but I finally got the message and started to enjoy the ride. I completed just 30 freefall descents when things had to be put on hold.  Other para commitments took precedence, and, whilst we were thus engaged, better and more suitable freefall equipment was obtained.  Almost 18 months passed before I was able to get back to freefall, but luckily I had not forgotten how.

In June 1971, to add realism to a search and rescue exercise, PTS provided two parties to be "rescued". I emplaned with four PJIs and we set off as if flying to Kariba. About half way there I selected what looked like a suitable drop zone and from 5000 ft despatched Frank Hales and Ralph Moore - both landed smack in the middle of my selected area at approximately 10.05am.  Flt Lt Woolcock then changed course and we got on track as if flying from Bulawayo to Milibizi and on this path I despatched Derek de Kock and Charlie Buchan who also landed in the chosen spot at 11.10am.  That ended my participation in this exercise as we flew on to Wankie where we stopped for the night. The following day we flew on to Bumi Hills then Kariba to pick up our "rescued" PJIs.

This photograph shows some of the men who were trying to form one of the teams to compete against the South Africans. From L to R standing Sgt Iain Bowen (PJI), W.O. Trevor Smith(PJI), Sqn/Ldr Derek de Kock(PJI), Maj John Peirson. Kneeling L.to R. Unknown Sgt Rich Carroll(SEW), Sgt Ralph (the rat) Moore(PJI).   

In 1972 the Rhodesian armed forces were called upon to provide 2 teams of Free Fall Parachutists to compete against the South African armed forces in a spotting competition.The idea being to see how close one could land to a 150mm disc placed in a pit of soft earth about 5mts in dia. When we competed against the South Africans the year before we jumped from a Cessna 185 which climbed to 5000ft AGL without a problem carrying 4.parachutists. When it came to Rhodesia's turn to host these games we had no choice but to use what aircraft we had and these were the Trojan aircraft of #4 Squadron.These aircraft were nice and roomy and 4 parachutists were able to fit inside with ease. The problem arose when the Trojan tried to climb up to 5000 ft above Salisbury Airport  already 5000ft ASL.This was just too much for this little aeroplane and it started to have engine problems.and so did the next 4. It was found that it could climb to height in a reasonable time if only three parachutists were on board but 2 would be even better. We were going to tell the South African Team about the change when they arrived at New Sarum. However on the day the competition was supposed to run the weather gods came in and decided to blow with winds exceeding 50 Kts. Parachuting competition was forgotten and everybody came to my house where vast amounts of alcoholic were consumed. 

In September 1972 we formed two teams to compete against a visiting South African Forces freefall team.  Each team was 4 jumpers strong and we were using our Trojan aircraft.  This was a single-engine, high-wing monoplane with a rather slow rate of climb, but fortunately the whole exercise required a maximum height above ground of only 5000ft.  The competition consisted of just spot jumping with each team score being the combined distance of each member from the spot. I was first to jump in my team and, to do the spotting, I would climb out of the aircraft with one foot on the wheel and, gripping the wing strut, I could give directions to the pilot. When on the point of release that was all I had to do - release and the team would follow as quickly as possible.

During one of our practice jumps I nodded to the pilot that I was going out and waited for him to throttle back as usual.  I gripped the strut - placed left foot on wheel and eased up and out.  Then - "Oh - Shit".  I fell off. The pilot had forgotten to apply the brake so as my weight came on to it the wheel spun and away I went.  Jumping from the Trojan was one thing but falling out was a completely different matter.

The other unusual occurrence to befall me was on my final descent of that competition.  As No1 in the team I was opening at 2000ft and the remainder were opening higher to form a stack so that they could each individually aim for the spot after the man before had cleared.  I pulled rip cord correctly but nothing happened as it should have. To operate reserve I started a roll onto my back but as I started this I felt the pack snap open and the main chute deployed.  The opening shock was very uncomfortable as my position was lousy but it was comforting to see a normal canopy above me.

The ground party got quite agitated and I was threatened with being grounded for opening low to set an example.  My assertion, that I had acted correctly, was ignored so I received a torrent of abuse as was the wont of certain fellows.  Fortunately one of the South African officers had had a similar experience and he demonstrated how the delay was caused.

The freefall parachute is pulled from its pack by a spring-loaded extractor chute which is attached to a sleeve in which the main canopy is stowed.  The top coil of this large spring, after many repeated packings, can be seen as a circular outward impression in the outer pack material.  When the rip cord is operated heavy elastic cords pull the pack open allowing the extractor to pop up, catch the air flow and proceed with its work.  These elastic cords are secured to eyes on the pack by metal hooks.  It was demonstrated to us how these hooks can become snagged on the raised impression of the extractor spring and if, in the unlikely event that one on each side become hooked simultaneously, the pack would not be able to open.

By starting the roll onto my back I had disturbed the airflow sufficiently to cause the pack to flutter and dislodge the hooks allowing them to open the pack correctly. Thereafter such a reoccurrence was prevented by simply making a single twist in the elastic so that the hook was facing outwards when set.

My parachuting career ended in December 1972.  Somewhere along the line I had sustained an injury to my back (lumbar spine) which required surgery.  Whether that occurred as a result of one of the 456 parachute descents that I made, or as a result of my many failed attempts at high flying gymnastics on the PTI course, I cannot guess. It was, however, a nagging injury that had worried me for many years but which I chose to ignore as long as I could.

I remained at PTS for several months until promoted to WO1 and posted to Air HQ as assistant to the recruiting officer, Sqn Ldr Alan Cockle.  That was another very interesting duty which took me to all corners of Rhodesia where we exhibited our wares at Trade Fairs and Agricultural Shows. I also visited every High School in the country.

In 1975 I was granted permission to attend a full-time course at the University of Rhodesia where I graduated in 1977 with a Bachelor of Accountancy Degree.  I was then commissioned as Admin 2 at Air Force Headquarters.

Throughout this time I was, of course, still a PJI at heart and was always thrilled to be called back to PTS on the odd occasion when they needed an extra pair of hands. My final connection with parachuting matters was a most unpleasant one.  I was detailed as the convening officer of a Board of Inquiry into the first and only static line parachuting fatality.

I retired from the Air Force shortly after that and was transferred to the Officer's Reserve. My civilian job then was Admin Manager of a tea and coffee estate in the Chipinga area so I became Adjutant of the Chipinga Volunteer Squadron.  My first and last parade with this squadron was attending a formal dinner to mark the dissolution of the squadron

EARLY DAYS AND OTHER THINGS BY TREVOR SMITH episode 4

This photograph shows Sgt Trevor Smith handing over the silver parachutist to the Commanding Officer of the Royal Rhodesian Air Force Parachute Training School Flt/Lt R.T.D.Smith for safe keeping.

In August 1967, before the Bush War intensified, and after basic training of the SAS, things became very quiet at PTS so when we learned of an Assistant Physical Training Instructors course to be held at the Rhodesia Light Infantry. Tony Hughes and I applied for permission to attend.  As a 30 year old Flt Sgt, I and Frank Hartry, a colour sergeant in the SAS, were the old men of the course.The fitness training and most other activities I found to be entirely enjoyable, but two aspects of the course proved to be way beyond my ability.  First was gymnastics - no way was I able to do anything more than the most simple vaulting and some very basic floor exercises.  The high bar to me was merely equipment on which I could do a respectable number of pull-ups but that was my limit.  After attempting what was described as a grand circle I vaguely remember releasing my hold but instead of being anywhere near making a landing on my feet I crashed back into the wall bars.  The wooden bars were not damaged but I was.

Second skill for which I was not naturally gifted was wrestling.  WO Len Monson, a good buddy with whom I often played tennis, was the man in charge of our course and he was tipped to be the Gold Medal wrestler at the forthcoming Olympic Games.  Unfortunately that was the year that Rhodesia was banned from competing so Len was not able to prove his worth.

We all did the best we could and after several sessions Len decided to give us all a taste of the real thing. He lined up all 14 members on one side of the mats, and one by one he demonstrated the start.  I was about 10 in line so I thought that by the time he got to me he might be just a bit tired -  how mistaken could I have been !!  Each with one knee on the mats, bending forward with our heads side by side and one arm gripping the others neck we awaited the signal to start. That signal came after only a few seconds but even in that short time I felt as if my head was being wrenched from my shoulders.  Len had a very powerful grip and yes, in my humble opinion the Gold Medal was his.

Tony and I were well capable of keeping up with the best of them on road runs and other endurance activities but the one area where we proved to be the best was in the swimming pool.  We both achieved a Silver at Lifesaving while the others managed only Bronze. We returned to New Sarum in November and our new PTI skill was soon employed as we became very involved in organizing the early morning PT for the endless Territorial Force intakes at the Ground Training School.  National service was then a top priority for school leavers in Rhodesia.

On one of these intakes I met Brian and Alan Solomon, twin lads who were then rated at Nos 3 & 5 on the Rhodesian tennis ladder.  Their elder brother Frank was the reigning champion.  My own tennis ability was only just sufficient to play in Salisbury's second league so at every opportunity I arranged to play with these comparative experts.  During one of my tours as Guard Commander at FAF2 (Forward Airfield 2 - at Kariba) I found both these lads there so tennis was arranged at Kariba Primary School.  After playing there a few times I was approached by the twins who told me we had been invited to play at Lake View Hotel.  "Nothing special Mr. Smith - Bunny Clarke just suggested that we might like to play there for a change and it's a lot closer to our camp."

Liars. We arrived to see a notice proclaiming an exhibition match between "Rhodesia's Top Tennis Players" and inviting all to attend.  I later learned that similar notices had been displayed throughout the village and at the other hotels.  There was not much entertainment in Kariba, so we found a sizeable crowd awaiting our performance.  Only then did I realize why it had been suggested that I wear white socks and a shirt rather than my regular scruffy vest.  But they did not let me down completely - I was partnered by Alan and Brian took to the court with "Legs" Linnell, another top quality player.  Throughout the "match" great care was taken to feed the ball to me on my better side so that I could make a pretence of being a player to equal their ability.  The complimentary beers after our show went down very well.

As well as PTS having the best volleyball team at New Sarum, we also got involved in another sporting activity - archery.  Sqn Ldr Peter Lowe was a keen archer, so to provide him with a practice range we constructed a couple of targets and stands and set them up in the area of our Outdoor Exit Trainer. We all had a go at this new sport but Frank Hales and I got quite serious about it.  We purchased the only archery equipment available at the time - two very well-used tubular steel bows.  With this antiquated gear we joined Peter at the regular Sunday morning meeting of the Salisbury Archery Club.  Our skill improved to the stage where Frank and I both equaled the Rhodesian record for a round known as the "Springbok".

Eventually we acquired better recurve composite bows and practiced regularly.  This was noticed by certain SAS officers who reasoned that such a weapon could be very useful as a silent killer or even to deliver an explosive head.  Fitted with a delay fuse this could be used for sabotage work on fuel supplies and the like.  It could have worked, but the need to try it for real never arose. The experiment was an interesting diversion.

Archery magazines carried articles about bow hunting and this fascinated Frank who determined to try his hand at this.  He ordered a hunting bow and when it arrived he got down to serious practice.  On a working trip to the Air Force Welfare Site at Kariba, Frank constructed a hide alongside a trail where we had regularly seen bush pig and other game making their way down to water in the afternoons.  Frank had cleared with the local game Ranger to shoot bush pig as that was considered vermin and a hunting license was not required. The hide was just 30 yards from the trail and we were positive that Frank could deliver an arrow exactly to the target with no chance of a miss.

Two days passed without sighting a pig. Many small antelope passed without even noticing him so we were convinced that the hide was good. On the third day Frank set off about 4.00pm to his hunting spot which was about half a kilometer from our camp.  The remainder of our party settled down to enjoy a couple of frosty beers. Just before dark an obviously flustered Frank burst into camp "Bloody elephant."

His patience was being rewarded.  Slowly sauntering down the trail was a big pig which stopped every now and again to nibble on exposed roots or other piggy delights.  Stealthily and quietly Frank raised the bow and prepared to draw the arrow. Just as he had the quarry in his sights a dense dark shadow fell over him.  Glancing to his side all he could see within touching distance was the front leg of a huge bull elephant. Bow was abandoned, and Frank's hunting ideas were instantly replaced by the need to escape.  He could not remember how he'd left the hide and scuttled back to camp but in the morning when I went with him to check the scene we found one side of the hide had been flattened by his hasty departure and on the other side very clear imprints of the elephant spoor.  The bow and arrows were lying undamaged where they had been dropped.  The silent movement of a beast as big as an elephant is the envy of every bush soldier.

Our additional role as PTIs  did not go unnoticed at New Sarum.  Tony and I were soon roped in to provide some fitness training for other interested fellows. We set up, in PTS, a circuit using our normal para training gear and other basic stuff that we either made or "stole". Lunchtimes would see as many as 20 or 25 airmen and officers pulling, pushing, lifting and shoving to a strict routine supervised by either Tony or me.  A good healthy sweat was guaranteed and the circuits became quite popular with those concerned with health and fitness.

After one of these sessions as we were tidying up, the peace and quiet was shattered - a loud explosion rattled the building. Rushing out we found that a practice 'smoke' bomb had fallen from the trailer on which it was being moved and had detonated on impact.  One man was lying to the side with a blood soaked gash in the crotch of his overalls. While still thinking how to help the poor fellow we were shoved roughly aside by John Boynton who immediately ripped the overalls open, thrust his hand into a frightening wound in the man's upper thigh and with his bare fingers pinched off the artery that was pumping steadily away. In due course an ambulance arrived and the victim was removed.  John's previous training as a medic in the British Army certainly saved this man a lot of blood - maybe even his life.

John's general demeanor was somewhat serious and he often appeared to be quite dour but this in no way detracted from his performance as a reliable and very capable PJI.  The exact opposite in nature was Mike Wiltshire whose ultra-quick, cockney humour often had us in stitches of laughter.  One illustration of this quick wit was the story I heard of his reaction whilst serving as guard commander at one of our forward airfields.

A suburb of Salisbury known as Arcadia was home to a large number of our coloured community and these lads also performed the national service.  On this particular occasion, a vehicle with a defective exhaust was heard approaching the camp at breakneck speed from a considerable distance. The cloud of dust finally revealed a "Bearcat" (modified Bedford RL) heading for our gate.  Crouched over a machine gun mounted on the cab was a coloured corporal with a belt of ammunition slung over his shoulder.  The look of grim determination alone would have deterred any attack on that vehicle. As it shuddered to a halt Mike casually waved a greeting and said, "Oh, Yes welcome - you must be Lawrence of Arcadia."

EARLY DAYS AND OTHER THINGS BY TREVOR SMITH episode 3

In March 1963, Capt "Boet" Swart of the SAS was transferred to PTS to take over as our new CO in preparation for Smudge's return to Abingdon.  During his time with us Smudge had received a well deserved promotion - he arrived as Flying Officer and went home a Flight Lieutenant.  He and Robbie Robertson left us in about August of that year.  I remember Robbie most clearly in the familiar pose of hands on hips and with an indignant expression declaring "Ye canna di it" which was his regular way of dismissing any option which he considered impractical or dangerous.  Terry Hagan opted to remain in Rhodesia and his transfer from RAF to RRAF was arranged.

My "Air Crew Flying Log Book" tells me that by this time I had completed 95 parachute descents, but unfortunately it tells me little else.  The log book was kept to record only the official version of flying duties and any personal notes or narratives were frowned upon.  I never kept any other form of diary so what follows is my random recollection of many incidents.  Dear Reader, please forgive my tardiness in presenting without any attempt to arrange in chronological sequence.  I will simply recount my memories of the wonderful fellows with whom I had the pleasure of serving.

Smudge Smith, our first CO, was a quiet unassuming man who never tried to act the 'hero'. He simply got on with the job and quietly applied the three "F" principle of instruction to his command.  We all knew who was the boss, so there was no need for anything more than intelligent guidance and warm encouragement for his instructors.  It was a sad day when we said goodbye to Smudge, but his presence was not missed.  He saw to it that his successor was well versed in his own style, and as a new boy at PTS, Boet Swart followed smartly in his footsteps.

By his own admission, Boet would recognize that he was not the greatest parachutist - but that was not why he was there with us.  He was a natural leader of men and the entire staff took to him immediately.  Beneath a "devil-may-care" attitude, which at times may have made him appear to be a complete buffoon, Boet had the strength of character to get the job done right.  Most importantly, he acknowledged that in parachuting matters there were more qualified and experienced men than he so he was never guilty of making difficult decisions without first consulting his staff.

During his sojourn in Rhodesia, Ft Sgt Robbie Robertson had performed the function of Training Officer. On his departure it was considered necessary to make a permanent appointment for this post. We five PJIs were ordered to Air HQ where each was interviewed by a by a selection committee.  Derek de Kock was selected and was commissioned as Flying Officer and he became Boet's right hand man.

Bill Maitland was promoted to WO1 and continued in the role he had performed since our return to Rhodesia - that was the administration and organization of matters other than direct training.  Bill would frequently fly as despatcher on basic courses and in continuation training and on the odd occasion, to keep his hand in, would be out on the hangar floor getting involved in practical para training.  He never missed an opportunity to jump as drifter or after despatching trainees.

His background as a chippy, with experience ranging from fine cabinet making to heavy construction projects, made Bill the ideal person to oversee the many varied tasks which later befell PTS.  He demanded perfection in every job we tackled but he was not so pedantic as to refuse acceptance of a job less well done than he himself could have done it.  Provided the completed article was safe and functional, Bill would stand back and declare: "Yeah it's OK.  A blind man would be pleased to see it."  I heard that phrase many times as PTS performed a multitude of tasks far removed from the training of paratroopers.

Mercer Thompson decided that he would like to experience something more than the static line parachuting as practiced by us at the time, so he joined the Salisbury Skydiving Club.  Despite being a very competent parachutist he had an unfortunate landing and sustained a complex fracture of his right wrist.  This was set in plaster and, because of the nature of the break, the cast enclosed his fingers and had to remain for a long time.  Being right-handed this was a set-back but Jock was not going to quit too easily.  Driving his Alfa with one hand was impossible, so off he went and bought a great big Ford Galaxi - V8 motor and automatic gearbox.  That solved the gear change problem and steering was simplified by the large knob which he had fitted to the steering wheel.

That was all straightforward enough - what really impressed me was the way he persisted with other difficulties.  Writing progressed from an untidy scrawl to a most presentable script.  Smoking, not so loudly proclaimed as a health hazard in those days, was something that Jock enjoyed.  Flicking a cigarette from a pack of twenty directly to his lips was soon accomplished but that's as far as the easy route went.  He scorned the simple efficiency of a cigarette lighter. I watched fascinated many times as he would, with his left hand only, remove a box of matches from his pocket and deftly extract one match.  Then holding the box with his little finger against the heel of his hand he would strike the match using just thumb and forefinger. All done in one hand only and that not his normal favored hand - I have yet to see another man with such digital dexterity.

Ivor Thomas joined us some time later.  He had befriended Terry Hagan when they were both working as PJIs at Abingdon.  Ivor's main interest after Parachuting was Judo and he held the grade of "Black Belt - First Dan". The wall to wall spread of coir matting on a thick felt underlay at PTS was a perfect venue for judo workouts so Ivor soon had an enthusiastic following who would join him for judo instruction during station lunch breaks and at other quiet times.

I had the pleasure of accompanying Ivor when the local judo clan assembled at the BSAP Gymnasium to meet and "fight" a visiting Japanese expert.  This fellow was about the same height as Ivor but was at least double Ivor's weight.  They met in the middle of the contest area and after the honored greeting of bowing and touching hands they engaged in combat.  Ivor was fast and nimble, but despite his speed, he was, just once, thrown and pinned by his large opponent.  On many other occasions action seemed, to my untrained eye, to come to a halt as the pair stood with muscles flexed and expressions of strain and effort on their faces.  The net result was that Ivor was upgraded to "Second Dan" as his technique was judged to be that good and he clearly could have gained more than one fall if only his opponent was not such an expert and had not been built like a brick outhouse.

On one occasion whilst in Ndola, Northern Rhodesia, a small party of PJIs, during a lull in exercise activity, visited the public swimming pool.  We thought we had the place to ourselves, so after a refreshing dip, commenced fooling around with some basic judo stuff, and were also being entertained by Ivor performing some fairly intricate gymnastic moves.  Then appeared a man who had been watching our games.  He told Ivor that he was involved in organizing professional wrestling bouts and that he was sure a suitable opponent for Ivor could be found. "It's all a lot of show really.  Your bouts will be rehearsed to look spectacular - nobody ever gets seriously hurt and it does pay well."  The thought of extra spending money for an 'underpaid' air force sergeant was attractive but Ivor declined the offer.

       At about this time Frank Hales joined the PTS staff on attachment from the Rhodesian Army.  Frank had seen many years of service in the British Army having joined as a boy soldier.  He had served in Malaya so jungle warfare was no new experience for him and he was very much at home in the African bush.  He was an experienced parachutist when he came to us, so fitting in was not difficult for a man of his caliber, who very quickly picked up the additional skills to function extremely well as a PJI.

Boet Swart had been tasked with survival training for pilot trainees so, typical of his uncanny knack for identifying staff strengths, Frank was very soon his able assistant in this work.  They would set off together with the cadets and spend a whole week or longer in the bush, having started with practically nothing to eat or drink.  But they survived - not only survived but actually enjoyed each excursion. On their return to PTS their tales of the many unsavory things they had eaten in the bush almost put the rest of us off our food.

Frank was a quiet, mild mannered man who seldom raised his voice and almost never resorted to profanity. His tales of action in the jungles of Malaya always had the ring of truth and were never presented in a boastful manner.  He would always lead by example and the lasting impression was - never ask another to do what you yourself could not do.  On the odd occasion when he felt he had been let down or wronged by someone, Frank would quietly utter his favourite curse: ":May his balls turn square and chip on the corners."  Very painful I should imagine.

Another area where Frank was most useful was on attachment as a temporary instructor at the Outward Bound School in Melsetter.  Persuaded by Frank's glowing reports of his visits to this mountain region of Rhodesia, I was, after qualifying as an assistant PTI, also able to inveigle the authorities to allow me to perform the same function.  I made two visits to Outward Bound and on each I was assigned a section of what was described as a standard male course - that is lads aged 18 to 25.  I was kept quite busy for three weeks instructing in basic fitness training, rock climbing, abseiling, map reading and other necessary skills.

In addition to work at the School's well-appointed base camp we walked for days deep into the mountains in the neighboring territory of Mozambique sleeping under the stars for nights on end.  Those wonderful days were filled with exciting sightings of game animals ranging from elephant, leopard, a great variety of antelope, warthogs, porcupine and the ever present baboon.  The Chimanimani Mountains and the deep valleys were clothed in heavy, almost jungle-like forests of massive indigenous trees - mainly mahogany.  The game, seldom disturbed and never hunted, seemed oblivious to our intrusion into their territory.   I doubt if this region will ever return to such verdant splendor after the devastation of the war that followed.  I am told that after hostilities ceased huge areas of these beautiful forests were stripped of hardwood and the game is definitely a thing of the past.

At the dissolution of the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland, end of 1963, all serving members of the forces were given the choice of either leaving the service or continuing to serve in the country of their choice provided a suitable post was available.  Most of the officers and a large number of the enlisted men opted to leave the SAS.  The greatly depleted squadron was re-located in the old WW2 RAF Air Training Group barracks in Cranbourne, Salisbury.   Recruiting began in earnest to bring the squadron up to strength.

Demands on basic para training reverted to much the same as in the earlier foundation days, so PTS had to do something about increasing the number of PJIs.  A notice in Air Force Orders brought a number of volunteers. Of this lot Tony Hughes was selected and, in due course, he joined our ranks. Tony had served as a technician in the Radio Branch and, prior to this course, he had no parachuting experience, but his infectious good humour, and determination to succeed, saw him through to the stage of being awarded the coveted brevet.  Other para trained men from the SAS and other army units volunteered for training as PJIs and over the next few years we were joined by John Boynton, Ralph Moore, Charlie Buchan, Mike Whiltshire and Ian Bowen.

As things became more serious it became necessary for Rhodesia to increase the numbers of her combat aircraft.  Our original PTS was set-up in half of a hangar shared by No 7 Squadron (helicopters).  They needed more space so we moved.  Our training area fitted neatly into one half of the standard hangar so the same set-up was organized in the No3 Squadron area.  This made more sense as that was the transport squadron with whom we were constantly working.  So once again PJIs were called upon to demonstrate their multiple skills but not to the same extent.  Technicians from the Ground Equipment Section did a lot of the moving and re-installing work.

Once the SAS were again back up to almost full strength, the demands on PTS were lessened, so we had time to consider other requests for our specialist skills. The Safety Equipment Section was manned by males, unlike in the UK where parachute packing had been done almost entirely by the Woman's Branch of the RAF. Our fellows had for some time been requesting permission to do a basic course and to experience the end result of their attention to detail when packing our parachutes.  This was eventually granted and volunteers from Safety Equipment were given the chance.

Pilot trainees had, as a matter of course, spent time at PTS where they learned how to control the parachute canopy, and how to make the proper parachute landing fall, but that's as far as it went - ground training only.  Air HQ had some doubts about allowing their valuable air crew risk injury by making a parachute descent, hence the ground training only limit.  Finally it was ruled that selected air crew could make one descent but, to eliminate risk of injury, that had to be into water.  Of course rank does have its privileges so the first bunch included a disproportionate number of senior officers.

That was a new experience for our sergeant instructors.  Group Captains, Wing Commanders and the like were alien beings who were to be saluted and not addressed unless spoken to.  Now here they were for instruction by sergeant instructors.  In true Rhodesian spirit, rank and status was forgotten and all entered the task in hand with only one object - get the job done and do it right.  We performed a couple of these exercises and with the assistance of the Games Department who laid on recovery boats, a fine memorable day was enjoyed by all.   PJI dispatchers jumped after the aircrew sticks and joined them onshore at the Game Warden's place at Lake McIllwaine.  Recovery vehicles had been positioned with a plentiful supply of liquid refreshment.

EARLY DAYS AND OTHER THINGS BY TREVOR SMITH episode 2

PJIs in the RAF were all volunteers drawn from the Physical Training Branch, so for them acquiring the practical experience of parachuting, and the knowledge of associated equipment was all that was needed to qualify for the coveted brevet.  In our case a lot more was required, and those instructors to whom we were assigned did a splendid job in, not only imparting that special knowledge, instilling in us the instructional technique which was a foreign subject to our bunch of mixed trade personnel who wished to become PJIs.

We grew in confidence and slowly acquired the necessary polish by working with two TF para courses under their close scrutiny.  At the end of this phase, five brand new PJIs proudly displayed their new brevets after a small, low-key presentation parade in the PTS hangar.  In addition, in keeping with our new status, we four corporals were promoted to acting sergeants and were able to join our senior man, Bill Maitland, in the Sergeants’ Mess accommodation.  Unfortunately Algie had sustained an injury in the early stages and by the time he was pronounced fit to continue he decided to call it quits and had left the course and returned to Rhodesia.

To settle us in to our new role we were given the task of training Basic Course No 540.  We did this entirely on our own - no super-experienced PJI looking over the shoulder and breathing down the neck.  Thanks to the first class training that we had received we were all able to cope and it was a most rewarding feeling to know we had gained the confidence of these trainees and that we had drilled them correctly. To see each and every one complete the course and to be present on parade when they received their wings was a satisfying experience.

This was my first visit to England and we enjoyed a most unusual warm summer. I was delighted with the very long days and to be able to play tennis, usually with Derek, at 9.30 in the evening was a new experience. Derek and I would also often stroll into Abingdon where we befriended the manager of a boat hire outfit. Many pleasant hours were spent canoeing on the Thames and, in fact, the weather was so balmy that we often enjoyed a swim in what was then a clean and beautiful river.

On one of those excursions on the Thames we discovered that not all residents on the river bank were as friendly as the boat hire manager.  Whilst swimming I heard Derek shout in alarm and I became aware of a loud flapping noise behind me.  I turned in time to see a swan, half in flight, and slapping the water with its feet come hurtling directly towards me. I ducked under and saw it go past, but it turned, and came back, by which time I was swimming frantically to the bank.  One final pass and the swan settled in the water and watched as we got into the canoe and made our retreat.  Never in the African bush had I encountered any beast so intent on making me feel unwelcome.  British wildlife proved to be something to be respected.

Another of my sporting pastimes at Abingdon was sailing.  I met Flt Lt Latton who was looking for crew, so I volunteered to accompany him on his Firefly dinghy, which he sailed on an old flooded gravel pit in the outskirts of the town.  After sailing we would drop into a country inn where I was introduced to Merrydown’s vintage cider. The publican was a most obliging man and I was able to set up a deal with him to use the inn as a venue for a farewell gathering where we could entertain the many service friends who had been so supportive during our stay in England. Snacks and drinks were provided and not a penny changed hands - we reverted to a straight barter system.  During our stay we had, as foreigners, been allowed to purchase a substantial quantity of duty free booze.  Many bottles of fine South African brandy and some excellent whisky was more than enough to pay for what we were given. I think our guests also enjoyed the occasion where all ranks were able to mix without restriction.

We returned to Rhodesia in October 1961 and were joined there by Flying Officer Ron (Smudge) Smith, Flt Sgt Robbie Robertson and Sgt Terry Hagan, all from No1 PTS, RAF Abingdon. These men were seconded to the RRAF to assist and guide us in the setting up of our new Parachute Training School.

This school was to be located at RRAF New Sarum in Salisbury.  We were allocated one half of a hangar, and we arrived to find a near complete office block across the middle of the hangar.  The training area was littered with part complete equipment which had been made to RAF specs and was identical to that which we had used at Abingdon. Rigging had been started by ground equipment technicians but completion had been delayed until the new experts could offer advice and confirm the suitability of this strange, unknown gear.

So there we were - in April a motley collection of miscellaneous trades and now, six months later, "the experts".  A lot of work was required to get the school operational and this was the first time that we were able to shine above our RAF mentors.  Our different background and the various trades to which we had been exposed, coupled with the natural DIY make-a-plan attitude of the Rhodesian colonials, came to the fore. We got into the job - not just advising and supervising but actually getting right into the job.

There was fortunately no trade union attitude in Rhodesia so whoever could do whatever, just got on with it. Welding, sweging of cables, carpentry, glazing, painting and even electrical work was tackled with vigor. Good guys as they were, our RAF colleagues did not contribute much more than the appraisal and testing of the finished product. We completed the job in good time and that as much as anything else was the foundation of a strong team that was never intimidated by any task.

Our training at Abingdon had covered all types of aircraft in use at the time for paratrooping, and these were the Beverley and Hastings and of course the balloon.  In Rhodesia we would use the C47, otherwise known as Dakota or DC3.  WO1 Les Johnson, chief technician at No 3 Squadron undertook the necessary adjustments and modification of Dak 703 which became our main workhorse.  This fine old aircraft had done remarkable service and was still in first class condition.  Les was pleased to advise us that dear old 703 was no stranger to paratooping as she had flown during WW2 at Arnhem and this was testified in the 700 (aircraft logbook).

In November 1961 we started our real work - training of C Squadron "Rhodesia" SAS.  The history of Rhodesia SAS is another story but suffice it to say we can be proud of the part we played in bringing this elite unit back to life and meeting standards which were arguably the best in the world.

By February 1962 we were engaged in training No 5 Basic at which stage PTS had completed its 1000th descent.  Again I was lucky in the drawing of straws, and I had the honour of doing that jump.  Being a new arm of Rhodesia's defence force our parachuting was considered quite newsworthy so the press was out in strength.  Also in attendance was a representative from GQ Parachutes which was the company in UK making and supplying the "X" Type parachute which we were using at that time.  Our CO, Smudge Smith, received on our behalf a beautiful little silver statuette of a paratrooper kitted out with, of course, an "X" Type.

I was able to admire my photograph in the Rhodesia Herald the next day.  Despite being reported accurately, many people misread the article, and I was more than once embarrassed by being congratulated for having personally completed one thousand parachute descents.  That taught me not to believe everything that I read but more importantly to be sure that I was reading correctly and not jumping to conclusions.

At this time Rhodesia was part of the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland and the SAS was based in Ndola, Northern Rhodesia (now Zambia).  As well as basic training, continuation training and many exercises were carried out in Northern Rhodesia.  In keeping with C Squadron's role as part of the main British SAS, it was considered necessary to familiarize all troops with the Beverley so we built a mock-up for ground training and in due course a RAF Beverley arrived at New Sarum to provide practical experience for the Rhodesians.

C Squadron was scheduled to relieve A Squadron for duty in the Gulf of Aden so building the Beverley mock-up became urgent.  Whilst assisting in this project I received a severe injury to my left leg due entirely to my own careless swinging of a heavy hammer. This wound turned septic and the net result was that I, who had been detailed to accompany the Squadron on this deployment, had to miss out on a great experience.  Norman Suttie went to Aden in my place.

At about the same time New Sarum played host to a large group of US troops.  3 C130 aircraft with paratroopers and, what I think was a DC4, arrived with a rescue team.  All of this was in support of America's then space programme.  A manned 'Gemini' satellite was orbiting, and in those early days they were not over confident about the exact recovery and landing area.  To safeguard their interest, troops and rescue teams were stationed around the globe in strategic positions along the orbital path.  This particular satellite was passing directly over the Congo and, as that country was then in turmoil, they were positioned in Rhodesia as the closest friendly nation with suitable facilities to handle the ground force.

The common interest of parachuting naturally drew the rescue team to PTS.  We met the two US Air Force men who had attended to the recovery of John Glenn and his capsule on a previous mission. Their interest in our school, and their open approval and admiration for our training methods, was yet another big confidence booster for the RRAF PJIs.   Both of these men would dearly have loved to have made a 'training' descent from our DC3 and I'm sure it would have happened if we'd been equipped with the T10 parachute rather than the "X' Type.

This photograph shows the parachute training school staff celebrating the 1000th parachute jump which was carried out by Trevor  Smith early in 1962. On that day G.Q. Parachutes the manufacturer of the 28ft dia. X type parachute we were issued,with, presented the Royal Rhodesian Air Force with a silver statuette of a soldier wearing an X type  parachute. From L to R standing Sgt Ivor Thomas  G.Q. rep in Rhodesia  Flt/Lt R.T.D. Smith O.C. P.T.S., W.O. Bill Maitland Sgt Derek de Kock  Squatting L. to R. Sgt Terry Hagan  Sgt Mercer Thomson  Sgt Trevor Smith.