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.
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