DICK GLEDHILL'S STORY Episode 2 Qualifying as a PJI

QUALIFYING AS A P.J.I

At the end of the Mutuals, we were given a course to instruct under supervision.

 Now under normal conditions, this might not have been too difficult a task.

The parachute training manual states.

“An instructor should ideally have a section of eight men to train. This ensures that enough time is given to each student to teach all the required skills adequately.” “Also, having four men in harnesses at once is considered the maximum an instructor can safely keep control of.”

Another aspect of military parachute training is that personnel undergoing these courses are usually soldiers from elite units who are extremely keen and very switched on.

Our situation was going to be quite different. I mentioned earlier that in a war, soldiers are always in short supply, well in our war, that applied to aircraft as well. The South Africans had deserted us for political expediency and had taken their helicopters with them. The Rhodesian Air Force only had sixteen Allouette helicopters and as we were usually operating at least four Fire Forces, we often could only get twelve soldiers into combat by chopper. This meant that the only way we could get enough men into combat was by parachute.

Whilst we still had plenty of choppers, parachute troops were a supplement to boost numbers on the ground. Now we were going to have to use paratroops in earnest.

At the time we were ready to take our first course for real, the order had come down from high command.

“We want all combat troops Para trained and we want them trained yesterday”

The  above photograph shows a soldier jumping from the hangar roof using the dreaded FAN exit trainer. In the foreground the high and low ramps used for landing training can be seen and the troops waiting their turn are seated on benches. The training officer is observing the progress of the sections under going the exit training and is standing with his hands on his hips in front of the high ramp..








When we fronted up to take our first lesson. Instead of the usual 48 elite S.A.S troops, we were confronted with a hundred and thirty odd African soldiers from the Rhodesian African Rifles milling around the hangar.

For most people, including many soldiers, jumping out of a perfectly good aeroplane is plain madness. To the African soldier it was plain terrifying. It was a totally alien concept to them. They were fine soldiers, but this was to be an extremely frightening experience for them.Added to this was the fact that due to the large numbers of students, we would not have enough time to devote to each soldier. There was also going to be a problem with language. Whilst most of the soldiers spoke reasonable English, the technical language used for parachuting was beyond their understanding.

In the desperate need to get men into combat, the Rhodesian army had thrown the rulebook out of the window.

By the end of the first course, we had R.T. U’ d (Returned to Unit) over fifty percent of the course as unsuitable material.

In praise of the African soldier, I have to say this. The concept of military parachuting was totally foreign to them. Many of them did not understand what was going on. You could often smell the fear in the plane, amongst other things and usually dispatching the African troops was like herding frightened cattle through the gates of an abattoir. But the bravery they displayed was outstanding. They went through the door of the plane, often with only the whites of their eyes showing, but the brave buggers never baulked. I don’t think there was ever an African soldier who refused to jump.

It was a mark of the warrior to have overcome their fear and continues to jump.

Many historians have commented that one parachute jump is equal to a day in combat. Imagine how it must have been for those men, especially as they had to go into combat after what they had just been through.

 The next day, after the course had gone, and we were calming our shattered nerves. Flight Sergeant Kevin Milligan sat us down in the lecture room. Kevin had been our instructor for the whole course

“Well men. How do you think you went?”

Carlos, one of the two Air force blokes on the course replied.

“It was bloody hard work.”

“Yes. It was a bit rough throwing you in the deep end like that, but that is the way it is going to be.”

“Where are Van and John.” Asked Mike one of the other R.L.I  members.

“ They did not make the grade. “ replied Kevin.

“Actually, we knew they were not going to make it some time ago, but we needed to keep numbers up for your mutuals.” Kevin sat there for a while and said.

“Actually I have a bit of bad news for you all. None of you have passed.” There was a moan of disappointment from the four of us.

“What, are we all going back to our units?” I asked.

“No it’s not as bad as that. We want you to take another course and see how you go. That is if you want to continue?”

We all wanted to keep going, we had put in too much time and effort to waste it now.

Kevin Milligan who I knew socially from the skydiving club, confided with me some months later over a beer at the mess.

“You know Dick. We were going to pass Carlos after the first course, but we wanted to be fair to the rest of you. He is a bloody good instructor.”

What Kevin said made sense. Carlos had an extremely clever and agile mind and he always put 100% into everything he did. He was probably one of the best skydivers we had at the club into the bargain.

The day before the next course was to begin, we had an address by the school O.C, Squadron Leader Derek De Kock.

“Right, listen up buggers. I have just received a roasting from above. Our leaders want to know why we did not pass more men. From now on, you will pass everyone. Do you understand? Everyone. There will be no more R.T.U’s. is that clear?”

Sergeant Mike Duffy spoke up.

“Jeeze boss, that’s going to be a bit harsh. Have you seen the standard of some of the guys on the last course?”

“I don’t care how hard it’d going to be. You do as you are bloody well told. Understood?”

As he left the crew room. Derek said in a softer tone. “Hey personally I sympathise with you, but you all know you can’t buck the system.”

Course No 2.

As soon as I set eyes on him, my skin crawled and alarm bells started ringing in my head. To this day I don’t know what it was about the man that said “Danger. Danger.”

I was taking names and giving the introductory spiel to the twenty- two students who were about to start the course. It was as though the man already had his death mask on, or perhaps it was his eyes. They already looked dead to me.

Private Phirri was his name, and by the second day of ground training my worst fears were confirmed, he was like a leaden thing. On day three, I went to confide with Kevin Milligan who was overseeing our performance.

I did not have to say anything to Kevin.

“Yeah, I’ve been watching him too Dick. He is a bit scary, isn’t he? I’ll tell you what. Come and see me on Friday and we’ll go and see the boss if he doesn’t improve.”

By Friday we were in the boss’s office.

“Boss we know your ruling on R.T.U’s but this man is really bad.”

Our pleading was to no avail.

“Listen in you pair of dickheads.”(Derek was never shy in coming forward.) “ Read my lips. No R.T.U’s. “I am under a lot of pressure on this. I don’t like it any more than you do but orders are orders.”

The reports on Phirri after the first three jumps were poor, but we had plenty of others who were the same.

Jump four was different.

This jump was a slow stick of four with weapons and containers. The weapons, in Phirri’s case a machine gun, were strapped to the parachutist’s side and the equipment containers were attached in front of the legs at the bottom of the harness.

As the number one dispatcher, I was counting the troops out. “One”, pause.” Two”, pause.

As number three went out of the door there was a loud thump on the side of the plane and it felt as though the plane had shuddered for a second. “Four.” I called into the headset. “Stick gone.” This was to confirm to the pilot that the last parachutist had gone.

As we pulled the bags back into the plane I noticed that one of the static lines had been severed.

As we were going round to drop the next stick an urgent voice came over the radio.

“Cancel parachute operations, we have a whistler. I say again, cancel parachute operations. We have a whistler.” (Parachute parlance for a death due to impact.)

I knew Phirri had been number three in that stick, so I knew who had just died.

When Phirri had jumped, instead of leaping out as taught, he had just rolled out in a tumble. The static line had wrapped round the butt of his machine gun, both static line and butt had snapped off.

A witness on the ground said he had seen Phirri getting closer and closer in freefall. His hand had been desperately fumbling for his reserve handle, but in the panic had not found it in time. Just before impact, the reserve had deployed, but with no time left, the reserve wrapped round him, it had become his death shroud.

What happened next must be understood in the context of war. When people face the tragedy of death every day, one of the survival techniques is what is called black humour. I.e. you take the piss out of death. To many people who have not experienced the horror of dying on a regular basis, this might seem callous and unfeeling. But it is a recognised method of coping. It stops one from going mad.

After we had landed and the rest of the troops were out of earshot. Sergeant Billy Simpson, soon to be the next school Warrant Officer, came over, and in his Irish accent said.

“Hey Dick. We were going to send you back to your unit. But after this we reckon you can stay.”

I knew then that we had all made the grade and that our standard was good enough. But let me tell you, it was not a comforting thing to know you have just qualified as a P.J. I after one of your students had just been killed.

The subsequent board of enquiry found “Death by misadventure.”

We had been acting under orders to produce paratroopers. The Rhodesian army was flinging all it had at an enemy that had numbers on its side. The death of one soldier was a small price to pay for training enough men to kill many of the foe.

The positive side to Phirri’s death was that we are now allowed to R.T.U the worst trainee’s.

But as the boss made it clear.

“You keep churning them out. I don’t want to hear you sending them back just because you are too lazy to put a bit extra in.”

The next R.T.U was not an African soldier. It was a white officer.

The Rhodesian African Rifles was a black Regiment, but white officered.

The officer concerned was a Frenchman. I can never remember his name but I call him “Le whore”, because he would not keep his feet and knees together during the landing drills. I tried everything in the book to make him keep them together, but he landed with his feet at least shoulder width apart at every attempt. I was becoming frustrated.

I took him aside a couple of times.

“Sir, you are not keeping you feet and knees together on your landings. This is not a good example to your men.”

The reply was always. “But Sergeant, you are mistaken. I always land wiz ze feet and knees togezzear. You do not have ze right to question me like ziss.”

On one occasion, I tried the piece of paper between the knees trick, this method usually worked. First I used it on a couple of the African soldiers, who on this course were actually quite good.

 Lance Corporal Ncube was next. As he was hanging off the ring trainer I slipped a piece of paper between his knees. “Corporal. This is a ten- dollar note. If this drops on the ground. You owe me ten dollars. OK.”

Ncube looked down at me in horror. “But seh. I don’te hev ten dollars.” I smiled back up at him and winked. “Only joking. But make sure you don’t drop it.”

Ncube’s landing was good and I used it on a couple of others before “Le Whore.” The paper flew out before I even started pushing the man.

After morning tea break, I noticed that the officer had not appeared. Where is the Captain?’ I asked. “Ah seh, we don’t know.” Came the reply. Just then, Ralph Gratton, one of the other P.J.I’s came over.

Hey Dick. The boss want’s to see you in his office. I’ll take over for you.”

I knocked on the boss’s door and went in. The officer was standing in front of Derek’s desk.

“Sergeant. This man has made a complaint against you. He says you are harassing him.

What is your story?”

I think I actually sneered at the Captain before replying.

“Well sir. I am having difficulty trying to get Captain??? to keep his feet and knees together during landing rolls. Unfortunately this is not happening.”

“Are you harassing the Captain?”

“Not as far as I am aware Sir. I am trying every method I know to improve his performance without embarrassing him in front of his men Sir.”

Kevin Milligan had also been summoned and his answers were the same as mine.

“Right you two. Outside.” Derek said.

We waited out side the office.

 As I mentioned before, Derek was never backward in coming forward and soon his voice was bellowing at full bore.

“Captain. As far as I am concerned, I have the best P.J.I’s in the world at this school. If my staff says you are not doing your job. Then you are not doing your job. How dare you come into my office and tell tales about my staff. As of this moment, you are off the course. Go and do your paperwork for your return to your unit and don’t bother ever applying for a Para course again. Dismiss.”

The captain stormed out of the office, glaring as he went past the two of us. We both saluted him. “Goodbye Sir.” We both chorused and I am ashamed to say it but we both had a sarcastic grin on our faces.

COURSE NUMBER FOUR

We were sitting in the crew room catching up on the ever- present paper work. The next course was to start the following day.

The school Warrant Officer, John Boynton walked in. John was a large ruddy-faced man with a huge handlebar moustache. He seemed to outsiders to be a ferocious man and he could be stern when the need arose, but he often had a twinkle in his eye when he was bollocking someone. Those of us who worked with him knew that as long as you did your work well, there was no problem. “Vicious but fair I am” was how he would describe himself.

“Ho ho ho, don’t look so glum boys. Tomorrow you gunna have a course consisting of all whitey’s.  Yes that’s right, R.L.I and S.A.S. So pucker up and put a smile on your dial.”

The next two weeks were a pleasure. All of a sudden you knew that being a P.J.I was really quite easy. You told them what to do and they did it. Simple.

The only fly in the ointment at the start of this course was another officer. This man had served with the American 101^st airborne in the U.S.A.

The Americans teach their landing Rolls or P.L.F’s (Parachute landing falls) different to the British. They tend to crumple and stretch, rather than roll.

During about the third lesson this lieutenant stuck his hand up. “Sergeant. I think you are teaching these P.L.F’s wrong.” He stated.

“Ah sir, I presume you are commenting on the different techniques between the American and British methods of training but I can assure you that this is the way we teach things here.”

I could see that the Lieutenant was not convinced, but I carried on anyway.

The next morning after the first lesson the lieutenant stood out in front of the section.

“Sergeant. I am telling you. You are teaching these falls all wrong.” He said it with such conviction that the rest of the section was also starting to doubt my ability.

I stood there for a second thinking. “Frigging hell. What do I do with this?”

I looked him in the eye and asked. “How many jumps have you done sir?”

With that he stood to attention and stretched to his full height.

“Ahh dun twenny fahve jumps with the ‘Screaming Eagles’ Sergeant” he said in his best Yankee drawl.

“Well sir then I guess you do have more experience than me, I have only done a thousand odd jumps myself.”

He stood there for a second or so for this information to register. Then he smiled and said.

“Well Sergeant. I guess I just have a big mouth then.”

I smiled back.

“Well sir. I guess you do at that. Can we get on with the training now.”

The Lieutenant turned to the rest of the section.

“Now listen in ya’all the sergeant is a good bloke and he knows what he is doing so I want ya’all to listen in good now. He is going to teach us right.”

After that he couldn’t do enough to help and was constantly chiding the others to do better. “We are going to be the best goddam section on this course.” he kept saying.

It was a very good course indeed.

At the completion of every course, the O.C would address the troops.

“Well done men, you have now qualified as military parachutists, this puts you in the ranks of the elite. But there is one thing I have to tell you now. During the course, you have been at liberty to refuse to jump.”

We didn’t tell them this during the course for obvious reasons.

The C.O. would continue “But now that you have qualified, I have to inform you that from now on, you will be given this warning. ‘When the red light comes on. It is an order to prepare to jump. When the green light comes on, it is an order to jump. Failure to do so will result in your court martial or imprisonment or both’ this applies to either training or operational jumps.”

Of course there would be grumbling, but usually it was light hearted. Most of the men were usually quite proud of earning their parachute wings.