R.A.F. Halton Aircraft Apprentices 86th Entry Association - BackChat
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Phil Stephens Airframes - 1(A) Wing
Roy Harper 2(A)Wing - ENGINES
At Baker Street Tube Station, in the second week of May, 1957, a rather small blond lad, carrying a guitar case
over his shoulder, joins a group of similar age. They stand about, idly, until directed on to a non-corridor train
by an RAF SNCO. The die is now cast, since, by boarding this train to Wendover, they have committed themselves
to joining the Royal Air Force as Apprentices of the 86th Entry. Now in groups of six, they introduce themselves
to their fellow travellers; name, home town, intended trade, etc. The blond, his Lancastrian accent very obvious,
turns out to be Roy Harper, now from Blackpool but originally from Manchester. Conversations ebb and flow as they
try to assess the companions with whom they are to live, in close proximity, for the next three years. Arriving at
Wendover they separate to be taken to their allotted quarters at Halton Camp.
Inevitably, over the next few frenetic weeks, there will be some who realise that the Service life is not for them,
and, in some cases, the RAF will, happily, agree to let them go, and they will vanish whence they came. Others will
have to make a bit more of an effort to prove themselves unsuitable Apprentice material. The truly inspired will go
to great lengths to prove their point, but the Apprentice system has been evolving since the 1920's, so most of the
approaches have been tried before, Roy, by now convinced that he wants to leave, feigns mental instability, which
culminates in his being returned to camp by the Metropolitan Police, after an unsuccessful attempt to scale the clock
tower of St. Pancras' Station!
Granted the medical discharge he craves, Roy returns to civilian life, undergoes electro-convulsive therapy, and
vanishes, apart from a brief encounter with a member of the Entry, some six years later, in a Blackpool coffee bar,
where he is busking.
The same member, forty-four years later, is in retirement, and reading a novel about a murder enquiry at a pop concert,
when he spots the name "Roy Harper" as one of the acts purported to have been appearing at said concert. Having little
belief in co-incidence, he inputs "Roy Harper, English Rock Guitarist?" into a Google Search, and pulls up a seven page
Wikipedia entry. It's the missing ex-Brat himself, now a rock phenomenon, as writer, arranger, and performer, with his
all too brief Service experience included in his biography!
Phil Stephens, (the chap in the coffee bar)
Phil Stephens Airframes - 1(A) Wing
Confessions of a Father Christmas:
Well travelled, world-weary, approaching Life with the metaphorical one eyebrow raised. Good responsible job,
reasonable income, pleasant lifestyle, God's in his Heaven, and all's well. Then, on the cusp of my sixtieth
birthday, it all changes. Redundancy, for myself and quite a few of my colleagues, just three months before
Christmas. The initial reaction was one of shock, followed by the Micawber phase-"something is bound to turn
up", and, anyway, the redundancy money will see us through for a few months, if we're careful.
Late November, and still looking. By now, willing to try anything that will generate an income. How people can
contemplate, long term,living on the basic unemployment pay escapes me utterly. Expressing this point of
view at a social gathering brings a challenge from a friend. "You did say that you were willing to try anything,
did you not?" When I answer in the affirmative, he says, " The Garden Centre at Holt are looking for a Father
Christmas for their Grotto, from the beginning of December. Are you up for it, or was it all talk?" The stake
being a tenner and a bottle of a quality single malt, I accept the challenge, and telephone for an interview.
The Garden Centre manager invites me for a chat over coffee, outlines the duties, which will be shared with
one of their regular employees, and offers me the post. There's more to this lark than meets the eye--I need
to be measured for the outfit, and choose from a selection of bushy beards. This is followed by a session with
my dialogue coach, in the shape of Ron, an old hand at the role. "Best way to learn is to start off as Santa's
little helper, and watch how I do it. You hand me the presents off the stack;it's quite easy, as the wrapping
is colour-coded. There are three age groups for boys, and three for girls. You will find that Feminism takes
hold quite early on with some of the young ladies, so you may have to back down, if one of the little darlings
wants a lorry, or a tractor, instead of a painting set!"
First day on duty, and Ron and I, suitably fortified with coffee and mince pies - supplied by a helpful attendant
gnome from the coffee shop - are on duty in our spectacular Grotto, with an Arabian Nights theme. The display
staff have produced a work of art, having been working on it for about two weeks. Seated on a throne for Himself,
and a footstool for me, we await the first paying customers. A quick look through the curtains reveals several
wide-eyed young children gazing in awe at the animated reindeer, elves, et al. The cashier will regulate the
flow to about twenty family groups an hour. Having met Santa, they then leave by a back exit.During the first
few days, the children are generally pre-school, with grandparents, which gives us a chance to become "patter-
perfect" before the hordes descend.
"Right", says Ron;"Let's get the show on the road". As the child enters, Ron invites him or her to come and
stand beside him. Ask age, to give a clue for gift selection,and enquire about what's on their list. Check
whether they've been behaving, and tell them that they'd better, as Santa now has satellite surveillance! Kids
quite impressed with this idea.
Come Wednesday morning, and my first chance in the chair. Ron's advice is to "think large", and to lower the
pitch of your voice. Confirm sherry and mince pie, plus carrot for Rudolph. One young lad says,"Grandma only
drinks gin!"
The month passes in a blur of excited faces; over the period, Ron and I will have spoken to over two thousand
children. A neighbour comes in with her three, and doesn't recognise me, and her children giggle when I say,
"What would you like for Christmas, Sally?"
During the month, we will have spoken to over two thousand children. They blur into one another, but one very
self-possessed young lady sticks in the memory, as being mature beyond her eleven years. When asked if she
will be leaving a snack for Santa, she says," I had indeed given that some thought, and, realising that you'd
be quite sick of mince pies and sherry, I thought a nice dry white, and an avocado mousse." Believe me there
is no convincing response to that one!
Pete Towse Instruments (Nav) - 3(A) Wing
In view of the current discussions over Service resourcing, the sentiments expressed by the following ditty
strike a chord. I recently unearthed it after many years of storage, which explains why it is a bit 'dated'.
The author, P.I.Fisher, was a Master Signaller on 51 Sqd at Wyton. He is now retired and works under the
pen name Peter Wyton. The poem was first published in RAF Wyton's station magazine in the early 70's and,
subsequently, in a book of his poems titled Even The Beggars Have Pearls. Details of his current activities
can be found on Peter Wyton - poet
THE UNKINDEST DEFENCE CUT OF ALL
I'm the last man left in the Air Force,
I've an office in MOD
and a copy of Queens Regulations
which only apply to me.
I can post myself to Leuchars
and detach me from there to Kinloss,
or send me on courses to Innsworth,
then cancel the lot - I'm the boss.
I'm the last man left in the Air Force,
but the great Parliamentary brains
neglected, when cancelling people,
to sell off the Stations and planes.
The result is, my inventory bulges
with KD and camp-stools and Quarters,
plus a signed book of speeches by Trenchard
which I keep to impress the reporters.
I'm the last man left in the Air Force,
I suppose you imagine it's great
to be master of all you survey, but
I tell you it's difficult, mate.
I inspected three units last Thursday,
As C-in-C ( Acting ) of Strike,
then I swept half the runway at Laarbruch
and repaired Saxa Vord's station bike.
I'm the last man left in the Air Force,
it's not doing a lot for my health.
Unit sports days are frankly exhausting
when the Victor Ludorum's oneself.
On guest nights the Mess is so lonely,
there are times when I wish I was able
to pass the port to the chap next to me,
without seeing it fall off the table.
I'm the last man left in the Air Force,
my wife says I'm never at home,
when I'm not flying Hercs, I'm at Manston,
laying gallons and gallons of foam,
or I'm in my Marine Craft off Plymouth,
shooting flares at the crowds on the Ho,
or I'm Orderly Corporal at Luqa.
It's an interesting life, but all go.
I'm the last man left in the Air Force.
I'm ADC to the Queen,
I'm Duty Clerk at St. Mawgan,
I'm the RAF rugby team.
Tomorrow I'm painting a guardroom
and air-testing numerous planes.
The day after that I'm for London,
to preach at St. Clement Danes.
I'm the last man left in the Air force
and I'm due to go out before long.
There's been no talk of any replacement
and I won't even let me sign on.
I hope to enjoy my retirement.
I've put up a fairly good show,
and I won't cut myself off entirely.
There are always reunions, you know.
Rod Whitehead Airframes - 3(A) Wing
2007 Triennial - Reflections on the Day:
This was my first visit to the Alma Mater since graduation back in 1960 so with mixed feelings of trepidation and
anticipation we arrived from deepest East Kent at 11 O'clock and turned down Chestnut Avenue with memories from
decades gone by flooding back.
Rosalind joined a group of wives on route to the Church and I headed in the opposite direction behind a steady
stream of elderly ex military gentlemen on route to the airfield.
I had forgotten just how far away from the main camp it was. Oh to be sixteen and a racing snake with young legs
again?. I eventually found the meet and greet point in the hangar and immediately spotted Chris Russ along with
other Entry members. I was made to feel very welcome by one and all and was soon catching up with all the news.
After many war stories and recollections of times past, we had lunch, which apparently had improved since 2004.
(The choice then according to Chris was red or green curry, and whatever you do, don?t try the green).
We also met Ken Smith (87th) in the hangar. Chris,Ken and I originally came from East Kent,(Deal & Littlebourne),
where we used to terrorise the local population on various high speed motorbikes during periods of leave. We had
much to catch up on so we decided to leave the large numbers at the airfield, and wander up to workshops.
On the way, we passed some enterprising villagers who had set up tables and chairs outside their cottage and were
selling tea, home made pasties and cakes. It was definitely worth a visit and will be filed away in the memory
banks for next time in case the curry should ever return.
We wandered down to what used to be the Airframe workshops and now sadly stands forlorn and empty. I can still
remember the rows of Hunters visible from the road and lit up at night as we used to march up the slip road to
join the rest of the "snake" back up the hill. I also remember the smell of hydraulic fluid when you first entered
the building.
I detached from the others at 3 o'clock to try and find Rosalind at the Church, but couldn't get near the entrance
as the service of dedication was about to start. A quick look around Kermode Hall, then it was back to the
formation point in preparation for the march up the hill to Henderson Groves and the Sunset Ceremony.
I must say that I was really looking forward to this part of the program. How many times in my mind have I hummed
the Black Bear, shuffled my feet and shouted Oi! At the appropriate time! In the end, I have to say that the actual
march was a bit of an anti-climax. We couldn't hear the band, and it was more an amble than a march past Main Point
and up the hill. Bert Aldous our DI Flt Sgt over in 3 Sqn. 3 Wing would have had an apoplectic fit. Has anyone
suggested splitting the band and place one half in the middle of the marchers??? Certainly as we neared the square
when could hear the pipes, the chatting ceased, the amble became a more recognisable step, and it felt a bit more
like a parade. Could the ghost of Joe Ballard still be lurking amidst the red brick buildings I wondered? They
still look magnificent against the backdrop of the hills and just as I remembered them.
I was struck by the attention we all paid to the ceremony and the attentiveness as the band played. Looking along
the assembled ranks in either direction, there was very little fidgeting and I suspect, the odd watery eye. Three
cheers for RAF Halton sounded very loud from within the ranks and was by all accounts appreciated from the
assembled gallery. When you think about it, how many training establishments of any description would sport such
a turn out from former students, some who first set foot on the hallowed ground over seventy years ago. I am told
that the Halton Ex-Apprentice association is on record as one of, if not the biggest organisation of its type in
the world and I suspect is also one of the most active.
As the pipes played Auld Lang Syne I could see Rosalind linking arms with a group of wives up in the seats behind
the dais. I was concerned that she would find the day boring, but I need not have worried. She had a lovely time
and made new friends in the group she was with all day. She was quite impressed with Halton House and the fact
that it has recently been used as a location for film and TV. (Typical ex Air Traffic)
All in all I was very pleased that we made the effort. It was great to see old friends again and visit the hallowed
ground. The legs just about held out and eighteen holes of golf on Sunday was very hard work! I take my hat off to
Min Larkin and the many, many people who gave up their time and effort assisting in the organisation of the event
and making sure that it went like clockwork. Well done to you all.
Would we do it again? Emphatic yes. Has to be done, wouldn't miss it for the world.
See you all there next time.
Rod Whitehead.
Jim Terry Engines - 1(A) Wing - (As narrated to Pete Towse)
Contact lost and regained after a chance comment:
Jim Terry joined the 86th Entry in 1957 as an Engine Fitter, as did Pete Dawson. Whereas Jim hailed from Camber,
Sussex - a small seaside village that lies on the edge of the Romney Marsh - Pete was a member of the Royal New
Zealand Air Force whose family lived on the other side of the world. They became great pals during their three
years at Halton, to the extent that Pete spent time with Jim and his family during the holidays.
Pete became a S/A/A - and was the Graduation No. 1 Flight Commander. He gained the highest marks in all technical
training subjects and won the Pioneer Trophy. He also received the Air Ministry 1st Prize for the best Engine Fitter
Trade Standards Tests and graduated as a substansive Corporal. After they graduated, Jim was posted to Abingdon
and Pete returned to New Zealand and - as is the way with these things - although the intentions were good, they
lost contact with each other.
Jim was keen to become an Air Engineer but his eyesight let him down. He left the RAF after 9 years and took over
his father's grocers shop at Camber. It transpired that Pete had become a pilot in the RNZAF and then, on retiring,
flew as a commercial pilot.
In 1971 Jim had a change of shops, taking over a butchers shop in Lydd, Kent - 5 miles from Camber. In 1986 a
customer entered one afternoon and Jim was struck by her antipodean accent. On enquiring " Are you Aussie or Kiwi"
established that she was a New Zealander, Jim related the tale of his friendship with Pete and, to his utter
astonishment, learned that not only was the woman married to a New Zealand commercial pilot but that one of her
husband's best friends was …Pete Dawson!
Four or five months later, Jim was shutting up shop one lunchtime and a chap on the other side of the road waved to
him. He then crossed the road and said to Jim, who was climbing into his car, "Remember me?". Pete Dawson had
turned up in Lydd having just flown an aircraft into Gatwick. Jim felt really flattered Pete could come and look
him up after all those years. Suffice to say they have not lost contact with each other again - far from it. Pete and
his wife have stayed with Jim and his wife when they visited the U.K. and Jim, whose daughter and family are
currently working in New Zealand for two years, hopes to visit Pete when he goes to New Zealand. The friendship has
also moved on one generation as their respective daughters have hit if off and are now close friends.
Jim never did find out what the New Zealand woman was doing buying a couple of lamb chops in Lydd.
As they say, you really couldn't make it up.......
Keith (Lefty) Wright Engines - 1(A) Wing - (Entry winner of the Elliot Memorial Prize)
The Reluctant Trolley Dolly
I was posted to RAF Laarbruch in 1962, but was only there a couple of months when I was transferred, along with other
tradesmen from various camps in Germany, to RAF Gatow in Berlin. The cold war was entering a dangerous period and
it was feared that the Russians would close all land access to Berlin, enforcing a second Berlin Air Lift. Fortunately this
didn't happen, but we remained there just in case.
Because we were isolated from the mainstream of RAF activity, it was decided to send us separately to RAF Wildenrath
for two weeks "familiarisation" per year. We would fly between Gatow and Wildenrath on the weekly Pembroke run. One
summer's evening I was just finishing my fortnight when I bumped into Pete Lane (683153). We headed for the NAAFI bar
and, because there were so many stories to tell, stayed until closing time.
The following morning, worn and weary, I reported to the departing Pembroke, and on arrival was approached by the aircraft
Captain. "Airman", he said, "There's only two passengers, yourself and an army General. During the flight, when he signals,
I'd like you to serve him coffee. All the makings are on the floor at the front of the cabin". As I made an appropriate reply I
realised that my planned sleep would be severely delayed.
The General sat at the front of the cabin, with me discreetly at the back, my head and stomach reminding me of the previous
evenings' entertainment. On cue, halfway through the flight, he turned and clicked his fingers. I de-belted and staggered
forward. He greeted me with the words, "Milk, one sugar". I reached down and unclipped the top of the coffee container,
beside which was a stack of cardboard cups, a polythene bag containing sugar and a small flask of milk. I dunked one cup
into the foaming coffee and poured its contents into a second cup. So far, so good. I took the lid off the milk flask and added
milk to the coffee. Then, as there were no spoons, I opened the top of the sugar bag and gently shook some sugar into the
cup. Feeling smug, I handed the cup to the General.
To show his gratitude the General barked, "How the hell do I stir it". Whilst mumbling about the lack of spoons, I suddenly
had an inspiration. I quickly reached into my breast pocket, pulled out a biro, plunged it into the liquid and began to stir.
Unfortunately, the ink ran. To this day, I have never forgotten the look on the General's face.
I was dispatched to the back of the cabin, a broken man, and slept for the remainder of the flight. The General, bless him,
did not take the matter further. He was probably more concerned with what the Russians were doing. As for me, I learned
about flying from that!!
Malcolm (Mac) Lambert Electrical (Air) - 3(A) Wing - (Now Chief Engineer, Midlands Air Museum)
I Think I've Died and Gone To Heaven
I am not going to bore everyone with my service or civilian career except to say I enjoyed both to the full and retired from both
with pensions that enable me to justify the title of the article.
I currently enjoy life by restoring/renovating aircraft at the Midland Air Museum Coventry. Now some of you who have had a
belly full of fixing aircraft all of their working lives and never wish to see or hear about another one as long as they live I suggest
you click on the previous page arrow NOW.
I play with and restore these one to one models for 6 days a week and have done so for just over 3 years, anyone who is
interested in looking at the range of our collection is invited to browse the MAM website. (See Links page)
I started out this quest for my final go at getting engineering satisfaction by visiting a few museums and gauging the level and
quality of the support they gave their volunteers, looking at their exhibits and trying to match what they say they did, to what
was staring me in the face. Lots of museums have very different ideas on what volunteers should be doing and if you ever intend
to go down the same route as me be very careful to find out to what extent your skills will be used. You wouldn’t be reading
this if you were not aircraft trained so you wouldn’t want to be using your knowledge and skills cutting grass or mending fences
all day long, but it happens.
With the preface and warning shots over I started out my Midland Air Museum association with a two year Canberra PR3
restoration project which is adequately covered in the Canberra tribute web site (link provided from this site). After completing
this very rewarding exercise the Chairman of the Board of Trustees asked me to take up the position of Chief Engineer ( mainly I
think because I was the only one even remotely qualified he had to choose from) which I accepted. This meant a survey of every
aircraft in the collection and to determine what the priorities were in relation to each exhibit. With a collection as diverse
as ours and my knowledge of aircraft like the Vulcan being very limited I had to do some rapid reading up on type and in some
cases the individual aircrafts history. For instance we have the only Boulton Paul research aircraft (circa 1950) the BP111A and
to be allowed to work on such a hallowed aircraft and to determine what to do on it has been a privilege extended to only a few.
Now don’t go thinking we have huge resources as per Duxford and Cosford as this is definitely not the case, we are more the
back-street garage to the Main Franchise if you get the comparison. If for instance I decide in my high and mighty position as
Chief that an aircraft needs a repaint I will give you one guess who ends up doing it in 99% of cases. But that’s the buzz I
suppose, I see the whole thing through from start to finish in most cases. I have an “apprentice” who works with me (he is
actually 10 + years older than me and worked on Mossies in the war) we approach each project with enthusiasm and both
come out the other end with a great deal more knowledge than we started with.
Our current project is restoring the second prototype HS125 built in 1963, getting the hydraulics working so that students
can work the undercarriage and flaps by hand pump. We have spent a great deal of time fabricating the interior from scratch,
the cockpit had to be completely remade, no mean feat when you only have a grainy B and W photo to go by. We have radios
and lights working again, oh yes and most importantly with a bit of poetic licence we re-instated the bar.
I actually look forward to every day now trying to stay one step ahead of the Public in providing them and their offspring with
an interesting, working if possible, collection of aircraft to view.
I know I will never complete my museum wish list and perhaps never even come close to it as I add more to it each day than I
tick off as having been completed but where else can I in one day sit in and work on a Vulcan, Argosy, Hunter, Sea hawk,
Harrier, Canberra and a dozen or so more lovely airframes if I so wish. So yes I am dead and I am in Heaven and I love it.
Phil Stephens Airframes - 1(A) Wing
In August of 1968, I was posted to Wildenrath, and joined ASF. Early the following year, we were all invited to play our part in
RAF Germany's "Spring Follies" The basic Ops Brief assumed an armed incursion, in force, by Redland ground forces, through
the ever-popular "Fulda Gap"; it was stressed by our immediate local commanders, that the local German Labour Force should
be assumed to have been compromised, and would probably form the basis of a "Fifth Column". We should, therefore, be on our
guard at all times. At the start of Day 2, we were told that Redland Forces had crossed the Inter-zone boundary, in some
strength, and that we should expect tactical air attacks on 2ATAF airfields shortly. I did not attend Joint Staff College,
but knew, from my reading of contemporary military history, that no ground commander worthy of his job would consider
leaving his own midden, until 100% sure of TacAir superiority over his proposed line of advance. For expressing this point
of view in ASF Tech. Control, I was taken to task by OC Tech Wing. Later, on this very hot day, while we were all in our
NBC kit, the same worthy broadcast, from his nice airconditioned bunker, that, "Full NBC kit will continue to be worn until
further notice".Unaware that he was still transmitting, he then said,"We'll let the buggers sweat for a bit longer, shall
we?".
On Day 3 of the exercise, I encountered the same chap, when we were both in No2 Dress, walking along the main road through
the Technical Area, with a bundle of Red "Secret" file folders tucked under his arm. I said nothing at the time, but, at
the subsequent Engineering Officers and SNCO's "wash-up", said that, in view of the briefed threat of Fifth Columnists
operating within our camp area, it would seem the height of folly for a Senior Officer to wander about with unconcealed
classified material under his arm. My temerity earned me the new secondary duty of SNCO i/c Station Special Safety Team.
The mission brief was "to form a cordon, at a distance of 800 yards, centred upon a suspected radiological activity". To
carry out this function, I was given eight men, a Magirus truck, and an MT Driver; with those few resources, the lads would
have been out of sight of each other. Still, ours not to reason why! Our duty post was in the Station Sick Quarters car
park, and, on Day 4, a blazing hot day, dressed in, by now, very sweaty NBC Kit, we were "awaiting orders". While we were
standing there, an open-topped MGB drove into the car park, it's driver hatless, and nattily clad in green flying overalls.
I told the lads to surround the car, with weapons ready, and asked the driver, apparently a Fg.Off. Pilot, if he could
produce any means of Identification. He told me to "Go forth and multiply", and walked off toward the SSQ. I followed him,
and ordered two of the SSST members to accompany me. I again asked his name, and for some identification; he again became
abusive. I met the MO, and explained the situation. The Fg.Off. then gave me his name, and told me that he was a pilot on
14 Sqdn. I asked the MO if I could confine him within SSQ, under armed guard, until I could verify his claim. I think the
MO read war comics,because he immediately showed me a small room, with a lockable door. Having ensured that my prisoner
was secure, I asked the MO's permission to use his telephone, and called the 14 Sqdn Ops Officer's extension. By great
good fortune, their CO answered the telephone, and asked how he could help. I explained that I had, under lock and key, and
under armed guard, a young gentleman claiming to be one of his pilots,but with no F1250, no side-arm, no cap, and unlike
everyone else at Wildenrath, not wearing NBC clothing,and that I would be most grateful if someone from the Sqdn could
"pop up" and sort it. Shortly after, a Flt. Lt. turned up, collected my "prisoner", and took him to the Guardroom, placing
him in a cell. The CO of 14 Sqdn. at that time was Wg. Cdr.Armitage; some time later, during the planning stages of the
Whittle Window, he and I had a social chat, during which I mentioned that he and I had once spoken on the telephone. When
I reminded him of the occasion, he asked if was aware of the outcome of my actions. Apparently, the young gentleman
concerned was not universally liked; when his sidearm, F1250, cap,and NBC clothing were found in his locker, the Wingco
ordered his continued detention in the Guardroom, "pour encourager les autres". Twenty-four hours later, the Station Duty
Officer, also from 14 Sqdn, paid him a visit. He was kicking the cell door, and shouting abuse; the Duty Officer felt that
this irrational behaviour meant that it would be unsafe to release him, and confined him for a further day. Sir Michael
said that I would be wise to keep looking over my shoulder, as the young man had my name, but that it served him right, as
he should have known better than to have got "up the nose" of an ex-Brat.
Pete Towse Instruments (Nav) - 3(A) Wing
David Drinkwater, in his article below, remembers the sad loss of a C-130 at Fairford. At the time, I was working as a
Flight Simulator engineer on the C-130 simulator at Thorney Island. The device was one of the earliest to employ a
digital computer and a tracking colour TV camera visual system. Although it had only three motion axes (pitch, roll and
heave) the aerodata on which the flight characteristics were modelled was fairly representative and the accident
investigation team used the machine to test their ideas as to what might have happened.
The C-130's engines normally ran at a fixed rpm, the thrust produced by each engine being controlled by a Condition
Lever which altered the angle of the prop blades. One theory was that the crew were practising a single engine failure
just after take-off, which would have been accomplished by moving the relevant Condition Lever to its mid position,
driving the blades to the feathered position. Unfortunately the blades were actually driven to the full reverse-thrust
position resulting in the aircraft having three engines producing maximum forward thrust and one (I believe outboard)
engine producing maximum reverse thrust.
After the accident investigation team had departed I flew the simulator and, after take off, at 100ft, I put #4 engine's
Condition Lever into the full reverse-thrust position. The simulator just went mad. The resulting turning/rolling moment
was incredible and I thought the motion jacks were going to be pulled out of the floor. The motion excursions were so
violent that I could not reach the emergency knock-off button. More than an hour later someone remarked on how
"white faced" I looked....
Pete Towse Instruments (Nav) - 3(A) Wing
I recall that during our final Term the Entry dined in an annex to 1(A) Wing Mess. It seemed that tinned mushrooms
almost always formed part of our evening meal. The mushrooms came in large catering tins and consisted entirely of
(usually stringy) stalks; the rumour being that the mushroom's heads were to be found in the Officer's Mess. One
evening, somebody discovered a mushroom head amongst their serving of stalks and, as you would expect, an
enterprising bright-spark immediately organised a raffle. The Flt.Sgt. i/c the Mess eventually came over to investigate
the bedlam and general merriment and, on being told the reason, went ballistic and slung us out of the building. I
cannot remember who won the raffle but wonder who else remembers the incident and, most importantly, who ended
up with the only decent end of a mushroom ever to come within our orbit while we were at Halton?
Dave Drinkwater Engines - 3(A) Wing
Pre Halton
I suppose life for me really started when I went to Halton. I had never really been interested in aircraft - only cars. An
uncle managed to get me into the Rolls Royce apprentice scheme but my parents couldn't afford the living -in fees so it was
back to the drawing board as they say. I went to a Grammar School and left after 2 years in the 5th form with only 2 GCE's.
Maths was always a problem for me and years later I realised that the instruction at the time was abysmal. No excuses - I
was always a slow learner and some of the boys in my class went on to much greater things than me so it was probably a
mixture of my incompetence and poor teaching. However I left with the 2 qualifications and as I couldn't get into RR, I
applied for the Halton scheme. I remember going to the Recruiting Office on Jan 16th,1957 and ploughing through all sorts
of tests for a whole day. Some days later we got the letter. "Not suitable for technical training" BUT, I was offered a
place at Credenhill as an Admin Apprentice. So on Jan 23rd, I arrived at Hereford (Credenhill) and started life as an
Admin Apprentice. The first person I met was a Cpl DI who was also called Drinkwater. He came to me in the apprentice's
Mess and asked me if I was going to live up to the good name of Drinkwater. My, off the top of my head, reply, was "It
depends on what sort of reputation it already has". Probably not a good opening gambit as he was my sections DI for the
next month. It was hard work. We slogged over the Black Mountains in Wales in pursuit of the Duke of Edinburgh's badges.
We laboured in the classroom listening to instructors telling us all about out "bin stock cards" (I was an apprentice
Supplier) and we froze on the parade ground. After a couple of months of this I couldn't take any more lectures on "bin
stock cards". My Sqn boss was a S/L Holland and I managed to persuade him to approach Halton with a view to trying again.
He was my saviour because some weeks later I found myself in the drawing office at "Schools" looking out over the airfield
and watching gliders in the warm Spring sunshine. I sat the 79th Intermediate exam in Maths and unbelievably managed 35%.
The officer who gave me the good news told me that if I could get 35% without any training then I was a fair bet to achieve
a good pass mark after one years training. One incident at that time still does stick in my mind. When I arrived at Halton
to take this maths test, I was looked after by a W/O who worked in one of the huts opposite the workshops area. He took me
back to his house for tea and generally befriended me over the 2 days. I wish I had stayed in touch with him but it was
greatly appreciated at the time and on looking back. Back to Hereford to "clear" and then although I can't actually remember
the arrival at Halton it must have gone smoothly. I already had my uniform and knew how to bull boots, so I was a marked man
for the DI's.
Halton
There were highlights and low points over the next 3 years but certain things stick in the mind. Sgt Christmas, - the dreaded
79th entry who I remember were regarded as bully's. - the dreaded crash of beds being turned over in the middle of the night
- but best of all, I made some good friends who I remain in contact with to this day. I was lucky, or perhaps in the right
place etc, but I got promoted to L/A/A then C/A/A - which meant a bunk and some privacy where I could get my head down in
order to justify my place in the entry. One lasting bonus of going to a Grammar School was the musical education that I
received. It was the only subject where I consistently came top of the class. I suspect it was the other boys lack of interest
rather than my proficiency. Although I would have loved to have taken up an instrument with the "tin" band at Halton couldn't
risk the distraction and watched both the Pipes and Drums and the "Tin" band with envy. I still like to listen to the
"Black Bear " - and remember that march from the airfield or wherever back to the Mess area.
I had found myself in the Ordinary National Certificate stream after the "inter" exam but it didn't last too long. Still I
found Engineering drawing interesting and I still have my handwritten notes on Engine Science etc - wonderful stuff. I
remember the BK Trophy and suchlike with fond memory - I did enjoy running etc and in those days was very fit and slim.
Nowadays I am unrecognizable in comparison with those early days. Anyway the atmosphere and traditions were to be gradually
altered during our time at Halton. In our final year we were allowed out in our smart civvy uniform and I found myself a
girlfriend in a nearby town. This was courtesy of the Motor Club where we often took the Tojeiro car to Silverstone for Phil ?
to drive. Sqn Ldr Candy was our Officer i/c and he was a good and enthusiastic leader. The previously mentioned girlfriend was
the daughter of a race marshal and I soon found myself being invited over for tea on Sundays. Graduation loomed and eventually
in the April of 1960 we trod the parade ground for the last time.
The Real World
I was posted to Lyneham where the difference in service life could not have been more pronounced. I worked on the
Rectification team which involved fixing snags on the Comet 2's and Britannia's. It was shift work and gave me the opportunity
to get away for a couple of days at a time to see the girlfriend again. That didn't last too long though because she became a
fashion designer in London and soon lost interest in me. I didn't like Lyneham and during my service career I was posted there
three times. The accommodation at Lyneham for newcomers was in a Nissen type hut complete with the coke stove. I shared that
room with several National Service men who were actually great guys. Eventually I managed to acquire a single room in one of
the more modern blocks. The opportunity of an exchange posting to Waterbeach came up after a few months and I took it. This
meant working on Javelin Mk 2's with 46 Sqn. The Cambridge area was wonderful for a young single bloke like me. Cambridge had
many attractions and my love for Jazz was nurtured on a Thursday night at the Corn Exchange. I have fond memories of dashing
around quiet lanes of the county in a Berkeley 3-wheel car powered by a 700cc Royal Enfield engine. The power to weight ratio
was phenomenal and that was what I call motoring. A friend of mine at the time bought a Mini van (no side windows to avoid
purchase tax) and I seem to remember him paying about £350 for it - new!!
Happy times at Waterbeach and then I got posted to Wildenrath in Germany. That was an adventure for someone who had never
been abroad, The flight was from Manston in a Silver City Hermes (a Hastings with a nose wheel) to Dusseldorf. I remember
looking out of the window of the coach from Dusseldorf to Wildenrath being amazed that Germany was so like England - ah
well. Life on 88 Sqn (later renamed 14 Sqn) gave me the taste for flying because I used to travel with the Canberra as a
flying spanner when the aircraft went on Lone Ranger trips to Malta and Cyprus. I remember completely ignoring one
navigator who thought that I was there to carry his nav' bag. He eventually gave up and carried it himself.
I had now had 3 postings in 2 years so it was time to get down to getting promoted. Pete Lane was on the Sqn and I think that
he and I were the only ones from our entry although there were other ex-brats around from earlier entries. We had to go to
Geilenkirchen for our trade tests and after studying Sprite and Spectre Rocket Motors ,I achieved the "Spec Quals" and passed
the exam for Corporal. About that time I saw in SRO's a paragraph inviting suitably qualified techs from Groups 1-4 to apply
for Air Engineer training. The drawback was far as I could see was that you were to remain current in your own trade whilst
flying as an engineer. No chance of me undertaking that formidable task so no more thoughts in that direction until I was
posted back to Lyneham, this time to the Propeller and Engine Components Bay. I remember being puzzled one day when a
Comet Air Engineer came into the bay and asked me to explain something on the reverse thrust mechanism to him. Why on earth
did he want to know that? Later on I was to find out exactly how much the Air Eng needed to know about the aircraft. Lyneham
still bugged me and I decided to apply for Air Engineer training. To cut a long story short I had also applied for an
exchange posting but couldn't have both applications in at the some time. So I cancelled the Air Eng bit, took the posting
to Leconfield and then re-applied for Air Eng training. At Leconfield I was entitled to AMQ's (having got married in Germany)
and once safely ensconced re-applied for the training. The day that I was accepted, a Hastings fell out of the sky at
Abingdon which was not a good omen.
Flying Training
The course itself was split between St Athan (Airframes and Engines), Newton (Elect and Instruments) and then to the OCU for
full conversion training on to the aircraft of "choice". At "Saints" we were trained by senior tradesmen who gave all the
indications of being frustrated air engineers - still we all managed. The education bit was different. Maths, maths and more
maths followed by aerodynamics, thermodynamics etc. The main instructor was a Flt Lt who told us on the first day of the
course that in 12 weeks there would only be 6-8 of the original 14 left. It was hard. We had to be proficient in the use of a
slide rule (no log tables allowed) and the amount of formulae to remember papered my bunk wall in the Mess for weeks. Newton
was a step back in time originally as we were instructed by an old civvy instructor who taught us about DC power stations. Why,
we never found out. At long last the preparation for the OCU was complete and we had to choose our aircraft. The choice was
Argosy (too many electrics), Shackleton (flies too close to the water), Hastings (remember the one that fell out of the sky)
and finally the Beverley. I had watched the Beverley fly on its first trip as it was built very close to my home and indeed
when in the 5th form at school, we had visited the Brough factory to see them being built. The Beverley also looked as though
it would be the first one to finish RAF service - so the Beverley it was.
Those of us on the course who had been selected for the Beverley OCU travelled to Abingdon and joined 47 Sqn for a couple of
weeks. We were soon introduced to the coffee bar and what constituted "Nato Standard" (coffee with milk and 2 sugars) and then
did a couple of trips, mostly dropping para's to help us appreciate what we were letting ourselves in for. Then to
Thorney Island and the Ground School proper. Two excellent Master Engineers ran the instructional side. Jack Crews and
Bill Overton. The notes that we were given, amounted to a complete breakdown of the aircraft in fine detail. Problem was that
it didn't mean a lot to me at the time as we hadn't really seen much of the aircraft. It was a case of ploughing through the
books and listening to the instructor. Several years later the system was to spend almost as much time with the aircraft as we
did in the classroom but this was 1966 and training was still rather "old fashioned".
The flying side was good but there is an old saying in the flight engineer fraternity. As soon as you sit in the seat on the
flight deck, your brain goes on to half power. There must be a micro switch in the seat somewhere. What seemed so
straightforward in the classroom required a lot of prompting from the instructor when airborne. Lots of figures and limitations
to master and put into practice. We didn't have the throttles or any of the other controls to worry about but the oil cooler
shutters which governed the oil temperature of the Centaurus engines required constant attention. Turn your back to look at the
fuel flow meters for a couple of seconds and the oil temperature would shoot up and cause the Captain to shout "Eng"!! The
night flying was done in El Adem (Libya). According to my log book I did about 5 hours night flying and almost the same number,
day flying around El Adem and then operated the aircraft back through Luqa (Malta) to Thorney Island. I was "route checked on
that leg back and must have passed because they allowed me to complete another 10 or 11 hours flying before I eventually stood
in front of some Air Officer (can't think who it was) and had a flying brevet pinned to my best blue. One of my colleagues was
posted to Aden which was an unaccompanied posting. He promptly refused it saying that he had spent enough time away from his
family and wasn't about to spend another 12 months away. He did a disappearing act up to London to be "Boarded" and the next
time I saw him he was Chief Instrumentation Manager on the Concorde project at Fairford. How he pulled off that trick, I'll
never know.
Flying the Blackburn Beverley
It was time to pull the family out of our AMQ at Driffield and pack up for my posting which was to 30 Sqn in Bahrain. I flew
out in a Comet4 and arrived at Muharraq feeling very lonely and ill at ease. This was a very new world but I needn't have
worried because waiting for me at SHQ was a Flt Sgt from the Squadron who literally guided me through the first few days of
arrival on a new unit. The bad news was that this Sqn had been pulled out of Kenya the previous year and was scheduled to
disband in the next 12 months. I thought bang goes my "call-fam" which was the notification for my family to join me. Anyway I
submitted it and to my surprise received immediate notification that my wife and very young son would be joining me in 2 days.
I then had to run around and buy a car, find my new quarter and generally make things ship shape for the family. Fortunately
the Sqn were understanding and didn't impose lots of flying on me at that early stage. The car that I bought was a Fiat 600
Giardinia which was about the size of a SMART car. In retrospect not the ideal car to have in a hot climate but not having a
lot of money and even less time, it was all I could get at short notice. It hadn't dawned on me at the time that if I had
looked around the car park, I would have seen Pontiacs, Chevrolets and Ford Fairlines etc. The clue was there. In a hot
climate get a big car. Petrol was only 1/6d per gallon!!!
The family arrived and we occupied a second floor 3 bed apartment down town in Manama. Some of the "Siggies" (air
electronics')lived nearby and we soon had a good social life going. It was time for me to get flying properly and I was
"screened" by an established flt eng ( I refuse to use the Air Force term of Air Eng) for the first couple of trips to ensure
that I didn't make too much of a hash of things. My first trip was down to Sharjah and we blew a cylinder head on the way down.
That meant that while the rest of the crew were living it up in the bar, my "screen" and I were undoing red hot bolts and
fitting a new cylinder head. Of course there were engine runs to do afterwards and it was very late when we finally finished
and hit the Mess. Looking at my log book again I see that we finished up in Aden (which was not my cup of tea) before routing
back around the coast to Bahrain again. We were not allowed to over fly Saudi territory - diplomatic clearances or something
- so we crawled around the edge visiting every desert encampment on the way.
I remember an engineer instructor telling me when I was under training that his first tour on the Beverley was what he called
his "apprenticeship". That is how I found it as well. The Beverley was not renowned for its serviceability and there were
several "moments" during the year. We used to fly co-pilot solos in routine training, which meant that instead of having a
Captain on board, we had two experienced co-pilots. We were doing an approach one afternoon with one engine (number 4) shut
down so that the handling pilot could practice his asymmetric approach. Just as we reached about 500 feet on finals an Army
Auster decided to come too close and we broke off the approach.. As we pulled hard right, the other engine on the same side as
the one we had shut down, also failed. To this day I don't know how we did it, but between the non handling pilot and me, we
managed to shut down the failed engine and restart the number 4 engine. It was time to put it down on the ground so we did.
The Wing Examiner thought we had done well, so for a few weeks we all basked in each others reflected glory as the recipients
of a crew "Good Show" The training did work after all. A few days after this incident, I was on an early morning take-off
with this same Wing Examiner on board, when we suffered a failure of the number 4 engine again just as we reached the decision
speed of whether we stopped on the runway or got airborne to sort it out. I called "Engine failure number 4 - AND number 3".
Yes - we had a double failure on one side and we were only going to rearrange the scenery if we tried to get airborne - so we
didn't.
Another incident involved us landing at a desert strip. The Beverley was going to be replaced by the Andover in the Middle East
and we were familiarising Andover pilots with the terrain. This particular flight was captained by OC 30 Sqn and as we
approached the desert strip he told the Andover Captain who was present on the flight deck that it was "most important to maintain
speed towards the end of the strip after landing." Just before the end, the aircraft should use its momentum to complete a
180-degree turn thus facing the opposite direction for the next take-off. Well of course the inevitable happened and the nose
wheel turned but the aircraft didn’t and we dug in to soft sand with aircraft canted at an angle. We had on board a bulldozer,
which was to be used to re-grade the strip before our subsequent take off. Unfortunately, the back doors couldn’t be opened
because the microswitches controlling the Auxiliary Power Unit were broken due to the angle of the aircraft. Eventually after a
lot of spadework and the application of some electric string to the micro switches I managed to get the rear doors open and the
bulldozer off the aircraft. For some reason best known to the “Siggies” we couldn’t radio base to tell them about our problem but
after some time a Twin Pioneer came looking for us and relayed news of our plight to Bahrain. We needed to get airborne before
the sun disappeared behind the sand dunes but we also needed the outside air temp to drop so that we could achieve enough take-off
performance before we ran out of desert. The next hour or so saw me out on the strip whirling a "wet and dry" thermometer round my
head and holding an anemometer in the other, pausing only to consult the Operating Data Manual. This book had hundreds of tables
which when consulted in the right order and using the parameters given by the temperature and wind speed (plus many other factors)
gave some indication as to how low the temperature had to drop for us to clear the sand dunes at the end of this desert runway on
our take-off run. The signal to start engines, was the sight of me sprinting back to the aircraft as the conditions eventually
complied with the requirements. We made it and landed back at Bahrain. I don't think the Andover Captain and our boss exchanged
too many words on the return flight.
I think the rest of the year went almost without anything noteworthy happening. However my wife and I decided to visit Kenya on
leave in the May of '67. This involved travelling by Argosy to Aden, East African Airways Comet to Nairobi and Fokker Friendship
to Mombassa. A nice break but on the way back from Aden to Bahrain I started to feel rather ill. By the time we landed at Bahrain
I was very ill and we had a doctor visit us at the apartment that evening. My temperature was raging and although I don't remember
much about it I was hauled off to Muharraq Hospital and put on a drip. When I woke up some 10 days later I had missed the Arab -
Israeli 6 day War completely. Apparently I had sustained a strain of Malaria which was impervious to Paludrin anti-malarial tablets.
The down side of this was that my wife who was pregnant at the time had been admitted into the local Arab hospital. She was
threatening to miscarry the baby and although I was in a modern hospital it didn't have any facilities for female patients - hence
the Arab treatment. I was feeling like death but discharged myself from my sickbed and went in search of my wife. When I entered
the ward, all of the female Arabs dived under the sheets to avoid being seen by me.
It was not a good period of my life because the local populace having been egged on my Colonel Nasser of Egypt were demonstrating
outside the apartments every day and it was quite dangerous to be seen on the streets. Our boss said we could fly the families home
if we wished but I think they all stayed. It was later rumoured that King Hussein of Jordan had implicated the British for allegedly
assisting the Israelis. The year continued more quietly after those few weeks and we started making preparations for flying the
aircraft back to England for scrapping at Shawbury. We set off in two flights of three in the September. The route was Bahrain -
Sharjah - Teheran (night stop) - Diyabarkir - Nicosia (night stop) - Luqa. Why we had to go to Sharjah which was almost in the
opposite direction I'll never know - something to do with Persia (as it was then)not recognising flight plans originating in Bahrain.
When we got to Luqa in Malta we had an enforced 2 day break as there were not enough "Gee" crystals to go around all of our aircraft
so we had to signal Group for permission to fly in formation with the lead aircraft having the necessary navigation equipment. The
leg from Luqa to Shawbury was the longest leg I ever did on the aircraft (9 hours). These days, holiday jets do it in a quarter of
that time. I "borrowed" the navigation panel chronometer from the aircraft before it went through the crusher but some years gave it
away in a fit of benevolence. Thus ended my brief experience of the Beverley which, as I had thought had ended its service career
before the Shackleton, Argosy etc. After a brief leave period it was back to Thorney Island for training on the brand new Hercules
C-130.
Flying the Lockheed C-130 Hercules
One of the members of my course described the pre-flight of the aircraft as not so much checking everything as taking the aircraft
part, laying it out on the hangar floor and re-assembling it again. There never seemed to be enough time to do everything before
the rest of the crew turned up. Once the engines were started, this thing fairly galloped into the sky after being used to the
Beverley. Not only did it have gas turbine engines but it had air conditioning and pressurisation which meant we were very busy in
the climb until we got the hang of it all. The other thing I remember was that being an American aircraft, switch positions were
different. Up meant OFF and vice versa. I seemed to stagger through the course OK - unless my mind kind off blanked out the bad bits
because I found myself at Fairford in Glocs on 47 Sqn. This was quite novel because none of us in the flight engineer department knew
what the hell we were doing and yet we would gaily (is that the right word?) launch ourselves off to places we had only ever seen on
a map before with no thought about what happens if it all fell apart on us. In those days we didn't have ground engineers to help us
either - but it was all good fun.
Changi in Singapore became the "milk run" for us but it was hard work. We departed Fairford at 18.00 on a Friday night and flew
overnight to Bahrain, had 14 hours on the ground then flew direct to Singapore for another 14 hours and then repeated the same
journey in reverse to Fairford. The wives barely had time to miss us before we were back again. Looking on my log book again, I
seemed to do that trip once per month but in the meantime we were also doing early morning parachute drops on Hankley Common
(wherever that might be)and flying a lot of training sorties as the crew complement built up. We also had the sad business of
losing one of the aircraft as it climbed away from Fairford having just done a crew change during training. What should never
have happened, did happen when one of the engine management levers which also governed the behaviour of the propeller was pulled
back into reverse just after take-off. The accident occurred about 16.30 just when we were thinking of going home for the day.
Of course we couldn't get off the base immediately, nor make any phone calls but I remember getting home in time to see the
accident being reported on the 6 o'clock BBC news. Some time later the sad procession of padre's and other officers visited one
of my neighbours - her husband had been on the aircraft and was killed along with the rest of the crew. Good old BBC - ahead of
the game as usual - but no comfort to the families who in most cases were still ignorant of the true facts.
Life went on at Fairford and we all began to explore the world a bit more. Jamaica, Bermuda the USA and West Indies all started
to figure in my log book and the Army soon started to use us for taking their troops across to Calgary in Canada for their
training. The Anguila crisis where this tiny Caribbean island seceded from its larger neighbour (Antigua) required us to ferry
a party of London policemen out to the island to sort the situation out once and for all. That was good especially when we
stopped off in Bermuda for a few days on the return. It didn't take long for me to get 1000 hours on type whereupon Lockheed
presented me with a certificate - which I suppose I must still have in the archive somewhere.
One memorable trip involved us flying round the world in a west about direction as quick as were able. We had two crews on board
plus a doctor who fed us Mogadon pills to make us sleep when not operating on the flight deck. Anyone who has tried to sleep on
a Hercules knows that it is impossible. I now know that the Mogadon tablets have a half life of something like 40 hours which
meant that due to the cumulative dose that we were getting meant that we were walking zombies after a couple of days. That
didn't put us off at the time and we duly left Fairford in the snow on the morning of February 20th 1969. The first stop was
Thule in Greenland where we put on fuel and flew onwards to Sacramento in California. Phew - what a day! The Yanks being what
they are invited us to a party on landing and….. yes we went! Eventually we got to bed and next morning (I think) set off for
Honolulu (only an 8 hour leg). Things were going so well (thought the boss) that we flew all the way across the rest of the
Pacific Ocean calling in at Wake Island and Guam for fuel before landing at Kai -Tak (Hong Kong) - where it was raining. By
this time, the other flight engineer and I were spelling each other on the flight deck for periods of about one hour each as we
were rather fatigued. The aforesaid "boss" had the idea of doing some training flying in Hong Kong (oh goodee!) but the weather
put paid to that and I watched the inside of my eyelids for about 15 hours. The next day was comparatively simple - just
Hong Kong to Singapore but no time for shopping as the boss was required back. Goodness me - we had been away for nearly 5 days
at this stage and being the "boss" , he had important things to do, so we - technical term this - "Flagged" the aircraft back
only refuelling at Gan, Bahrain and Cyprus - and without any night or days stops - back to Fairford. It took me about 10 days
to get over that trip. No more about Fairford - it was good while it lasted but having had a ride on the flight deck of a
Belfast I fancied my chances on 53 Sqn at Brize Norton. Then one day - out of the blue, two of us (Graham Haddon and I ) were
asked to go and see the OC Sqn. Oh dear - first reaction, but when in the office he said there were two postings for flight
engineers to Brize Norton, one on VC10's and the other on the Belfast. We were to retire to the crew room and choose between
ourselves who went on which posting. It was very democratic and because I had always said that I would like to fly on the
Belfast, I stuck with my original idea and Graham went on the VC10. He subsequently got his commercial licence, left the
Air force and flew on Tri-Star's for Gulf Air for many years making pots of money.
Flying the Short Belfast
I went to Brize in Sept '71. This was my third OCU within 5 years and I was beginning to get the hang of things. No problems
that I can remember and the end of the flying training we did a round the world trainer, this time east about. The Belfast
was like a supercharged Beverley, performance wise. It had a flight engineers panel which would not have been out of place in
a nuclear power station. The flight deck was massive and was reached via a spiral staircase which only lacked wallpaper to
make it feel more homely. The route flying was pretty much the same as the Herc and I didn't miss the early morning para'
details over Salisbury Plain one little bit. We did most of the USA at one time or another, the Caribbean and Canada which I
seem to remember was mostly in winter. Leaving Gander (Newfoundland) once for somewhere warm we couldn't get the landing gear
up and as we were not able to get back into Gander we diverted to Halifax (Nova Scotia). There was nothing we could do until
our Lords and Masters in England made a decision so we spent the next couple of days in a motel. When we subsequently returned
to the aircraft, the extremely low temperatures had caused all of the trim on the staircase to buckle and come out of it
securing so we had to fight our way up to the flight deck. I had left an orange on my table and it was frozen solid. Dropping
it on the floor caused it to shatter. Our Group HQ eventually decided that we had to ferry the aircraft with the gear down to
a base somewhere in Philadelphia where there was a large hangar and sufficient jacks to lift the aircraft up off the deck so
that the gear cold be inspected. Of course it worked first time when we did a retraction test - must have been the cold weather
at Gander!
One thing sticks in my mind from those days. I had moved out of quarters into a new house in Cricklade. The two boys were
sharing a bedroom and the very night that I needed a good nights sleep because of an early start, was the night that the
youngest decided to have a very restless night. Every time I dropped off to sleep there were cries from the back bedroom.
Eventually I got up, snatched the alarm clock off the bedside table and retired to the spare room. Problem was that I
inadvertently switched off the alarm in so doing. The next thing I knew was when the telephone rang and it was the ground
engineer calling me FROM THE AIRCRAFT. The Belfast was fitted with a telephone which plugged into a point on the dispersal.
"Are you coming or not today?" was the question. I don't think that I have ever driven the 20 miles to Brize so quickly.
The next problem was the icy glance from the boss who happened to be the navigator of the day. I do pick them. The Ground
Eng had done my checks and I could trust him - he knew more about the aircraft than I did - and we departed for Wildenrath
and thence to Sicily. That night the boss and I had a short one-sided discussion. As far as I can remember that was the one
and only time I nearly missed a departure. It could be selective memory of course!
It was good flying on the Belfast and we went to some very interesting places (Rio, Washington etc) and also some dumb
places - Sal, in the South Atlantic for instance. South African Airways used it as a stop over for the flights to Europe
because in those days they weren't allowed to fly across the rest of Africa. The coloured cabin crew did not mix at all with
the rest of the flight deck and cabin crew - apartheid being what it was in the mid 70's. I gradually worked myself up to an
"Above Average" grading as a Flt Eng then the rumours about the aircraft started. The Belfast was going to go out of service.
This grew and grew and then eventually an Air Officer came to the Squadron to deny the rumour. The Belfast would carry on
flying as long as it was needed and of course it was the only aircraft capable of carrying two Puma helicopters at once
without them being stripped down. I don't think a single person on the Sqn believed this hype and I decided to put in for a
last tour of duty back on Hercs' again. Some months later I got my posting - to Air Traffic Control. What ??
A.T.C.
Sometime in the dim and distant past I had been to Biggin Hill for Commissioning Selection and had been asked to undertake
the ATC aptitude test as well. I didn't get the Commission as I was going for a Branch Commission and only Supplementary
list people were taken on. However this Aptitude test success came back with a vengeance and I found myself at Shawbury after
a last "jolly" to the Bahamas and back. At the "meet and greet" party on the first night, I was welcomed by a Wing Commander
who said it was good to see the "Britannia" people coming through to Air Traffic "I am not from the Britannia " I said.
"You must be" he said. I thought there no point in continuing this conversation so I went off in search of a drink. It turned
out that my paperwork for a "last tour" had been mixed up with the Brit guys being posted to ATC.
The first month in the course was spent in the classroom studying Met', Navigation and other related subjects. We had
Nigerians and Iraqis on the course as well as a few "Brits". All went well until we hit the ATC Simulator. I had a fraught
morning one day and I asked the instructor if I could repeat the exercise during the afternoon. "Certainly not" he said. "You
are given a set amount of time to do a set amount of work and then we move on". This attitude went against the grain so I went
in to the staff instructor's crew room and looked on the board to see what his background had been. He had completed one tour
in Air Traffic and had been in the RAF for less than 5 years!! This was obviously not the place for me I thought, so on the
next Simulator exercise I drove all the simulated aircraft into the nearest hill. Very soon I had a group of instructors all
around me peering at my screen wondering if I could see something that they couldn't. They soon got the message and I was
asked to go and see the Chief Instructor. I told him that I was not enamoured by their system of training and requested a
return to a job where accuracy and demonstrated skills during training were paramount. He told me I could return to
Brize Norton and then asked me which Command, Brize Norton was in. That completely summed up the Air Traffic world for me
and I left post haste.
Back on the Lockheed C-130
I eventually arrived at Brize after some "gardening leave" and headed the Task Planning department in Operations. Once per month
I had to go to Upavon which was our HQ and sort out with the Army and other "bods" which loads and tasks went to the Belfast and
which to the Hercules. Eventually the rumours of the demise of the Belfast came true and with the almost simultaneous loss of the
Hastings, Argosy and Britannia as well, there were an awful lot of people sculling around with no jobs.
At that time we could leave the RAF with about 3 weeks notice so I went to the CAA armed with my log book and asked for my
exemptions to enable me to apply for a civilian licence. Then to British Airways for a job on the 747 fleet. One morning in Jan
1997, my telephone rang and it was my desk officer at MOD. "Good news" he said "I've got you a job flying again". "So have I"
I said. "Mine is with British Airways - where is yours?". "Ah" came the reply, "we have let too many experienced people leave
the Service and your skills are required back at Lyneham on Hercs". I could have course refused the posting and stayed on the
ground for another 18 months but that was driving me batty so I had to accept and go to Lyneham again - for the third time. The
galling bit came a few days later when an old friend of mine phoned me to say that he had seen my name on the October 747 Course
at Heathrow.
Both boys went to boarding school - substantially funded by the Air Force and I renewed my acquaintance with the C-130. It was
70 Sqn where I finished up and spent the next 30 months. Interesting flying again but I didn't like the aircraft after having
had a taste of the Belfast. One evening in 1979 we were taxiing out to do an evening sortie when ATC asked if I was on board,
Affirmative! Please ask Mr Drinkwater to report to his Squadron Boss tomorrow morning was the message from Air Traffic. I turned
round to the navigator who was actually my Sqn Boss and looked enquiringly. He shrugged his shoulders and promised to make some
phone calls when we got back. The net result was that I was selected to go to Number 6 Flying Training School - Finningley for
duties as an instructor. Apparently one of the guys posted up there had not made the grade and I was a replacement. So in July
1979 I was back in the classroom this time stood at the front.
Flying the HS-125 Dominie
I had to do an "Instructional Technique "course which was good and I spent the next 12 months teaching just about anything related
to aircraft. The class was composed of ab-initio Flt Engineers who hung on every word making my job much easier. Several years
later I was teaching the B-737 to some ex Air Force fast jet pilots who tried to pick holes in just about every aspect of the
aircraft. Look - if you don't like the concept of the aircraft - bugger off and find an aircraft you do like was my attitude. They
had to go along with my concept as they needed to pass the course. Anyway the instructional world was very enjoyable but I still
missed flying. Then suddenly I was offered the chance to convert to the Dominie (HS-125) and airborne instruction with the new
lads during their flying phase. The beauty of this was that we were trained as pilots for this job because the RAF didn't like the
thought of the aircraft being flown by only one pilot so we were all right-hand seat qualified. This meant that once every 6 months
I had to fly with a Flying Instructor and demonstrate the ability to take over in flight following simulated "pilot incapacitation"
This involved hand flying the aircraft to a diversion airfield talking and receiving landing guidance instructions from the Tower
as applicable. Later on, in the tour if I was flying with an experienced pilot he would give me the take off and I would fly it up
to altitude, plug in the autopilot and then navigate it around the route until it was time to descend to circuit height again. If
the weather was OK I would do the landing as well but this had to be done using the "Mark One Eyeball" as most of the blind flying
instruments were on the other side of the cockpit. Good Fun!
For the remainder of the time, we instructors had students who were progressing through a series of flying exercises. These
exercises increased in complexity and workload until eventually the student made the penultimate flight on his own. I cannot
remember any student actually failing at this stage of the flying phase - a tribute to good selection in the first place combined
with a good training course I suppose. I do remember one student having some problems with his airborne work and I was given the
task of flying with him to try and identify his difficulties. We briefed before lunch and as we went through the requirements of
the exercise he started to cry real tears. The standards required were beginning to prey on his mind and he said that he didn't
want to continue with the training. I had to be quite strict with him - cruel to be kind really - and we did indeed fly that
afternoon. He passed the exercise - quite well really and he went on to achieve his flight engineers brevet. Some 2 years later my
son Graham, was flying on the flight deck of a Nimrod (for some reason or other) and the flt eng saw the name "Drinkwater" on his
flying suit. He then asked him if Graham had any relations in the Air Force. Well of course it was the very "student" that had
nearly given up at Finningley. He told Graham that I had been responsible for him continuing his training and achieving his rightful
place on the flight deck of the Nimrod. So the training did work after all.
Flying the Avro Lancaster
The year 1982 was quite a year for me. In the April I took a party of students to Cyprus for an "Operational Station Visit". Several
of them had never been out of the country before and we spent about 10 days in the sun visiting all aspects of the Station. When I
got back from that sojourn in the sun, I found that I had been chosen to be one of the flight engineers on the Battle of Britain
Lancaster. The selection requirements were that the person selected had to have piston engine experience (which I had from the
Beverley) and also be an experienced instructor - not that instructing formed any part of the job. I spent three years flying the
'Lanc' doing the displays from April to September each year. It was the nearest thing to show business I suppose and as we walked
around at Air Shows in our black flying suits we were continually being asked to give our autographs. We took part in two TV films,
did the Channel Island's display every year and visited most of the sporting events such as the British Grand Prix and Ascot. Hard
work in the hot summer but we did meet some very interesting people. One summer evening when we landed back at Binbrook I stayed
with the aircraft to show a party of Falkland War veterans and some people from the Archibald McIndoe Burns unit around the aircraft.
One of the older guys paused at the Mid Upper turret. He told me that the last time he had sat in that turret, he had been thrown out
of the aircraft as it spiralled down, out of control over Germany. My reply was very inadequate and I said something like "You are
here, so you were very lucky". He then told me that he was indeed lucky but his right foot had been torn off as he exited the
aircraft through the shattered canopy of the turret at something like 15,000 ft. There was simply no answer to that and I then
realised that he had an artificial leg. I also opened my big mouth in front of the boss over a lunch one day. The Albert Hall Festival
of Remembrance had taken place on the previous Saturday night and I was being fairly critical of the standard of the marching from
the RAF contingent. About a week later I received a letter from the MOD telling me that I had been chosen to lead the RAF contingent
at the next Festival. Of course the boss denied any involvement but the coincidence was too great to be ignored. When the time came
for the rehearsals I met up with a party of aircrew from Kinloss and we practised the drill on the parade ground at Uxbridge. They
had marked out a life size plan of the Albert Hall floor plan on the parade ground. The tricky bit was the march down the steps
before reaching the auditorium proper. The stairs were not evenly spaced and the steps had to be carefully worked out. After a couple
of days at Uxbridge the DI's gave up on us and we were left to our own devices before the rehearsal at the Albert Hall on the
Saturday morning. My abiding memory of that was watching the State Trumpeters rehearsing in scruffy jeans and sweat shirts. Also the
sight of the Royal Marines Band marching up and down in civilian dress didn't look quite right somehow. The actual Festival took
place early in the evening and we were back at Uxbridge in time to see the TV broadcast.
Flying a Desk in Germany
The next bombshell came in 1985 when my new boss - one of the best I have ever had - said to me that I had now done 2 tours at
6 FTS and he thought I could do with a "rest" tour. Did I have any preferences? I had done one tour in Germany in the early days
so I said that I would like to do a ground tour in Germany. I went for some interviews in Berlin with the British Mission which
involved driving in to East Germany at the time and doing various nefarious things but the Brigadier OC would not allow someone
of my venerable age (46) to undertake the risks involved so I finished up at Gutersloh in the Operations cell. There were five
of us Operations Officers and we all got on very well but the OC was completely mad. The job itself meant that we were mainly
responsible for tasking the Harrier Squadrons as they patrolled the East German border about 15 minutes flying time away. There
were about 15 airmen and airwomen who knew more about the job than I would ever know and my time was mostly spent nodding in
agreement as they ran the operation. Germany was great and we as a family learned to ski. My daughter who had been born when I
was at Lyneham took to skiing immediately and she still shows the rest of us up. Unfortunately, my wife took to the sport like a
fish to a bicycle and we didn't talk for three days on the first holiday. All good things came to an end eventually and I was
short toured after 2 years and nine months, the piece of elastic dragging me back to 6 FTS and my old job again. Actually I didn't
go to Finningley for a while because I had the recurrence of a back problem caused by a previous fall out of the forward cargo
door of the Belfast in 1976.
Back onto the HS-125 Dominie
They say you should never go back to your old haunts and I think it is true. Just after returning to Finningley I was flying as
Co-pilot on the Dominie one morning when we had some problems. Actually it had all started well before we got airborne. I was
returning to work after two weeks away and I went straight to Flight Planning to meet up with the Captain and find out which route
we were going to fly on the Navex. I was studying the board when a never seen before, Flt Lt came up to me, shook my hand and said
that was new to the Sqn and would I look after him. I replied saying that I hadn't flown for about 3 weeks and was rather hoping he
was going to look after me. We drew a few lines on maps and went out to the aircraft. The ground crew appeared to be rebuilding it
as we approached but they assured us that the engine problem was now fixed - how reassuring! We strapped in. I spoke to the Tower
and started the engines. There was a rather disconcerting rumble from one of the engines so we recalled the "fix-it" crew. As soon
as the maintenance guy laid his hand on the cowling the rumble disappeared. It wasn't feasible for him to do that when we were
flying so we decide to risk it and fly anyway. We took off, climbed to about 33,000 ft and as I pulled back the throttles for the
cruise phase, noticed a distinct stagger in the position of the levers. Both should have been in line but to keep the engine
parameters within limits I had to keep one of the levers about 2 inches back from the other. We looked at each other and made the
decision to abort the sortie and return to base. Just then the RH engine stopped. No fuss or anything alarming - it just stopped.
I called Midland Radar and requested an immediate diversion to Cranwell - our nearest airfield. We made a single engine approach
and when on the ground I had a good look at the engine. The rear turbine had sheared and the blades were gouging a groove in the
jet pipe. We were very lucky and it could have been a lot worse. The Jet Provost guys at Cranwell had no sympathy for us as they
only flew on one engine at the best of times.
Time went on and I began to feel restless with my lot. I had an option coming up on my 50th birthday and started to make enquiries
in the Commercial Aviation world. Then one morning after flying what we called the "South West" route I went to the aircrew feeder,
had a good think and went back to the office and simply wrote out my resignation from the RAF. The people who were most surprised
with the decision were my wife - who hadn't been privy to this and of course my boss who said he was going to do his level best to
change my mind. He didn't and I applied for instructional jobs with airlines. I was interviewed by two company's, British Aerospace
who didn't pay enough and Monarch Airlines who did. Actually I was very blasé about the interview because I rang up to postpone it
once when I had the chance of flying an aircraft to Berlin for a few days. I enjoyed Berlin and renegotiated the interview at Luton
with Monarch on my return. It went well and I went home to await results. I was told that I would be informed before Easter and when
I hadn't heard by the Thursday before Good Friday I phoned them. The Chief Training Captain who had interviewed me was in Seattle
but his Secretary said she would phone him to see what his decision was. I was very sceptical about this but about one hour later
the phone rang and I was told that the job was mine with an extra £500 to be added to the salary quoted at the interview.
Out of Uniform
I joined Monarch in April of 1989 and for just over 2 months enjoyed 2 salaries (RAF and Monarch) - but of course the tax man took
his dues. The first day was interesting. I was shown my office which contained a desk and a bookshelf full of Boeing 737 manuals.
With a cheery wave the Chief Trainer left telling me that he would like the first course running for new pilots in the following
August - less than 4 months time. I sat at the desk looking like a stunned mullet and after a few minutes realised that I had
better get on with the task. There was no computer available and I had to share an electric typewriter with a cabin crew girl.
Fortunately I had learned to touch type when at Finningley but most of my time was spent writing longhand. I did manage to get
over to East Midlands Airport and do a 737 course with Britannia so it did put the aircraft in perspective. Also I was able to
hop on an aircraft from time to time so that I could see the needles moving. The first course arrived in the August and they were
mostly ex British AeroSpace Training College graduates and were very keen. We were not accredited by the CAA to do our own exams
at that stage so I tried to prepare the new pilots for an exam to be taken at Gatwick, that I hadn't seen or taken myself. They
did all pass and the exercise was repeated several times as more and more pilots joined the company. The following year I was
asked to go to Toulouse and the Airbus factory to learn the A300-600 which the company was intending to purchase. I spent 4 weeks
at Toulouse learning a very over engineered aircraft. I sat in a cubicle doing a self study course which involved video, and audio
tape plus various slides. There was one part in the electrical section which I couldn't understand. The circuit diagram didn't
make sense so I called over one of the staff. He studied the diagram and said "Yes Sir, you are right" and left again. I raced
after him and asked him if anything could be done to rectify this obvious mistake. He gave the typical Gallic shrug and said "Non"
- so I gave up. The day before I left Toulouse I phoned Monarch and told them that I would be in on Monday. "Good" they said. We
were hoping you would be back because you have a 737 course arriving on Monday. So after 4 weeks immersed in Airbus learning I now
had to wear my Boeing hat and think 737 for 3 weeks.
Life went on until the Gulf war began to take its toll. The Airline was being penalised by high insurance premiums, the rising
cost of fuel and the extra length of sectors through having to skirt around the Middle East trouble. Britannia were laying off
personnel and then suddenly the Monarch shareholders had a meeting and told management that cost reductions would have to be
made so that the shareholders could still get their bonuses. I was made redundant which was one hell of a shock. I drove back up
to my home in Yorkshire in a bit of a daze - this had never happened to me before and for a couple of weeks I didn't know how to
approach the situation. Money was going to be a problem as my reduced RAF pension wasn't going to pay the mortgage and feed us all.
I did some investigating and found a Management Training course in Hull which was actually one of the best courses that I have ever
done. There were 8 of us, all professional people with skills that were invaluable to the right people - the problem being: Who
were the right people? We studied all aspects of Business Management and Finance which was most interesting. If I don't find
something interesting, I find it difficult to concentrate. We were being assessed for our "transferable skills" and the final 4
weeks of the course were to be spent within a company practising those skills. I was deemed to be suitable for Quality Assurance
and found myself at a light engineering firm.
These were the days of the British Standard BS 5750 which was the "in" thing at the time. Unless you had the certificate stating
that you manufactured according to BS 5750 you were not in with the "in" crowd. This company had the Manual which had cost them
£9000 and I was supplied to advise them on its implementation. I read the manual, looked at the company and decided that the two
were not compatible. Whoever had sold the manual to his company had simply written a standard tome and written the company name in
where appropriate. I went to see the Director and we started again. Actually the company was in dire straits. The 2 Directors were
not willing to spend any money and quite honestly the situation was verging on the dangerous. I tried to implement an air system
for the power tools thus obviating the need to have trailing electrical cables all over the place but the coast was vetoed by the
Directors. One night a fitter tripped over a cable and broke his kneecap. The next morning I reported the incident to the Director
who immediately wanted him sacked for being careless. We had a discussion about it and I pointed out that it was going to be far
more effective if we simply paid the man sick pay and let it lie. If we didn't he would take the company to an industrial tribunal
and it would cost a lot of money with the attendant bad publicity. Interestingly the following week, the Director had a blazing row
with the Production Manager. Next day this Manager was sacked and I was offered his job. A second hand Ford Sierra became my
company car and we continued to wade through figurative treacle. My saving grace came one day when an old Air Force friend phoned
me up and asked me if I would like to "earn pots of money in Abu Dhabi" teaching the Abu Dhabi Defence Force to fly the C-130.
Before I go on with this transition from the military life to what I had hoped was its civilian counterpart I must elucidate the
differences. Although finance pays an important part in any organisation, it becomes a brutal fact of life in Civvy Street. When the
clouds roll over, the first things to suffer are Quality and Training - the cheap options. This is not just my opinion but the general
realisation of many other people. It took me a while to realise this but as we go on through the years - it became the root cause of
two more redundancies. Back to Abu Dhabi and the pot of gold! More information came in the form of an information pack from a company
called STATS (Specialised Technical & Training Services) A catchy title you may think - and that was about all it was - as it turned
out. I was interviewed and agreed to fly out to Abu Dhabi in the United Arab Emirates at the beginning of May '92. We were instructed
to wear the "company" tie so that we would recognize each other - which most of us did as we were, surprise, surprise nearly all ex
RAF or Navy. We were accommodated in the Holiday Inn and we all got thoroughly pissed for the next 12 hours. We had a sort of briefing
from an ex Group Captain the following day and we sat around the hotel, drinking and swimming for the next 3 weeks. By this time, most
of us were getting a bit fed up of this "holiday" and started to thump the table. So we were taken down to the offices and shown
contracts with wonderful benefits and told that we were to be split up into our specialisations and taken to our places of work.
Several days later we exchanged views; and the next morning several of our number had disappeared. Nothing sinister - it was just that
they had seen the light early on and decided to catch the next aircraft back to England. One of our group was taken to a "hut" in the
desert with one window, no air-conditioning, a table and one chair. No sign of any electrics to this new office but he was expected to
produce training material for his specialisation. Mmmmm! We of the C-130 world were lucky as we had an air-conditioned office on the
Air Base with the use of a PC using "Wordstar" and huge floppy discs. When one disc was full we had to travel back into the town and
ask for a new one from the Office. We were not allowed to have a stock on hand at the Air Base. The idea was for us to write training
courses and fly with the new "cadets". Our boss was a great guy from New Zealand. He had the patience of a saint which he needed
continuously. The back ground of the set up was that the Arabs had been using Pakistani crews to train the Abu Dhabi contingent. We
were told unofficially that this was not working so STATS came up with a contract which eventually turned out to be expensive and
totally unrealistic. In retrospect the guys responsible did not have the experience to make international contracts work. Arabs being
Arabs did not want to lose face so the ploy was (from their point of view)to make life difficult and eventually the contract would
collapse and everyone would drift away. We started flying with the Pakistani's initially and immediately faced problems. There was a
culture problem. Everything was taken by the book. If the Manual said you had to plug the earthing connection in to the aircraft then
that was what you should do. No matter that on the concrete at AD (Abu -D) there were no iron rings for the other end of the
connection so the large Bulldog clip bashed against the side of the aircraft and either scratched or punctured the skin. Common sense
was in short supply and so was airmanship as we found out when flying through European airspace. It would not be politic to list some
of the problems but I have to say that it was downright dangerous at times. The problems slowly built up and promises of free trips
home never materialised etc. Eventually I made it clear that unless things were put right I was going. I did leave in Feb '83 and was
immediately picked up by Gulf Air at the International Airport. They wanted some aircraft familiarisation course designing and running
which I did on a 3 month contract. They had 42 different nationalities at the maintenance hangar and the communication problems were
causing problems. The Filipino guys were the best and they seemed to pick things up very quickly. Without naming the nationality, one
group of people used to pitch up for the lessons very late and often failed to turn up at all. No matter they were always given good
jobs so why did they have to bother?
In June '93 I decided to go back to England. I had applied for a job with the AeroSpace Training College at Prestwick and was accepted
with instructions to wait for the contract as they were doing some re-organisation. Time went on and I heard nothing. Then I found out
that the guy who had interviewed me had been sacked and the job did not now exist. Having enjoyed that Management Training Course
in '91, I asked to do it again and this time finished up at a large firm of solicitors who were seeking a Quality Assurance
Qualification from the Law Society. They had originally tasked a senior partner to do the work but as he was being paid well over
£100 per hour to talk to clients it made sense to get someone in who was working for somewhat less than that figure. The concept of
working in a Law Firm was entirely new but when I got down to it I realised that like most things in life, if you apply commonsense,
the rest of it is straightforward. I remember asking one female solicitor one day as to why she had specified "must be Word Perfect"
qualified when she advertised for a secretary. She simply didn't realise that if one was used to using "Word" then the transition to
"Word Perfect" was simple. By wording the advert as she had, she had effectively reduced the possible applicant list by two thirds.
A new advert went out the following week. At the end of 4 months we called in the Law Society standards people and they issued the
vital certificate. Many celebrations all round. There was talk of asking me to remain as the Office Manager but the salary was very
low. I heard some time later that they went back to the Management Training Course for my contact details as they wished to "up" the
offer. Too late - as I had now decided to go back to aviation training again. This time to Cabair at Cranfield. They needed an
aerodynamics instructor to start the following Monday. I accepted as I needed the money but in retrospect I should have insisted on
a longer time scale. It was a VERY steep learning curve and it took a while to get settled in. The CGI (Chief Ground Instructor) was
an ex Air Force navigator. It was an uneasy relationship and it came to a head when he sprung a new task on me. I was to teach a group
of helicopter pilots the science behind helicopter aerodynamics. The difference between fixed wing and rotary wing aerodynamics is
vast and again I had allowed myself to be pressured into a difficult situation. Things came to a head and I decided to move on. The
company were very dilatory in paying time qualified bonuses etc and the general feeling was one of discontent. When I left, two other
instructors went to Henlow under a MOD contract and another went to London Guildhall to teach post graduate students. I had fixed
myself up with a position as the Technical Training Manager with another company - best not to mention names here as once again,
finance ruled over safety and quality. I went to Seattle to learn the aircraft and returned to train some 20 odd pilots on to the
aircraft. I also managed to re-write the training manuals for the other aircraft but it was the safety culture within the company
that worried me. Money was not being spent on vital items and this eventually resulted in the death of one mechanic. How the company
avoided a manslaughter charge I'll never know. We had a hangar door fall out of its top guides one day. It fell on to the wing of an
aircraft which did the aircraft no good whatsoever. Other things which are best not talked about occurred and once again I thought
about moving on. I had been there for two years and had been travelling around the country doing contract training with various firms.
One of these visits to Stansted resulted in me being asked to join them on a full time basis to manage their overall ground training.
My main workload was to teach the A300 which was yet another aircraft to add to my portfolio. I had to go to Miami and the Pan Am
Training Centre for this course but before I went I received a call from my previous company asking me - very politely - if I would
mind doing one final bit of training for them at Liverpool. I negotiated terms and did the training but when it came to being paid,
the cheque was not for the amount agreed and they refused to pay me travel expenses as also previously agreed. I should have insisted
in written terms - not that would have bothered this company as they seemed to be a law unto themselves. Not worth arguing about so I
wrote it off to experience. Miami for 3 weeks was hard work and for the next few years at Stansted I managed tech training as well as
most of the other aspects that occur behind the scenes. The flying was good and I managed to get away to many European destinations.
They were a good bunch of people to work with and I enjoyed my stint with the company. Unfortunately I also managed to rupture both
Achilles tendons at one stage and was in plaster for about 4 months which somewhat scuppered the training schedule. All of my requests
for a deputy had been ignored in the early days. I was not allowed to return to work because of Health & Safety Regulations and when I
did get back I found that the company were having severe financial problems. They went out of business some months later. Crews began
to drift away from the company which exacerbated the situation and then one day I got two phone calls from ex Air Force friends. Both
of them told me about a job being advertised in Flight Magazine which according to them was right up my street. That same afternoon my
Chief Pilot came into my office, saw the advert on my desk and said "I thought you would go for that". I did go for it and was
interviewed at Manchester a week later. Interestingly my old ex navigator CGI was also there being interviewed after being sacked from
his previous company. Ho-hum! A few days later I was asked to return to Manchester and speak to the Operations Director about terms. I
accepted the position of Flight Deck Training Manager and took delivery of my company car, lap top and mobile phone plus a decent
salary. This job was everything I wanted. The instructors were all line pilots who were chosen for their instructional skills and
knowledge. As time progressed I did the interviewing and had the interesting experience of interviewing an ex Group Captain and several
Wing Commanders and Sqn Leaders for instructional positions.
We had two training bases, I was based at Manchester but Gatwick figured highly in the training and I did a lot of travelling - courtesy
of BA - between the two bases. I couldn't have wished for a more dedicated bunch of instructors and we ran a very successful training
regime which all came to an end post Sept 11th, 2001. I had just left a meeting early that fateful afternoon so that I could catch the
shuttle to Gatwick and meet one of our training providers. I was in the Terminal building when my mobile rang and one of my instructors
told me about the Twin Towers. I was so taken aback that I actually boarded the shuttle to Gatwick with my mobile still switched on.
With the engines started and the aircraft starting to taxy, I got a call from my friend waiting at Gatwick. He had heard that ALL
airports were closed but this was obviously not correct and he subsequently met me at GWK. The terrorists had caused consternation in
the Airlines and as my company was owned by a holiday company, the holiday company directors started to get cold feet about the future.
Eventually people were starting to be asked to take early retirement or volunteer for redundancy. We had several meetings with the
Directors and I remember being told at one stage that the Airline was very healthy financially. Why then, he was asked, are people being
asked to volunteer to leave. We were then told that the money in the bank was to be used for a rainy day. I told them that it was
actually pissing down outside but the inevitable happened and at the end of November 2001, the Operational side of the Airline was
decimated. As usual the training and quality departments suffered more than anyone else but the big upset was the scrapping of the whole
Boeing training programme. Pilots who had struggled financially to be trained as Airline pilots, had secured jobs with a large airline,
taken out mortgages and were now being made redundant. Later I learned that some of them were asked to return on temporary contracts at
a reduced salary. What a life! I did my three months notice and retired.
Summing it All Up
I don't regret having left the RAF when I did. There had been good and bad times (mostly good) but after 32 years I was not going any
further. The timing was right at the age of 50. If I had stayed until 55 and then tried to start my civil career I don't think there
would have been the opportunities available. I also learned a lot about commercial life and the ways of the world after leaving the Air
Force I still think and believe that my training at Halton had stood me in very good stead for life and I will always regard those years
as the turning point my life. I will be forever grateful for the friends I met and whose friendship I still enjoy. Now all of the things
that I never had time for when working are now available to me and besides which, my wife and I enjoy the sun in Spain.
Hasta la Vista!
Ray Helliar Engines - 1(A) Wing
It is summer 1957 (or is it 1958?) and time for the gardening competition in No 1 Wing and we in
block 12 have decided that we will win it. In order for this to happen we need flowers. We have
no money! We are Brats! We are resourceful! A group of us, led by senior entry personnel, go via
the woods at about midnight to the officers' mess and borrow, permanently as it turned out, some
nice plants. These were then planted by the junior entry people in suitable positions. Guess what?
We won!!!!