So the crowd detailed for No. 2 EFTS, our next important stage of our training, caught the train to New Plymouth whilst the rest of the course set off to the South Island and their training stations. Here one would either become an Ab Initio trainee [don't ask me what it means] pilot or be relegated to another category [reassigned] i.e. Navigator or heavens forbid an air gunner. Mind you without either of these very important types life especially in multi engined aircraft could become rather dicey. There would be many instances during the conflict of lives saved because of the unselfish action of these men.
At this stage we did not know what type of aircraft we would train on [single or twins] if we successfully passed this next stage in our career in trying to become aviators.
So concentration both in theory and in practice was of paramount importance, and on arrival at our new station we were given our training schedule for the next 6 weeks.
The course was divided into two sections A and B. One section would fly in the morning whilst the other would attend classes. The next day the process would be reversed and so on for the next 6 weeks with no time off for good behavior except for night time leave till 23.59hrs. This of course was in case the weather turned sour and so every one had an equal chance of flying. The system worked well.
The first day to the flight was quite revealing. There in front of us was, in a neat line, a row of Tiger Moths all decked out in brilliant training yellow, awaiting the soon to be pilots [under training of course] being let loose at the controls of said machines. What fate would befall them, the aircraft that is and not us Biggles of the sky as we would be invincible or so we thought. Sounds like a few young people today, doesn't it?
And now it was time to meet our instructors who were each assigned two pupils each. Mine was a real old timer who had plenty of hours to his credit. Boy were we - his pupils, my partner being one Pax Smith, a well known golfer in his time {and he survived the war] - going to find out all about flying the hard way.
One thing I liked about my instructor was that he could not talk down to me as he was the same height as me and so we were on equal terms, except of course he could pull rank to which I had no answer.
But first things first. We were shown around the aircraft with an explanation of what things were supposed to do and what we had to check prior to flying each time we went aloft. Prior to clambering in we would first of all have to check the tires for cuts and to see that they were still inflated, make sure the flying surfaces were operating correctly and that the aircraft had the correct amount of fuel seeing as to we had already signed for prior to the aircraft being released for flying.
We also had to make sure that there were chocks under the wheels [to prevent the aircraft running forward on starting up]. Boy nothing was left to chance. Oh that thing hanging out at the front of the aircraft was a propeller which if all went well would pull you into the sky.
Now it's time for some action and to start looking like pilots, so "get your backsides moving and go get kitted up," the man who was to be obeyed informed us. So we did, flying boots, gloves, flying suit, earphones, helmet and of course the most important thing, goggles.
WOW now we were looking the part. Biggles here we come.
So it's out to the flightline next morning dressed up in all our finery, ready to go into the wild blue yonder to do battle with the elements and our instructor.
Comes my turn to climb into the rear cockpit and strap myself in, making sure the straps are well and truly pulled tight and that the locking pin is correctly in place. Prior to turning into wind for my first take off, the instructor told me to gently take hold of the stick, put my feet on the rudder bar, and just follow his movements. 'DO NOT TRY TO FIGHT ME' was his dire warning. Sounds good to me and so without any more fuss the throttle was opened and we're away across the grass gently bouncing and then AND THEN we are airborne. Gently climbing to 1000ft and going away from the airfield I was shown where the horizon was in relation to the aircraft. Then gently turning both right and left [not at the same time of course] and then a gentle dive followed by a climb back up to 1000ft, we levelled off.
It was at this time that my earphones started to talk to me [in my ears of course where else!]. Remember that we had been issued with the most sophisticated means of communication [known to man] the Air Force could offer us, far superior than passing written messages between us. No we had a sophisticated state of the art GOSPORT system. Now imagine a doctor’s stethoscope that reached from one cockpit to the other, at your end the rubber mouth piece was connected to the front pilots ear piece. You had a talking tube he in turn had a similar arrangement. Now you know the basics.
You have probably seen very large speaking tubes on warships but in an aircraft things were slightly different. One spoke into the mouth piece but whatever happened in that blasted tube between leaving ones mouth and getting to the earphones of the recipient one can only guess. Words were all jumbled up and herein lay the problem.
My instructor said something once, then, twice, and then all hell broke loose. First the aircraft shot downwards, whilst I on the other hand was suddenly shot upwards as far as my safety harness would allow . Letting go of the control stick and grabbing whatever I could get my hands on I suddenly found the aircraft coming back up rapidly whereas I on the other hand was now going in the opposite direction rapidly.
As my backside hit the seat my head was continuing its downward journey to eventually hit my chest and the next thing that I was aware of was the process was being repeated. So now I knew what message the instructor was trying to convey to me.
“Get your nose [the aircraft not my own one] on the horizon]” was what he said and meant but that is not what I hoid [heard]. Maybe the message had gone by another route or else had got stuck in the tube.
So endith this lesson and it was this trend that we his erstwhile pupils would come to expect. You must remember that to a young airman [me] suddenly getting shot upwards until the straps had stopped me was not a good idea. This must have been a secret testing of the [in the near future] ejection seat. Just to put you in the picture one was strapped in to the aircraft with four straps, one over each thigh and one over each shoulder - the lot being joined at your stomach on a peg [no not the household type] which in turn had a spring loaded clip pushed through it and this was secured to your harness with a stout cord the whole lot attached to a very thin wire that went through the top of the seat down to a locking device.
You normally locked the harness for take off and landings and also when doing aerobatics. This held you fairly rigid and when you had taken off you could release it and you could move about the cockpit by about 12 inches. This locking was also in case of a light crash or heavy landing in which the breaking strain was supposedly sufficient to stop you going straight through the dash. This is what I should have had done up but no one told me. So you live and learn and I was not caught out again.
Still there was one advantage to this odd goings on and that was when it was my turn on the ground and I wanted to know where my instructor was in the circuit one had only to watch and see which aircraft was doing strange things to know where he [the instructor] was and then I could start to get ready to go up again hopefully.
So between lectures, flights in the Link trainer and of course the inevitable P.T. Because the Air Force required you to be fit and I do mean fit, and also as the required time flying went by.
I thought that I was ready to go solo. At least that was my assumption, me being so cocky.
Now the Air Force had a policy, not rigid you know, of not letting a young [or cocky] pilot loose for his first solo flight before he had done at least 6 hours of tuition. As I had done 6 hours and being very cocksure of my ability, I was sure that I would be let loose after a short check flight but somehow my instructor had other ideas on my ability.
He took me up on a check flight and on landing asked me if I felt confident to fly this here aircraft on my own. This is it I thought and told him just to let me loose and I would show him. But oh no all of a sudden the throttle was opened and we did what was called a short circuit, that is a circuit carried out at about 100ft and normally performed only by an instructor around and in for a landing and called a split arse turn.
“Do you still feel confident?”
What a question to ask me of course I feel confident, after all I can fly can't I! But oh no once more the throttle was opened for another quick circuit. This went on for another 4 or 5 times so the next time I was asked the same question I answered “I don't want to waste your time and mine any more Sir.”
Just notice how polite I was under these circumstances. But wait what's this! There's movement in the front cockpit, and then the instructor was out on the wing with his control stick in his hand [they had to take it out when the aircraft was being flown solo and also to make sure that the straps were secured] waving it in my face and told me to “Take it up and remember it flies different with me out than with me in."
With that said he jumped down off the wing of the aircraft, turned on his heels and carrying his parachute went over to the circle and sat down.
I must explain that the circle was a very large concrete circle with the name of the airfield outside of it and the whole lot situated in the middle of the field. By sitting on his parachute in the circle along with any other instructor who had a pupil going solo for the first time let other pilots know to keep a good look out for a “first timer” and stay out of his way or at least give him room.
These identification circles were pre WW2 seen on most grass fields, for remember most planes used a tail skid and not a tail wheel and so needed the grass to control the steering - what steering you had, and were in existence on most airfields around the world.
After I had closed my mouth [which was apparently wide open] I then realized that I was expected to go fly this here thing all on my own. ON MY OWN! Ye gods now the man was calling my bluff, so could I do it?
Oh well there was no backing down now so I had better see if I was capable of doing what the instructor had taught me and also thought I could do, or show him that he had made a mistake and heaven forbid crash on landing. So I just had to prove his faith in me.
At this stage I just had to concentrate because Because there was no one in the front cockpit .
HELP. I'M ALL ALONE.
Going through the pre take off checks, and then checking to my right to see that all was clear I then turned into the wind and gently opened the throttle, pushed the joystick forward to raise the tail [empennage for the uninformed] up quickly and then we were rolling. I was soon up to take off speed, so easing back on the stick and WHOOPIE we are off the ground and actually flying!
Climbing steadily I was surprised at the increased rate of climb, which was due of course to the fact that the aircraft was now lighter having only one person in it. A lesson learnt. At 500ft I executed a gentle 90º to port; [left hand for you land lubbers] for remember that I am now a pilot of some distinction - or at least that's what I would have anyone believe if of course anyone could hear me. See I'm learning the Air Force jargon already.
Still climbing I soon reached my operating height of 1000ft, so checking my position in relation to the airfield and now it's time to turn down wind. Again executing a gentle 90º turn to port [there I told you I knew my stuff] I was now on the downward leg and could now sit back and enjoy the view. It was a beautiful day and my recollection of it of not a cloud in the sky, the air smooth and no one in the front seat. It was just wonderful. They say that one never forgets ones first solo and I must admit that this is so.
However the realisation that although I had got this far I must somehow get down, hopefully in one piece, and also the aircraft still intact. I saw the airfield come into view just below my lower port wing and then turned 90* to port and eased the throttle back to start my decent. As the airfield came into sight on my left and being at approx 500ft another gentle turn to port to line myself up with the airfield I am now on my final approach.
As I crossed the airfield boundary I eased the throttle right back and holding the aircraft just off [hopefully] the ground I waited for it to start to sink, then gently easing the stick back until it would not move any further and then came a rumble from underneath me as the wheels kissed the ground. I'M DOWN I'M DOWN and all in one piece. Having come to a stop I checked that no aircraft was coming from my right and that I was safe to taxi over to my instructor who was still in the circle. I pulled up alongside him.
My instructor got off his parachute and ambled over to the aircraft and threw the chute onto the wing and as I must have had a big grin on my face he said, “Hmmm, you fly it a darn sight better with me out of it than with me in it, congratulations. Now take me back to the hangar.” And with that he climbed up alongside his chute onto the wing and so I opened up the throttle and taxied over to the flightline and proceeded to shut down the motor.
Now to show how fate keeps rearing its head. My first flight was in N.Z.852 on December 23rd, 1941 and the next and most other flights were in N.Z.841 with the first solo flight taking place on January 5th, 1942 in NZ841.
Today this aircraft is still airworthy and hangared at Ardmore so I couldn't have done it much harm. I was privileged to be given a chance to fly this aircraft again in 1984 courtesy of WINGS MAGAZINE who had located the then owner and decided to do an article on it and me.
This is not the last of my attachments to this aircraft as I met the new owner out at Ardmore in 2003 and showed him my log book with NZ841 predominately displayed and have [at this time] been promised another flight in it to which I am looking forward to, providing someone else decides to give me my own personal wings and which I will not have to qualify.
So now I am on my way to becoming a fully fledged pilot providing that I pass my theory tests and also my flying tests. All this time we were doing PT, theory of flying, meteorology, armaments, how to prime and also disarm bombs, navigation and of course THE LINK trainer. There was just no let up on the hours you had at your disposal or at least the Air Force had.
The LINK TRAINER was of course the forerunner of the latest simulators now in use throughout the world but of course of a much more simpler nature.
It did have more gadgets than the Tiger Moth, hells bells it even had an artificial horizon and also a rate of climb indicator. Ye Gods just what they will think of next. This was toooo much for one so young to absorb but never the less it was necessary to come to grips with modern science. I personally liked the time I spent on flying it both at ITW and also at EFTS. But for now it was back to the drawing board. Of course even later on when I was fully qualified I was, together with the other pilots, required to keep up our skills in it, the minimum time per month was two hours.
About this time my beloved instructor was required to report down at Wellington headquarters to get, as he put it, his hand smacked for performing an illegal flying manoeuvre.
According to the rumours, and there were plenty flying around [after all this was a flying station, no not the station flying but the phrase], he had allegedly put the wheels of his Tiger Moth on top of one of the train carriages just to say farewell to the outgoing class. Someone had taken a dim view [see I'm learning the lingo already] of the situation who had then reported him to the higher ups who did not appreciate his antics and so requested his appearance, nay demanded his appearance, before them so they could smack both his hands as he had put two wheels on the roof.
What annoyed him most was the fact that he had to take the train down, a punishment in itself, just to get in his words 'another 6months knocked off my promotion' This seems to have been a recurring offense for him as his promotion was now so far behind him that he needed to have a pair of binoculars with him to even see if he had made the bottom of the list. But I take my hat off to him [if I was wearing one which I'm not] as he was a brilliant instructor. Well he taught me to fly didn't he!
Of course this meant that I would have a new instructor. Sure enough at the flightline next morning was my new tutor all of 21 years old [the old man in Air Force parlance] straight from the Flying Training School at Tauranga. So after introducing himself to both Pax and me he explained what he required from us after having studied our log books to see what we had achieved. Then it was up, up and away into the wild blue yonder to show off ones ability just from one young pilot to another young pilot. But of course apart from being an officer he was also our instructor.
Of course I did all the usual things such as spins both left and right, rate one or two turns, climbing and diving etc. in fact all he asked of me. Then he asked me to go down to the designated low flying area to carry out some low flying [well what else do you think we went there for, a bloody picnic?]
On arrival in the area I went down to a low level, [well he did ask me to fly low] and at the end of the area I did a 180º turn and flew back to the other end.
“Back to base” he ordered, so climbing up to 1000ft I headed for the airfield and home, the Air Force home not my one silly.
On landing he asked me “who taught you to fly that low”
'No one sir” was my reply proudly sticking my chest out.
“Well just remember that your authorized height is 200ft and not, I repeat not ground level."
I thought he wanted me to fly low so what was the problem I must have either scared him or else impressed him as no time during the exercise did he take control. So be it, never let it be said that I disobeyed an order. Well not often anyway. I must have read my altimeter wrong or else had forgotten to set it to zero prior to take off. Anyway you just try to prove me wrong as that's my excuse and I'm sticking to them, so there.
And so training continued at a good pace incorporating such things as take offs, climbing on a compass heading, straight and level flying, and compass courses - that is turning from one heading to another and all this whilst under the hood and if you thought that it was easy let me tell you that a P6 compass, which is the type fitted to the Tiger, goes faster in one direction and slower the opposite way so you had to compensate for this phenomenon, which of course was what the exercises were all about.
Now being under the hood was not quite as simple as it seems, due to the lack of any sophisticated instruments. To explain, in the Tiger Moth the only instruments installed was an altimeter, an air speed indicator, an inclometer, [was if one used huge amount of imagination an artificial horizon], an rpm gauge, an oil pressure gauge and a turn and bank, topped off by a P6 compass stuck in front of the stick and in the center of the panel. There I told you that the cockpit was sophisticated.
Now the inclometer was something out of this world and that is exactly where it should have been. Still it made you think didn't it. Imagine a triangle glass tube with some liquid in it half full or half empty depending on your imagination, 2/3rds of it hidden behind the dash with just the perpendicular piece starring you in the face and a painted mark half way up or down the [your choice] exposed glass.
The liquid in the glass did not play fair as it appeared concave and so exactly where was it sitting in regards to the mark! This was rather daunting when one ab initio pilot [have you worked out what it means yet? See here*] was under the hood and trying to see if the aircraft was in level flight. It was easy when you could see the horizon but under the hood wow!
No wonder that the RAF, RAAF, RCAF, and RNZAF turned out good pilots.
Now it must be pointed out that this instrument was superseded on more modern aircraft with a thing called an artificial horizon as well as the turn and bank indicator was replaced with the turn and ball thingamajig. So to be asked to take off under the hood using only these instruments was a very daunting thing to say the least. However I enjoyed the challenge and what with training in the Link Trainer, which was more sophisticated to the Tiger in relation to the instruments and it did have a rate of climb and also a modern artificial horizon. I was not particularly worried about going blind flying. It was all about keeping one's head and showing who was boss, both to the aircraft and also the instructor. Now it must be said again that when the aircraft was climbing or diving the magnetic compass did strange things, turning fast one way and slow the other depending on your heading and of course one other problem arose in that the compass was placed in an awkward place for reading and you had to crane your neck over the stick to get an accurate reading all the while trying to keep the aircraft doing what you was asking it to do.
Now imagine being in a cockpit with a canvas cover over your head blocking out all light and all you can see is the instruments in front of you, at this stage you are in a spin and going downhill rather rapidly and the compass which works best in the horizontal plane is now wondering if it is Arthur or Martha, and is trying to decide what the heck to do - do I go fast or slow - and you have some idea of the dilemma facing the young [me] pilot.
Now to be asked, nay told to go onto a particular heading, then stall the aircraft and put the machine into either a right or left hand spin whichever way the instructor said [you had no say] do three turns and bring it out on the same heading that you had gone into give or take 5º. Boy oh boy did this take some concentration, however I found a way of beating it and so when asked to do this exercise I did not consider it a problem and I looked forward to doing it. All this, mind you, whilst you were still under the hood.
Now it was around this time that on going to the flightline one morning we, the trainee pilots, noticed that all the spare aircraft and those requiring some work on were all pushed to the side of the hangar where normally they would be parked in the center of the hangar [for ease of maintenance]. So why was the hangar cleared? It was also noticed that both doors at each end of the hanger were opened giving a clear space through the hanger.
It was not long before the mystery unfolded. Suddenly there appeared out of the blue [and where else would you expect an aircraft to appear from], very low and flying very fast - well fast for a Tiger that is - yes a lone Tiger Moth was approaching so low that his wheels were just clearing the grass and he was heading for the open hanger doors. Next minute he disappeared into the hanger and a few seconds later low and behold popped out the other side without touching a thing.
A remarkable brilliant performance of airmanship and no I never did find out, nor did I want to know just who was at the controls. Obviously this had been well planned right down to the last detail. To my knowledge no one was ever reprimanded for this obviously blatant misdemeanor.
And so training was stepped up. At this time I was sent out on my own to do a navigation exercise which was to include a landing at a foreign, to me at least, airfield. In other words land at a field that I had not seen before. Now this was not quite as simple as it seems especially for a sprog pilot such as me as it involves a knowledge of the heights of both the field you are at and the field you are to land out as they were possibly at different heights and required you to make adjustments on your altimeter. This was obtained by setting the atmospheric pressure [obtained from the met office] onto your altimeter rather than setting it to zero which you did when flying local. So if the field you were going to was 200ft higher than the field you were leaving then it was of vital importance that you read your heights correctly and knew what height you should be be at on your journey otherwise it was crunch time because you had to know the height of the terrain you were to fly over. The idea of the exercise was for you to fly from your field to the other airfield using your navigation skills to get there, land, get your log book signed, take off again and return to your own airfield. Sounds easy don't it!
You flew [at this stage] by a system called DR [dead reckoning] but wait there's more!
So now it's time to hit the sky .Off we go. Now how would you like to try and fly with one hand on the stick, your other hand trying to hold a map open and reading it and also trying to read your navigation notes which you are holding in your left hand whilst looking at the country side, [not to admire the view but to check your position] with the wind doing its best to pluck any loose articles from the cockpit. All this time trying to do some calculations on your Dalton [ICAN] computer which was strapped to your right thigh?
Yes we did have computers in 1941, although they were mechanical not electrical and yes they did work. At this point in time the boffins [smart asses] had not devised a cable long enough that could be towed by an aircraft and besides if over enemy territory some one down there might cut it and then where would you be? These computers were used through out the war. Boy, have computers progressed since then!
But to get back to my navigation, all was going well, I was on track, [that's the course] and also on my calculated time at the correct place. But now the time of reckoning is nigh. Was the airfield that I'm looking for in the place that I had plotted on my map or was it some other place. HAWERA was the field I was looking for and it was not the same then as it is today. In fact all it was a small field with a wind sock one end and a small and I mean small tin shed not much bigger than an outside long drop standing in one corner. For the uninitiated a long drop was an outside loo with candle power, if you were lucky for lighting and the whole lot being shared together with spiders, wetas and any other things that liked to live in the dark. It was more modern than the loos of today as it was a true silent flush.
Well coming up on my left hand side was a field that looked promising as it had a wind sock in one corner. A very small tin shed in the other so this must be Hawera. Except of course I could not spy any welcoming committee But wait what's this there is half a dozen fully grown sheep in the field ,so this calls for another circuit of the field to check out if I had got my bearings right and that yes I am in the right place. Having convinced myself that I was in the right place I proceeded to land as the sheep were nestling along the far side fence and should present no problem.
After touching down I looked around for any signs of a real live person or at least someone who could and would sign my log sheet. But no, apart from the sheep who were not permitted to sign as they were not Air Force personnel. So I had better taxi up to the shed but on arrival I found no one in sight.
So were the hell am I?! Have I landed on the wrong field! At this time panic looked the best option, when suddenly the door to the shed was flung open and a lone airman appeared and asked me for my log sheet which he duly signed then turning on his heels went back into his box slamming the door behind him leaving me to ponder on what to do next.
As I had done what was required of me, I then had to return to base. So I turned and taxied down to the lower fence making sure that the sheep were still fence watching carrying out my pre take off checks then turned into wind, opened up the throttle and took off for home. Home being Bell Block or New Plymouth depending on which end of the field you would land on. There was a problem though if you landed plum in the center did you land in Bell Block or New Plymouth! That was the question.
Well after arriving back my flight log was taken by the Nav. Officer and duly scrutinized and thoroughly checked with a fine tooth comb just to make sure that I had not falsified anything. On that exercise I was given very high marks much to my delight. This was to be the way things progressed with every exam that I sat in navigation.
It appears that putting the sheep into the paddock and getting the airman to drag his feet was all part of the plan to see if you were sure of yourself in picking the right field and would land. Apparently a few of the trainee pilots decided that it was not the right field and so did not elect to land and consequently they lost marks for that exercise with the result that they had to perform more navigation exercises with an instructor before being let loose again on their own. Navigation was of the utmost importance whether you were destined to fly a fighter or a bomber or in fact any type of aircraft for the Air Force.
It was at this time that we had a visit from an Ohakea based Harvard that were just being phased into the Air Force and the powers that be thought that it might be appropriate to show the flag so to speak to the pilots under training what some of them might soon be flying. Now remember up to this time only aircraft with fixed undercarriage had been in use except for the Oxfords of course which were being used to train bomber pilots and so it was thought that some of the future fighter pilots should get a look at what they would be training on.
Now when the [experienced] pilot of said machine was coming in to land watched of course by all us trainees his wheels were still retracted, and so he was given - not actually given - but had a red flare fired at him which meant in no uncertain terms to maintain your existing height check around you for other aircraft or check your aircraft that all was well. DO NOT LAND but check, check and recheck everything as there is something amiss!
Now on seeing this flare it was usual, nay imperative, that you opened up the throttle and maintained your existing height whilst having a look in front, to each side, and below you to see if there was any other aircraft around you that you were in danger of hitting and if not start checking your own aircraft for any faults that made the control tower send you around again. In this case of course this pilot still had his undercarriage retracted and he must be deaf because the warning horn would have been blearing in his ear unless he had overridden it, in which case the mere fact of him opening the throttle would reactivate it again.
With the wheels retracted a good three point landing was not possible and also the aircraft would be damaged. Silly boy. So everyone thought that he was just showing off when he again approached for a landing but this time instead of going around again when given another RED flare he proceeded to land. Amid a flurry of dirt and dust and some swear words and his wheels still firmly attached to his aircraft although in a retracted position a very red faced pilot officer climbed out of his stricken aircraft.
When asked the inevitable question of why he persisted in landing when he had been given a couple of red flares, well not given to him physically as they were fired towards him, his reply when he had had time to compose himself [after all he was a gentleman of the Air Force wasn't he! ] was that he had been distracted by a loud noise [horn] sounding in the cockpit which if he had remembered was there just for the purpose of warning the pilot of the undercarriage position which was up and to lower same which his ego failed to do so. Whatever happened to the pilot as far as punishment was concerned I do not know, but I should imagine the higher ups would have given him a good roasting for such a stupid act and would have received an endorsement in his flying log book. Well his log book did not actually fly did it! If the endorsement was in red then it stayed in your log book for all times however if it was in black it could be removed at the end of the month.
As you can see the red entry was a much more serious offense. I know first hand because I've got one sitting in the back of my log book. However I did not get mine until two and a half years later. So you see even experts can cock things up - I'm talking about him not me. An episode like this made us the learners feel so much better knowing that even qualified pilots can and did make mistakes and to do it in front of us ab initio pilots just made our day .
Still we were expected to carry on and not gloat over the misfortunes of others who were after all professionals. It made you laugh though didn't it! One person upset at the state of the grounds apart from the worms of course was the groundsman as he was not ready to plant any potatoes yet and besides the furrows were in the wrong place.
We also had a visit from a very strange - to our eyes at least - a lone Walrus Amphibian who did manage to put his wheels down although normally he would keep them retracted as he would be usually landing on water.
Mind you I do know of some pilots who had attempted to land on the water while their wheels were down and much to the dismay of the pilots who now found themselves trying to aquaplane whilst upside down.
One of the most scary situations that I ever encountered, was when I had to practice starting an engine in the air. Just remember that there was no electric starter on these aircraft and that the method of starting while on the ground was by fraught means, in other words hand swing the bloody thing and we were required to perform this task early on in our training. It was a daunting task and I worried that I might just over balance and fall into the spinning propeller and get hacked up for mince meat [cheap meat for the cook for a short while]. So if one had to start it on the ground just how did one start it whilst in the air. We weren't God you know, although we thought we were. He could walk on water and what were we supposed to do - walk on air? I know that we can fly on air but to get out and walk on it was asking just a bit too much.
NO PROBLEM according to the instructor who was the nearest thing to god that I knew of, just climb to about 3000ft, and stall the engine. But whoa just how the HELL do you stall the engine? Again a no problem from the front cockpit . That's easy for him to say but not being able to leave it in gear [what gear] and apply the brakes [what brakes] and then stall it, just WHAT was I supposed to do? Once more a fiendish chuckle from the front seat. Yes it was a chuckle so what did he know that I didn't! NO PROBLEM as I was about to find out.
Now the idea was to stand the aircraft onto its tail, switches off, trim all the way back, and wait and wait and bloody well wait until that blasted propeller stopped rotating. And of course all the time you are trying to hold the aircraft steady and trying to stop it from going into a tail slide, or worse going into a spin.
At last after what seemed an eternity there was action up front. Or dare I say it, inactivity as the propeller had ceased to rotate. WHOOPEE!
Now the fun started. Right just poke the nose down as far as you could, reset the throttle, switch the ignition switches on and hope that the blasted motor would know who was boss and would fire up or at the altitude we were at fire down. Now the idea was for the air pressure on the prop to eventually rotate the motor. Simple logic you would say, well you would wouldn't you but you were not sitting where I was sitting.
Now it had been impressed on me in no uncertain terms that if the motor had not fired up by 1000ft then I was to abandon the exercise, but not the aircraft find a suitable field, land and if still in one piece one of us would have to get out and hand start the motor. Guess who would have drawn the short straw, but for now I just had to watch and wait for any sign of movement up front and all the time watching the altimeter whilst hanging in my straps, whilst the aircraft was going down rapidly and was pointing at an alarming angle to the ground.
All this time the ground was getting closer and closer, with no sign of a movement up front. But wait; was that a small movement up front?! Yes there was a small - bloody small - movement but the ground was not standing still and was approaching us rapidly, but yes the prop had turned another small amount Bang, and now the prop turned full circle and the motor roared into life, WHEW! We still had a substantial amount of height and so I could breathe again.
Even today I shudder at that experience as in one terrifying moment I had become a stunt pilot, a fast glider pilot, and a really bewildered young pilot who upon landing would have to go to the toilet to see if his underpants were still clean. Still it was a part of the learning curve.
Life was now starting to get interesting as the JAPS had just attacked PEARL HARBOR and it was becoming increasingly obvious that the Japs were on their march southward and we here in NZ had no protection. So the powers that be in their wisdom decided that the best way to defend ourselves was to use to our advantage the best things that were available and so it would be prudent to arm some of the aircraft with bombs. And so a few Tiger Moths were then fitted with bomb racks so these were called Tigershmitts in line with their new classification.
This was in line with what the RAF had done to their Tigers when invasion seemed inevitable in their land. Now comes the interesting part as some of us seniors [all of 30hrs flying] were informed that when we went solo doing normal exercises but not aerobatics, we would be flying an aircraft equipped with a bomb rack and if a attack was imminent we were to come in and get a load of bombs fitted [anti personnel] and no there was no need to sign for them but to take off and go find the enemy, bomb them, and then if you were still in the land of the living, go fly inland as far as you could, land, camouflage the aircraft get rid of your uniform and blend in with the country side and act as nonchalantly as possible.
But of course no one told us - the cannon fodder - what the enemy [Japs] would be doing at this time. Still to us smart arse [senior no less] pilots [promotion no less?] it was a privilege to be suddenly up the ladder of senior pilots, in the hope that we would be able to stem the tide of invasion, especially against a very experienced and superior force . But we were mostly teenagers who knew or thought we knew could, by our own cockiness, fly better than any Jap. fighter. After all, all of us had over 30hrs to our credit so what hope did the Japs have against us if and when we had been let loose on the hordes that was expected to arrive and not an immigration officer in sight.
Of course at this time the real higher ups were running around with their finger right up their anuses and of course forgot to tell us that we did not have any Armour plating except for a very thin metal floor which was at least 1/16th thick and also we were not equipped with any guns and they did not even supply us with catapults, and of course looking back on those days we could have been brought down with just small arms fire, but as we considered ourselves invincible youngsters, just who could touch us? Sounds a bit like the boy racers of today, doesn't it! Hell it was even dangerous wasn't it!
Part of our training was a spot of night flying. Now you must understand that we were flying from a grass field, not your fancy runways of today, and so the landing pattern was marked out into wind with what was called ink pots which were like a small bottle with a very long neck and were filled with diesel and had a wick inserted and when lit gave off an intense light equal to a match in its dying stages and when viewed from 1000ft up was not a pretty sight but still as there were two rows of them you could make out where you were supposed to land after you had been given the green light and you had tapped out in Morse code your recognition sign.
Now we were with our instructor and we had to do one hour on one night and another hour another night No solo you notice at least not on my course although it was required on subsequent courses. This was to have quite a funny sequel about two years later when I had converted back to singles. All going well you would get in about eight landings in the allotted hour and be passed as competent in night flying at this stage at least.
And so the end of December 1941 was fast approaching and we were getting to the end of our EFTS training but wait now is the time for a bit of line shooting. It was usual for someone to return from a flight and say that they had done so and so which could include flying under a bridge. Whether or not you believed him or not is of no consequence suffice to say some of us did do what we claimed to have done but how could one tell that you were not telling a porky. I did fly under a bridge and to this day I do not know how I survived as it was [now] the most stupid thing that I have ever done [flying that is] . The bridge in question is still in Taranaki and yes I do know where it is.
The bridge in question was situated in the center of an “S” approach and arrival and departure bends were covered with trees. Now the bridge itself was very low but the width was sufficient for some foolhardy fool [me] to have a go. And of course there being no other fool around I elected myself and yes I got through it, I must have or else who is writing this. Just how I managed it I haven't a clue.
Of course I doubt if any of the other boys believed me when I told them but I did and I did it my way.
It was at this time that our assessments and subsequent status ,to fly the type we would be best suited for be it single [fighters] or multies [bombers] although of course there were variations to these types and we would not know the outcome until we had graduated just what we would fly. Just about everyone wanted to be a fighter pilot but one just had to wait for what the selection committee came up with. It was on one of my last visits to New Plymouth for a spot of leave [from after flying till 23.59hrs] that coming back to the base on the last bus courtesy of the Air Force I just happened to sit down next to Mr. Nairn [remember him] who was now an officer and gentleman stationed at Bell Block and teaching guess what - yep mathematics. In our ensuing conversation he casually said to me; “I guess it was lucky that I sat you and Ronnie together as you were both poor in one of the subjects that you sat.”
He was still a gentleman. He knew that we needed assistance to pass the exam and gave us just a small boost along and in fact this trend carried on throughout the training period from others in command. Now as we were just about at the end of our EFTS training it was time to receive our next orders and so with baited breath each student went before the selection committee to learn our fate.
In my original interview I was asked if I would be prepared to go to Canada. YOU BET I would. Here was a chance to see some of the world paid for by the Government. of the day and I did not need to join the Navy. I was told that I would be going onto bombers and that I would be going to Canada so you can now go on your final leave and "don't forget to tell your parents that you are off to Canada", as if I would forget to tell them. Did they think that I was stupid?
And so another chapter had come to a successful conclusion, and now all that remained was to go and enjoy myself for the last few days I would be spending in NZ. Why I chose to go to Canada was very simple . I thought that if the country was over run by the Japanese then I would be in a strong position to join up with whatever force was being assembled for retaking the country. Of course this did not take into account that I could be sent to England as the war was at this stage certainly not going very well for us. So although I was in a strong position I had not counted on the higher ups who had other ideas for me.
Now we finished our course at No. 2 EFTS on the 7/2/42 and had to report down at Wellington on the 10/3/42 so you see there was plenty of time to tell my parents but oh no I was too chicken and so left it right till the last minute, and it was not until the afternoon of my departure on the 3.00 pm train No. 227 if I remember right that I was prepared to tell them.
For those who can remember the overnight travelling arrangements, this consisted of reclining seats only and required at least some comfort to ease the journey, and so for the princely sum of one shilling [1o cents] I hired a pillow from the attendant on the platform. Boy oh boy such luxury and all for only one shilling. You big spender you. So as the guard blew his whistle signifying our imminent departure my father asked.
When will we see you again son?” so I turned to him and answered
“I don't know as I'm off to Canada” and with that I stepped into the train but I did take a look back at my mother and father's face and both had their mouths wide open. Well I did tell them, eventually."
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Note 1 - Ab Initio - this is a Latin term for 'the beginning' and in aviation terms refers to the very early stages of flying training. The RNZAF referred to its Elementary Flying Training School courses as Ab Initio training.