Library Reference Number: 070
South Africa Et Al
My first year at University during 1942 was a shambles, and I was offered the Army or the coalmines, so I went off and joined the R.A.F. as a u/t Pilot. I was sent to Avenue Close in London for my initial training, and then to Fair Oaks in Surrey for my first 12 hours flying training. Then on to Ludlow and Doncaster, where there were Wellington aircraft engaged in flying leaflets over Germany. I then sailed from Gourock in the 'Monarch of Bermuda' for South Africa. Out into the Atlantic Ocean to Gibraltar, through the Mediterranean to Cairo, on through the Red Sea to Mombassa, and finally to Durban. I slept in a hammock on the bottom deck of the ship, and there were maggots in our meat.
A Lady in White with a loud hailer in her hand sang a welcome to us. There is now a statue to her. The first stop was Clairmont, with white bread and whole fruit jam before moving on to Witbank No. 5 E.F.T.S. to fly Tiger Moths. All the instructors were English, and when the hailstones came, the planes had to go under cover. The flare paths were oil buckets set on fire, and one pilot set the bottom of the wing of his Moth on fire, but some quick action soon extinguished it. We then had the option of choosing Oxfords or Harvards. Choosing the latter, I went to Standerton for further training. During this time we had altercations with the O.B.S., the Ossewa brand were people who objected to the English after the Boer War.
Fighting took place in the streets and also when they raided our campsite. Wing bolts on our Oxfords were half-sawn through, causing disastrous results. My instructor was a former Hurricane pilot who taught me how to fly, and at the end of the training course I was commissioned. Two weeks leave were spent at Doonside near Amanzimtoto beach with sugar cane nearby, and snakes that shed their skins on our doorsteps. My host was an old man who had been at the Klondyke Gold Rush, and had a nugget to prove it. The next move was to Cairo, and we boarded a Sunderland Flying Boat dressed in sports jackets, because we were flying to Beira, a neutral port, then to Mombassa, Port Bell on Lake Victoria, and two days at Khartoum before reaching Cairo. This flight at 210 miles per hour was fascinating.
The next stop was RAF Faiyad, where the option was to fly Spitfires or Thunderbolts at this Operational Training Unit. I opted for Thunderbolts. At this camp the natives were unfriendly, and they raided the camp at night looking for parachutes. The move to a six-ton aircraft was a little trying. Then there was a call for Thunderbolt pilots in the Far East, so with six others we flew to Dubai and then to Karachi.
From Karachi, there was a six-day train journey via Lahore to Bombay, with half a coach and an ice-block all to myself. Then on to Yelahanka for further operational training.
The atom bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki put an end to the war in the Far East, and Yelahanka became the staging post for many aircrews to be reselected for ground posts before their demob. I became the executive officer bringing those men before a tribunal of Group Captains and Wing Commanders for this purpose. I also organised vocational classes for Forces Preliminary Examinations, and Educational examinations along with non-vocational classes. At this time, many RAF personnel went on strike because of the belated demobilisation.
I was then asked to go to Madras, to set up these educational classes in the five stations in that area. I was stationed at Red Hills Lake; this took me to Pondicherry to a coconut-oil factory and a young lady, but chaperones got in the way. I became friendly with an Indian film producer, Ramanchandra, and I visited his film studios where they were shooting Indian mythology scenes. I was invited to his house to meet his three wives, they were beautifully dressed in their saris, the food was curried, and I spoke a little Urdu.
On the border between Madras and Pondicherry, there is a hellhole of Indians with twisted limbs and half-faces covered with flies- a dreadful sight! I was then offered a post with the North West Squadron flying Tempests, which I turned down, and went back home via Bombay and Naples. Returning to UK, I joined Glasgow University and gained a B.Sc. degree, took up an educational post, and eventually became Rector of a Senior Secondary School. The Padre of my school was the Rev. Peter Brodie, who became the Moderator of the Church of Scotland. During his period of this Office, he visited India, and came back to tell me that the Church of Scotland had built a Hospice at that hellhole near Madras. I went home a happier man.