MY FIRST SQUADRON.

By Barry Close.Instruments.

No image of Barry available.

This is in memory of Cpl Tech Jack Hunt and SAC Craig Loutitt, 203 Sqn, both killed in a RTA in Cape Province, South Africa in 1960.

My first posting was to RAF Gaydon where I was employed in the Instrument Section calibrating all the various instruments from the Victors and Valiants that were based there - notice that I mention all the instruments! I thought I was Nav. Inst but I was soon to find that those of the Nav. Inst trade were expected to work on all aspects of instrument work however those of the Gen. Inst. did not reciprocate!? It didn't matter so much when I was working in the Calibration room but it wasn't so nice when I found myself 'booted and suited' being stuffed down a Victor fuel tank to remove, and later refit, fuel contents tank units just because I was smaller than most of the Gen. Inst guys.

My father, a Ch Tech engine fitter, died at Ballykelly in 1959 so, to be near my mother, I applied for and got an exchange posting there. Initially I was employed in the instrument section but a few months later 203 Squadron needed a Cpl Nav. Inst so the powers that be, in their infinite wisdom, gave me my tapes and sent me on my way rejoicing.

For those of you who may not know it, Coastal Command was at the end of the RAF supply chain and Ballykelly was at the end of the Coastal Command supply chain, so when I went to the squadron stores to get some wet/cold/foul weather clothing, there was none to be had. My name was added to a list and I had to wait until I reached the top of it and could inherit a Parka or an Anorak from someone leaving the squadron.

At that particular time 203 Squadron was equipped with the Mk 3 Shackleton which, being considerably heavier than both the Mk 1 and the Mk2, meant that its Griffon engines had to work that much harder; after every flight there were numerous instrumentation faults - mainly temperature and oil pressure problems. So there I was sitting on top of, or working on, oily engines with an RAF raincoat as my sole protection against the weather and the oil; in a short time my uniform had become more black than blue, the good side of this was it became waterproof.

In due course I got a Parka which, like all the others on the squadron, was also more black than blue, had numerous rips and tears and was held together with sonic tape (a black waterproof tape used to seal joints in sonar buoys). Footwear was another problem as the airfield was 6 feet below sea level and had been built on land that had been reclaimed from the sea in the mid-1800s. There were only Wellington boots available and they were size 12 and upwards; my feet are size 7 so the extra space was filled by wearing sea boot socks which were so long that they were folded over the top of the wellingtons. It wasn't just me that looked like a 'hobo', all the ground crews from the three squadrons were in the same state of dress. OK, wireless, radar, and armourers had uniforms that were cleaner, but they still inherited their Parkas from the 'dirtier trades'. An interesting point was that airmen working in stores, SHQ and sick quarters all had new boots and new Parkas, obviously the admin staff were looking after their own.

One foggy night one of our aircraft had to divert to Aldergrove and the next morning half a dozen of us had to go there to prepare it for the flight back to BK. We had a 60 mile trip in the back of a 5 ton Bedford lorry; the route took us over a 1000ft mountain pass covered in snow. By the time we got to Aldergrove we were frozen so we decided to visit the 'Sally Ann' for bacon-butties and mugs of tea. We were shuffling through Aldergrove in our oversize boots and black taped up Parkas when who do we meet but the SWO; his face was a picture, his eyes were popping out of his head and his jaw was hanging on his chest. "Who are you people?" he asked. We told him who we were and where we were from. "You lot are in MY air force?" he stuttered. He asked for the name of our CO and said he was going to write to him and tell him that in 35 years he had never seen anything like it. We were to get our job done and to get off his station forthwith. We shuffled off quite chuffed with ourselves and got our bacon-butties and tea; we never heard anything more about it. We took a perverse delight in our appearance, probably due to the fact that there was nothing we or anyone else could do to remedy the situation.

I had only been on the squadron for a few weeks when half of our number was sent on detachment to Cape Town. Cpl Tech Jack Hunt and SAC Craig Loutitt were amongst those who went; unfortunately both they, and a SAAF instrument corporal, were killed in a car crash on their second day at Cape Town. I was detailed to fly out to replace them; I had no passport so I had to get on my motorbike and go to my mother's to get my birth certificate; 180 miles return trip, followed by jabs and the issue of KD. An Anson was sent over to take me to Northolt and the next day, a Saturday, the Passport Office opened to issue me with a passport. I was then taken to Heathrow and got on a BOAC Comet to Johannesburg via Rome and Nairobi. At Rome the seat next to me was taken by a South African chap who had taken a year off to tour the world and was now returning home. We chatted, and had a few drinks, all the way to Johannesburg where the flight terminated and we had to transfer to South African Airways. Unfortunately my ticket had only been requested, not booked, and I was informed that there were no seats available until the next day. My new South African friend, who was a few feet away getting his ticket, overheard the conversation; he started to speak to his booking clerk in Afrikaans, passed over some money, and received two tickets. He turned to me, smiled and said "Come on, we have a plane to catch." He had changed his own ticket to a first class one and had paid for me to travel first class as well. Naturally I objected saying that there was no way I could repay him, but he shrugged and just said "Come on, we have drinks waiting for us."

The aircraft was a Viscount and we were the only passengers in first class, we had our own stewardess and she kept the drinks coming for the duration of the flight. We landed at Bloemfontein to drop of some passengers and then, when we took off, we flew through the most amazing electrical storm; the stewardess seemed quite worried but we were so well oiled and were enjoying the show. By the time we landed at Cape Town, known then as DF Malan Airport, we could barely walk off the aircraft. The detachment was accommodated at the air force base at Ysterplatt but the runway was too short for fully loaded Shackletons so we operated out of a remote corner of DF Malan; the two airfields were on opposite sides of Cape Town and we had to commute twice a day.

My first day at work was quite a shock; our aircraft had been flying for five days since the car crash and all the instrument faults had just been 'red-lined'. Each aircraft (there were three of them) had about two dozen 'red-line entries'. Apparently the SAAF instrument fitters had offered to do the work (they also operated Shackletons) but our illustrious engineering officer had declined the offer. He, incidentally, had gone off on a jolly for a week - a safari, apparently. At this time we didn't have an engineering officer on the detachment so I could only presume that this chap had worked his way on to it from Command Headquarters in order to enjoy a safari on the public purse. He certainly didn't do much visible work.

The Flt Sgt told me that he had meant to pass on a message for me to bring toiletries and a change of clothes with me as he wanted me to remain at work until I had cleared the backlog; but he had forgotten! He had a camp bed installed in the stores tent so I could have the odd kip and the SAAF had an all ranks mess that was open during the time we were on site, so I was well catered for. Weekend work was out of the question as the place closed down on Friday nights. I pointed out that it was doubtful that I could clear the backlog on my own and asked what he thought about my asking the SAAF if they were still willing to help, he told me to do what I thought was best.

I approached the SAAF Instrument guys and they were quite happy to help so long as I understood that their aircraft had to come first. They had been somewhat surprised when their first offer had been declined and wanted to know what had changed so I told them that our engineering officer had buggered off on safari and, since I had never met him, he had not told me I couldn't ask for their help. When they were available we would work out which jobs they should do and I would supply the spares. After they had done the work I would check it and then sign for it. If anything had happened that required an investigation it would have been very interesting as it would have appeared that I was completing a job every 5 minutes or so.

I arrived at work on a Monday morning and I was still there on the Thursday but, by then, the bulk of the work had been done. I hadn't had a wash or shave since the Monday morning and I smelt like a hobo. I was feeling good about things but, unfortunately, my bubble burst as this immaculately turned out Fg Off appeared in front of me and proceeded to give me a right 'bollocking' - I was a disgrace to the RAF . . . . etc. etc. and he was going to have me charged with whatever. At this point I could feel the proverbial red mist forming in my head but my guardian angel appeared before I could do anything stupid. The Flt Sgt had seen what was happening so he got between us and explained to 'His Lordship' that I had not been back to our accommodation since I had arrived on Monday. Our illustrious leader turned and walked away, no apology was forthcoming from him and from that time on I never had much time for engineering officers.

If anyone reading this was an engineering officer please do not take offence, I know that there are good and bad in all walks of life, I just did not meet any good ones; however I would be willing to bet that, under the circumstances, an engineering officer with a Halton apprenticeship background would have put his duty before his own selfish requirements.

I don't know where he went but I never did see him again either on that detachment or later.

The rest of the detachment passed normally. All RAF members were 'adopted' by members of the SAAF and we were very well entertained. I was befriended by an SAAF Inst Cpl and we went sightseeing all around the Cape; it is a beautiful place, there were also BBQs and someone had a party every weekend. My new SAAF friends told me they were having problems getting new spares and quite a lot of their spares were clapped out. I do not know how it happened but at the end of the detachment quite a few of our instrument spares seemed to have disappeared and in their place were a lot of old u/s items; the other trades had similar problems! I was expecting some comeback from the Maintenance Units but never heard anything. Embargoes were put into place by faceless government types but we had worked with these people and considered them our friends and allies, many a blind eye was turned when opportunities arose.

The trip back to BK was by 'ShackAir' as opposed to BOAC and it took 5 days, stopping at Salisbury, Nairobi and Kano before crossing the Sahara to Idris; then on to BK after a refuelling stop in Gib.

I can't remember which airfield we used in Nairobi, Embakasi or Eastleigh, but we were warned that the take-off would be quite hairy due to high altitude and high temperature. The airfield was built on a plateau and the runway ended at the edge of it. We watched the first aircraft take off; it reached the end of the runway and then disappeared from view for several minutes before it reappeared and gently climbed away. When it was our turn we reached the end of the runway and also went into a descent until we had sufficient airspeed and lift to start climbing. Later in the sixties the last version of the Shackleton, the MK 3 Phase 3, had two Vipers fitted to assist in take-off, we could have done with them that day.

The beauty of flying 'ShackAir' was that we flew at low level enabling us to see a lot of detail on the ground that high flying jet passengers would never see, it helped to pass the time. The flight over the Sahara was very interesting; years later, in July 1994, a restored ex SAAF Shackleton Mk3, on its way to the UK, force-landed in the Sahara, luckily all on board survived.

Click on: 'Pelican Down'

Coastal Command may have been the poor relation in the RAF scheme of things, but it was an extremely interesting and rewarding job; besides hunting submarines we also performed long range search and rescue duties. In the sixties we had squadrons at Ballykelly, St Mawgan, Kinloss, Gibraltar, Malta, Aden and Singapore. At this present time the RAF does not have a single aircraft capable of hunting subs or carrying out long range search and rescue. There were detachments all over the world, this was my first of many and it dealt with several aspects of life: tragedy in the death of two good friends, generosity to a complete stranger by my South African friend in Rome, willingness to assist by the SAAF and, in complete contrast, the utter selfishness of a so-called officer and 'gentleman'.