Part 4 – Army
Air Corps Centre, Middle Wallop
Leave Goodnight ‘ After the harrowing crossing on
the ‘ To kill time
and to get out of the murderous rage I was in, I went to see some good
friends of mine in Hockwell Ring - Ted and Beryl Allford. They had been
really good to me as I grew up in that area and had always had a welcome for
me whenever I called on them. As was ever the case, they had a calming
influence on me and suggested that maybe my sudden departure from Wildenrath
was something that was meant to be and as such I should not be too bitter
about the situation. They sat me down to tea with them and said I could stay
over if I liked, I declined their kind offer and said that Bill and I had
something to sort out as soon as possible. Later that evening I made my way
back to the Town Centre and sidled into the Midland Hotel, in the process
bumping into ‘Chalky’ White, whom I had known at School. He could tell
immediately that I was on the warpath and asked me what was up; I simply said
that I had business with one of the barmen in the place. He said: "Are
you going to beat him up?" to which I responded: "Yes!" I learned from Chalky that Bill served in the other bar and he
was intrigued to learn the whys and wherefores of my reason for wanting to
thump him. Bill was known in the pub as ‘Garth’ apparently and seemed to have
everyone convinced that he was a hard-nut. At fifteen stone and with battered
features he looked the goods alright, but I had seen the real Mr Brown and
was not impressed! Chalky could not believe that I was determined to tackle
him and kept going through to the other bar to look at him and then coming
back to assure me that I was totally mad. About half an hour before closing
time Bill came through into the lounge and spotted me, he tried to chat to me
for a moment but I said to him that I would catch up with him outside. He got
the message alright! Once the pub closed I waited for Bill to front up and at about
twenty past eleven he and three others came out. I was on him like a dog onto
a pork chop! Chalky had hung around to see what happened and he was all eyes
as I got right into Bill Brown’s face and called him every name I could lay a
tongue to. One of his co-workers looked as if he was going to say something
but after I told them to take off and mind their own business, thought better
of it. Bill said that he was not going to fight with me, so I belted him one
to elicit a change of heart but he still would not fight, I had to content
myself with giving him the tongue lashing of the century. To judge from the
expression on Chalky's face, the nickname ‘Garth’ was now an endangered
species. I spent most of the remainder of my leave at Hockwell Ring with Ted
and Beryl and family - I just didn't trust myself around Bill Brown! Helicopter
Flight
In due course, I
reported into the Army Air Corps Centre at Middle Wallop and was fixed up
with a bedspace and such, then told to report in to To my dismay and chagrin, the whole thing was way out of true and
I could not get the arms into the allotted places in the collar. With no
other option, I undid the locking wire and adjusted the turnbuckles until the
collar fitted as per diagram in the book. So much for theory - the
turnbuckles were now well out of ‘safety’! Four times I went laboriously
through the whole procedure and ended up totally baffled each time! No way
was the collar going to perform as per the layout in the book! I trotted into
the office and humbly informed the AQMS and the two Sergeants in the office
of my failings and inadequacy. With smirks from the two Sergeants and a
resigned roll of the eyes from the AQMS, they all trooped out to show me the
errors of my ways. Two hours later there was a major flap on and a top ‘nebby’ was
on his way from Saunders Roe in Within a matter
of days I was given placement on a Helicopter Familiarisation course at the
Saunders Roe Factory in Eastleigh on the outskirts of Once the course
was successfully passed I was qualified to sign for my own misdeeds in the
Form 700, which is the aircraft;s individual log book, of which two copies
are kept - a daily flying log and the base copy, which is held in Technical
Control and updated daily at the cessation of flying. A lot of the techies on
the flight at that time were National Servicemen and almost all had some
aircraft trade experience prior to their being called up. There was little
doubt that these lads were the cream of the crop and it was a pleasure to
work alongside them and learn from them. DJ "Rabbit" Taylor (Dave)
was the pack leader of this bunch of laid-back Nasho's and he had a droll but
wacky sense of humour. Many of them had connections to JEHU, the Joint
Experimental Helicopter Unit, and without exception all were absorbed in
watching their ‘chuff charts’ tick steadily towards the day of their
discharge back into civvy life. This, I soon discovered, was the source of
the fretful nature of our beloved leader, with a pack of stroppy ‘fireproof’
Nashos as the mainstay of his techies, he had to put up with their cavalier
attitude to things military. They really did not have too much respect for
anyone who was less than totally clued up on choppers. The likes of myself and a
couple or three other regulars were too keen to learn to trigger any sort of
adverse reaction from these lads and I had made my bones with them over the
‘Locking Collar incident’. There was a big bloke called Murphy, Bob Brearton
and a couple whose names have escaped me. Later on we were joined by the
likes of Tom Hardy, ‘Ginger’ Honour, Dave Weighall, Frank LeFevre and many
others. There was never any real friction on the Flight except for one
incident when I offered big Murphy outside over something he said that riled
me - he declined the offer anyway. There was always plenty to do on Chopper
Flight, which was of course a Training Flight for pilots needing to qualify
on rotary wing aircraft; there was no time to be bored and the whole thing
buzzed with Esprit de Corps inherited from the Flight’s original techies. Another
course that the Air Corps, in its wisdom, sent me on, was the De Havilland
Engine course. The factory where we were to be educated in the arcane secrets
of the ubiquitous 4-in-line, inverted,
air-cooled, normally-aspirated 14001 engine, was situated in Leavesden,
near There was a certain amount of pain attached to being a member of
Chopper Flight, this was of course attributable to the fact that the tiny Skeeter
was very difficult to work on unless you were double-jointed or very
flexible, scads of locking wire made any incursion by an incautious
spanner-clutching fist a dicey business. The dreaded ‘Spanner-Rashes’ (cuts)
were a regular occurrence and as with mechanics anywhere, were for the most
part stoically ignored. Another sort of discomfort to be avoided at all costs
was that as was occasioned by being the unwitting recipient of a ‘flying
dotto’. This barbaric custom had been extant on the Flight during the reign
of the Nasho's and was still going strong right to the day I was posted out.
The object of the flying dotto was to sneak up behind anyone silly enough to
bend over and present his posterior to any feral dotto-er in the vicinity.
The poor victim would, at the last moment, hear the muffled pad of rapidly
moving rubber boots and then he would get a rigid thumb rammed up his
backside, accompanied of course by a triumphant roar of: "Dotto!” Very
often the hapless victim’s feet would leave the ground as he sought
involuntarily to distance himself from the offending member, hence the
‘flying’ part. Several times a day one would hear the mellifluous warble:
"Dotto" closely followed by a yodel of outrage and stream of
colourful invective. My best ever effort was a classic that was the talk of the Flight
for yonks. I had gone out to the mobile crew cabin for a smoke and glancing
down towards the take-off pan I spotted an overall-clad figure working away
inside the engine compartment of a Skeeter. I was immediately alert and a
sidle to the right allowed me to catch a glimpse of familiar red-coloured
hair. Only one bloke at Wallop had hair that shade of red - Ginger Honour -
and he had gored me twice the week previous. Out went the fag and I charged
down the slight slope towards the oblivious target. By the time I reached my
victim, I was really motoring and boy did I lean into my task. "Dotto!
You ginger-haired bar-steward!" I roared in glee! With a shriek that
could really only be described as falsetto, my victim levitated himself a
goodly distance into the air, clunking his head on the engine fairing panel
as he did so. The enormous grin of sheer malice on my face was wiped clean as
he turned around and revealed himself to be a representative of Saunders
Roe and not Ginger Honour! He stood there glaring at me and rubbing his
outraged 'arris while I tried manfully not to break into hysterics. My task
was made the more difficult by the fact that a small group of the lads had
witnessed the deed from the open hangar doors and foremost amongst them was
Ginger Honour himself! They had all worked out the scenario and were falling
about with tears streaming down their legs, I managed to splutter that I was
sorry and had thought he was someone I knew. "I should flipping well
hope so" was all he said in response. It wouldn't have surprised me to
have learned that danger money was on the agenda when he returned to Although attached to Chopper
Flight, there was still occasional work involving fixed-wing aircraft,
keeping our hand-in so to speak. On one memorable occasion we all had to
partake in an Exercise involving setting up an emergency landing strip. This
was organised at Wallop to stop us being unavailable for too long from our
normal duties; we were sent to a remote section of the airfield and detailed
off for the trainee pilots to practise T-landings. Two bodies were required
for this and had to stand 200 feet or so apart, with their backs to the
prevailing wind. The leading man, in respect of the aircraft’s direction of
landing into the face of a prevailing wind, would be facing the incoming
plane and had to stand with his arms stretched out wide. The pilot then lined
up on the axis that the two blokes stood along and headed for the bloke with
outstretched arms. Instructions were given to the effect that the front man
had to stay visible to the pilot until the last second and then very quickly
lie face down on the grass! The plane would then taxi towards the second man,
who would guide it into the desired parking spot. I was first cab off the rank as far as being T-man was concerned,
I stood there feeling like a poor man’s Statue of Liberty as this Auster 9
came sliding down towards me with a sort of crablike motion as it
side-slipped to bleed off height without dropping its nose too much. It got
closer and closer and I was conscious of what the spinning propeller ‘disk’
would do to me if I was too slow in getting down to terra firma. I kept my
nerve for as long as I deemed it prudent and then at the last second, or so
it seemed to me, threw myself headlong ground-wards. I felt the backwash from
the prop and was aware of a sort of thumping noise very close, closer than I
was aware of! The AQMS and the lads came trotting over to where I lay and I
heard them calling out asking if I was alright. I was indeed but I had been
given a close shave by the tail wheel of the Auster, which had gouged out a
very respectable chunk of turf about three inches or so past my knees. I was
lucky on two counts, one was that the bliddy plane had missed my lower spine
and the other was that I had hit with legs splayed rather than closed. There
was then a hasty conference between the pilot(s) and the AQMS to ensure that
they passed over the T-man at head height rather than knee height! Another time
when one was likely to cop some work on a fixed-wing plane was when on duty
crew. On one occasion I was on such duties when we received a phone call from
a pilot who had made a forced landing. He had experienced a ‘mag drop’ or
fall-off in the engine performance, the most common cause of this was either
a spark plug failure, which meant changing all eight (two per cylinder), or
if that did not fix it, replacing the magnetos. The pilot informed us that he
was at this farmhouse a mile or so out from some obscure village not far from
Our new AQMS was a bloke called
Billy Boam, a short stocky man who looked a lot like an old chum from 12
Flight - Benbow Wheeler. Billy was cut from a different bolt of cloth though.
I have to say that Billy Boam was not a hard taskmaster, he took over a
Flight that was running well and had the innate good sense to leave things
alone at first and slowly exert such influence as he felt might better
things. He was also prepared to listen to his underlings too, always a good
trait in a boss. The CO at the time was a Major Richardson and he was one of
those rare gems that the British Officer class sometimes turns out. The type
of man that genuinely took an interest in the day-to-day running of his
responsibility - Chopper Flight! He would stop and have a moment’s chat to
any of the Flight members whose path he crossed, he was always approachable,
he was fair-minded and had a keen sense of humour; the sort of man who
inspired genuine affection amongst his men. I remember on one occasion I had
the pleasure of seeing this for myself in relationship to something that
happened to me. Batman and Rupert Chopper Flight’s only raison
d'être was to churn out qualified helicopter pilots; periodically we
would farewell the old and welcome the new. On this particular occasion, one
of the new trainees, a lieutenant in a swank cavalry mob, approached me in
the short corridor between the Crew Room and the Flight Office. "You
there" he warbled, "What's your name laddie?” I responded by coming
to attention and saying "Craftsman Peck, sir!” "Jolly good. Now
Peck, I have here some kit I would like you to clean up for me". He then
held out his hand with a Sam Browne and such in it! I looked at him with a
very jaundiced eye and said to him: "With due respect sir, that is a
batman’s job." "Exactly" quoth he, "I am selecting you as
my batman for the duration of my course here." I looked him straight in
the eye and said in response: "I feel sure that this is a compliment to
my standard of turnout sir, for which I thank you, however I respectfully
decline your offer". "This is not an offer Peck, it is an
order." To this I responded: "Then it will have to come through the
proper channels sir, I take orders through the chain of command in Helicopter
Flight as is right and proper in regards my duties." "You are
impertinent and I will have you charged and report you to your CO". I
then said: "Very good sir, Your(s) and my CO is in the room right next
to you, I will await his summons, SIR!" The quite livid young Rupert
stormed through the open door into the Flight Office and went straight up to
the Major, who was discussing schedules with Billy Boam and blurted out that
he wished to report a member of the ground crew for insolence. I waited
outside the office for whatever the outcome was to be. It went thus: Major
Richardson heard the Rupert out then delivered his considered judgement.
"Bear this in mind young man, you are no longer in the bosom of your
tradition-riddled and hidebound regiment, you are now amongst the real Army
and that is not how things are done. I overheard the whole incident, as
did WO Boam here and we found nothing amiss in the way that your request was
denied. As young Peck pointed out, the Flight has its own chain of command
and that is inviolable; you are not in that chain of command, you are a
student and as such will accord all my trained men the respect that their
skills and status demand. Do not presume to interfere with my men again or
you will be RTU'd like a shot - please close the door on your way out!” I
quietly slipped into the Crew Room with a huge grin all over my chops.
Handling Ruperts was second nature to old soldiers and let's be honest,
three-and-a-half years in the crucible of AAS Arborfield churned out good
mechanics and future leaders sure enough, it also left all who did the time
there as cunning as shithouse rats. As part of the course all aspects of flying had to be trained
for, including night flying, Instrument flying and mountain flying. For the
latter we always headed off for the Brecon Beacons. The advance party would
set off 24 hours before the main party, so as to lay out landing panels,
organise for tentage, and set up a POL point for refuelling. On my first such
I was in the main party and we set off for the journey early in the morning.
We were about 45 minutes travel away from our destination when we observed
the Flight’s choppers, in an untidy gaggle, hovering some short distance
ahead. As we got closer we were intrigued to see a fellow trotting back
towards a chopper that was sitting in a paddock alongside the road. The
crafty sods had landed to check out the road signs, so much for map reading
abilities! To think of the care we took when checking the on-board compass
against a master compass after any major component change! We had to put in a
table that the pilot could utilise if reading the compass, this would correct
any plus or minus reading caused by ferrous metal within the chopper. This
checking of road signs was a regular feature of the trips down for the
choppers and their crews. One of our Sergeant pilots who was challenged about
this said that this was due to the fact that students had to do the
navigating and this was a check for their accuracy, he did have the grace to
blush though! From WRAC to Ruin!
Chopper Flight was a good posting back on the cusp of the ‘fifties and ‘sixties, there were no real ratbags amongst the lads and if anyone got into trouble, everyone was there for them; one incident later on in my time there sums it up nicely. One of the lads, a thoroughly nice Irishman, was courting a WRAC girl from among the contingent that had been posted in. This was to alleviate some of the problems caused by the RA's habit of sending us their best and brightest Gunners to be employed in various non-technical functions. A rather unsavoury character with two stripes, a wife up in the Married Pads and a couple of kids also fancied her. He actually had the temerity to turn up at the Flight one day to ‘warn off’ Paddy from seeing the girl! In tow he had two supposed ‘hard men’ to back him up. What happened as soon as the lads became aware of what was going down was quite gratifying. First in was Tom Hardy, a nice lad and no sort of hard man, who suggested to them that they clear off. Then the rest of us gathered around and started to manhandle them. Paddy said that we should just hold back his cronies and he would sort out the problem with lover-boy. All of a sudden lover-boy got a bad case of chicken fever; he had lost interest in threatening anyone. Meanwhile Tom and I had told his two offsiders to clear off before they got their heads punched in. I reminded them that we knew who they were and would not fail to sort them out if they came near Paddy again, on or off camp. They took off! Tom and I then took on the job of escorting ‘mighty mouth’ off our ‘patch, and he received the same warning along with a good hard shove by way of emphasis. No further problem! Memorable Characters On Chopper Flight at that time
we had two Gunners who functioned as Stores Assistants - their names were
Savage and Large - and of course as is usually the case, they were neither.
They were a nice couple of blokes even if somewhat accident prone, certainly
they mucked in with a will and were never heard to whinge about their lot.
One of the clangers that they inadvertently dropped later on in their time
with us was a classic. They had been detailed to collect up all the foam fire
extinguishers in the Flight area and take them to the main Store for checking
and weighing as part of the cycle of checks required on them. One of the new
WRACs drove up in a Champ and she came trotting into the Crew Room barking
out that the Champ was here. She was a very formidable wench and Bob Brearton
earned himself a thump to the ribs when he looked up and said: "Keerist,
the Heavyweight Champ"! When he had his breath back we sent her across
to the Stores and the two gunners hitched up the loaded trailer and got into
the Champ with her, then the whole mob set off for the main Stores. Within an
hour they were back and the Champ drove into the hangar, where the trailer
was set down on its drop-wheel. The two Gunners set about off-loading the
extinguishers and had got down to the last five or so when the disaster
struck - I was right on hand and became embroiled in it. The dills had
unloaded from the drop-wheel end of the trailer and just as I sauntered
past, up it tipped and suddenly this dirty great extinguisher dropped out and
onto my foot. So there was me hopping about calling
down benedictions on all Gunners everywhere, and there was Messrs Savage and
Large watching all these suddenly sputtering extinguishers rolling all over
the hangar floor. About three others and I screamed at them to get them
outside, so they stooped and picked up one apiece; by now they were starting
to fizz and burble quite noisily. Large headed for the open hangar doors but
a chopper was in the process of being manhandled inside and he suddenly
veered off to head for the corridor between the Crew Room and Office. As he
galloped door-wards one of the lads was coming out of the corridor to see
what all the screaming was in aid of, and seeing this by now fully-disgorging
extinguisher rushing towards him he instinctively slammed the blast-proof
door shut. This resulted in Large running full tilt into the shut door,
so there was a series of clangs and thumps as the extinguisher and Large hit
the door and slithered down it in a welter of foam. Savage had meanwhile done
his own thing; this consisted of averting his face from the foam flying
from his extinguisher as he ran in the general direction of the top end of
the hangar. He might have made it except for the obstacle of a drip-tray
which caused him to go flying through the air in a graceless swallow-dive. He
had the presence of mind to let go of the foaming extinguisher, which flew
into the air like a missile, hurling foam everywhere as it performed a
caber-like passage through the air. Both of the Gunners were now hors de
combat and all of the extinguishers were busily doing their thing as they
rolled about the hangar floor. So were all the Ground Crew who were falling
about too, with hoots of laughter. As a footnote to this, I had a very badly
bruised right foot according to the We had two other characters also loosely
attached to Chopper Flight; one was our cleaner, a WW1 veteran sans teeth and
hair who was known as Pop to everyone. He had a salacious tale regarding his
experience in a French brothel while on a rare furlough from the front,
involving a damsel and a little Pomeranian dog called ‘Pom’. He liked to
regale newcomers to the Flight with this as they were getting stuck into one
of the NAAFI's ubiquitous split cream doughnuts. Just as they got a tongueful
of the cream he would explain to them what she meant when she asked her
clients if they wanted it "Avec Pom?” He would say: "If you said
‘Oui Mamselle’, that there dog would jump up on the bed and jam his wet nose
and tongue right up your 'arris, boy!” It was always funny and the reaction
inevitable! The other character was known as ‘Jock
the Juice’ and he was a civilian employed as a bowser driver; he refuelled
all the choppers between flights. He resembled a slightly manic and
hyperactive Max Wall, same build, same wild hairstyle and a very warped sense
of humour. Jock was a seemingly endless source of anecdotes and had led a
wild sort of life. He was on the threshold of his sixties but had the energy
of a forty-year-old and a real zest for life. He actually lived on the camp,
Lord knows how he had swung that but he was more of an institution than an
employee. I was there to see this lifetime bachelor get himself married to a
retired Girls’ School Principal - that was a happy event-and-a-half with the
whole of Chopper Flight fronting up to make sure he never wriggled off of the
hook! The Social Life
For the purposes
of socialising there was of course an excellent NAAFI Canteen at Middle
Wallop, a full sized Billiard table and a set of Snooker ‘Plus’ balls, which
included an orange and purple ball of high denomination, was a major
attraction there. The Camp Cinema was also well patronised. Outside
entertainment was readily available in We discovered
such a paragon of a pub – ‘The Star’ - in a village called Bob Brearton and
I had been detailed by Billy Boam to find a suitable pub for the Flight Christmas
party, so we shot out to the ‘Star’ on the Monday night and chatted up Rosie
and her old man to see if they could fix us up. No problem at all, even to a
cold cuts and salad buffet which was very reasonably priced indeed. As we
concluded our business with them, two old boys who were the only other
customers in the bar asked us if we fancied ourselves at darts, I answered
honestly with a "NO" but Bob was all for it. The old boys promptly
informed us that losers would shout the ales and I got very nervous but Bob
was adamant we would play them. Rosie caught my eye and shook her head, which
really ticked me off; as quick as I could, I mentioned this to Bob, who
responded: "Listen old Tate, I am probably the best arrer thrower these
old farts are ever going to see, just come along for the ride!” That shook
me, because I had never known Bob as a braggart. A typical Yorkshireman, he
always told everything as it was! Well, I have to say that he wasn't kidding,
I seemed to have had some of his skill rub off on me too because I excelled
myself that night, I have never played better, before or since. Bob
called every shot he made and only rarely missed his mark, I have no doubt
that he was a champion player as he claimed, played an absolute blinder he did!
As a result the two old boys never got within cooee of winning a game and we
had four pints off of them before they spat the dummy and took off into the
night. Rosie told us that in the 12 years that she had been at the pub, she
had never seen them get a hiding. She informed us that they usually
cleaned up anyone daft enough to play them and she gave us a pint on the
strength of our famous victory! A very good night was that, six pints all
night and we only paid for the first one! I had a monster
night in Salisbury on the occasion that I spat the dummy with a very
demanding sheila that I was going with, she was a real pain and so pleased
was I with my newly re-acquired freedom that I went on a celebratory solo
binge. Halfway through the night Bob Brearton came into the pub with a sheila
he was knocking around with. I got totally blotto and Bob and his paramour
decided to see me on to the bus back to Wallop. Thinking that I was being a
nuisance to them and not wanting to play ‘Gooseberry’ I took off and headed
into the night. As a result of this I missed the last bus, I remember
hitchhiking on the Warminster
At about the time that Billy Boam left us, and his replacement, Staff Sergeant Kennett - half-brother of my old staffy from Wildentrath - took over, I found myself detailed to attend a regimental course at Warminster. I have to say that this was a complete change of pace to life at Wallop, I was the only Bod on the course to have a pale blue beret and the CSM used to glower truculently at me every time we mustered, even going so far one day as to try me out as to why my beret was pulled down both sides. "Necessary for the use of headphones sir" I threw at him, "Aircraft are very noisy sir, very essential to be able to communicate clearly within the cockpit!” He drew himself up to his not inconsiderable height and roared: "Hi personally fink you h'are a bit h'of a Spiv, that's wot hi fink!” In so doing, he immediately identified himself as a former Woodentop, as was later confirmed. Amongst those of us on the course was a
lance jack who had a very high opinion of his place in the Universe, on two
seperate occasions I had to show my teeth slightly to slow him down a bit.
Probably my two G flogs intimidated him a tad too. Then on this particular morning,
I was told to report to the office immediately, there to be informed that I
had been made up to full Corporal, stripes to be signed for immediately from
the Q Stores. That really upset the pair of them, one because I now outranked
him and the other because he could hardly single me out for special treatment
without undermining the system. He had to make do with the odd scowl, these
gradually disappeared though as I showed a good aptitude for the course
requirements, let's face it, I had been weaned on Guards Drill Pigs and knew
how to render unto Caesar. The clincher was probably my excellent showing on
the range, qualifying as a marksman for the second time and this time getting
a crossed rifles badge for my pains. I met a girl while sussing out Return
to Wallop
About a week or
so after returning from the course I thought the World had gone mad, suddenly
we heard a rumour that all techies were to be made NCOs, sure enough, within a
few days, all of the lads were made up to at least lance jacks. Fortunately
my few days seniority was enough to secure me the billet’s NCO's room,
as the incumbent was being posted overseas. This soon backfired somewhat
though, the two upper billets in our spider were inhabited by Techies, all of
whom were now NCOs, while the billets below were occupied by gash hands.
These lads were a rum lot, most of them being bodies that their previous COs
were glad to post out to someone else, they were feral to say the least. One
night, well after My problem was, that although the Glaswegian had gone,
the other bloke was still there and he was a six-year man. It got to the
point that every weekend he would get a skinful and when he came in he would
stand at the bottom of the stairs and yell abuse. After a few times I decided
to do something about it, namely him! I got Bob Brearton to hang around until
I spotted him going into the drying room, I shot in behind him and stationed
Bob by the door to keep anyone else away. Then I fronted the prat and said:
"OK you useless piece of dogs muck, your every wish has just been
granted, come and get it.” Didn't want to know did he! This cured him of his
nocturnal habits where I was concerned but he remained a thorn in the side of
the What that Captain had done was
to take a bloke who felt that he was forever doomed to be a nobody, which he
resented and given him instead something to be proud of. Restored his self-esteem
if you like and the result was remarkable. I learnt something from that which
has stood me in good stead from that day to this, never see anybody as
totally useless, find a way to give them a belief in themself and
you create a reasonable chance for a good man to emerge. As for the
former prat, he and I often exchanged nods, grins or winks as we passed by
each other around the camp area. Three of us
went out to Bob Brearton
and I became very good mates, spending much of our time together, even
hitchhiking up as far as On yet another occasion, Bob Brearton and I had
hitchhiked to Dunstable via the A5 and were going to cover the last few miles
between Dunstable and Winds of Change On those weekends that I could get back to Meantime, the rumour-mill at Wallop was having a field
day, there was word going around that the Air Corps was about to undergo a
transformation, including an expansion and that we would have a
Brigadier at least, placed in charge of the Air Corps Centre at Middle
Wallop. Right on cue, this ‘Colonel Blimp’ clone with the insignia of a
Brigadier turned up and was shown around the camp; the mill was adamant that
this was the bloke selected to be our new boss and he would be in-situ within
six months. Well, it turned out that he and Major Richardson knew each other
and he spent quite a while in and around Chopper Flight in the morning of his
visit. Tom Hardy had come into work that morning with an old shop bell,
complete with spring attached, so naturally we celebrated these two
noteworthy events by affixing it to the engine-bay of Major I
don't think that the Brigadier and the Major met again though, as by the time
he took up his appointment Major Richardson had been posted out to Malaysia,
where he was to die some months later as result of crashing his
plane in the Ulu (Jungle), of Sarawak I believe. This was a very sad day
for all on Chopper Flight. His replacement was a different sort of bloke
entirely of course, he and I clashed within 3 weeks of his advent as CO. This
was due to the summary that he put down on my annual report. In it he
described me as: "A reticent man who has difficulty in communicating".
This really cracked me up; I looked at him and asked if he seriously expected
me to sign this? I asked him on what grounds he had based this erroneous
information contained in the report? He responded that he and I had hardly
exchanged a word since he had become CO. I said to him that this was because
I was in the habit of getting quietly on with my work and not rushing over to
chat every time I saw an Officer. I pointed out to him that as a technician
my place was out on the hangar floor, not sitting yarning in the office and
did he have a problem with my work ethic? He was on the defensive now so I
went for the throat. "Have I clearly enunciated the reasons for my
disquiet over this summary sir?” When he responded in the affirmative I said:
"In that case, as I have communicated my objections to your
satisfaction, you will be wanting to change it sir?” "Yes, quite so
Corporal, thank you." He and I got on famously after that and never
another bad moment at all. I did manage to make a formidable enemy amongst the Officer class though, this was a Captain who swanned in from Germany one weekend when Frank LeFevre and I had copped Duty Crew. He got out of the cockpit and said: "It's snagged, (faulty) get it fixed". A quick shufti at the F700 and we knew we had a mag-drop on our hands. I sent young Frank down to the Plug Bay to see if he could roust out some serviceable plugs, this took some time as the duty wallah was not in the area when Frank turned up and Frank had to ask the Guard Commander to tannoy for him. Meantime, I was removing the double bank of spark plugs from the chopper, and after some forty minutes, Frank came back with the replacement plugs and he and I started to fit them. Frank was so slightly built that he could get to things between the engine and the bulkhead, so he was half buried one side and I was right into it on the other. Then I felt something whacking my foot none too gently. So I called out: "Cut that out before I take whatever that is and do you a mischief with it". A really snide voice said: "I don't think you will actually". It was the pilot and he was obviously feeling liverish. As I scrambled to my feet, coming to a sort of attention and thinking that this was a case of getting off on the wrong foot, he said: "What you will do, is to get that aircraft out there and ready for take off within three minutes. What the hell have you been playing at?” I retorted: "Begging the Captain’s pardon, but you would have heard the call for the duty electrician on the PA system of course? Until we can gain access to the spares sir, we cannot commence rectification". "Bloody well get on with it man!" he responded. We had that chopper ready in very good time and all the while he was stood there glowering at me, as soon as he saw the engine cowlings closed he came up and said: "Right, let’s have it out on to the pan and I will be off." I fixed him with a bland stare and said: "Excuse me sir, but aren't you forgetting the mag-drop? That will require an engine run-up check and a clearance signature before you can use the chopper again". He stood there and swore at me, calling me a troublemaker. I was not very happy at all! I simply said to him: "If you have quite finished sir, we will get the very necessary formalities over with and have you away from here just as expeditiously as possible." His final word was: "I will remember you Corporal, our paths will cross again". They did! He also made a point of relating the incident to my new CO, who casually dismissed the matter - he actually smiled at me when he remarked upon it, his comment being: "Try not to overdo it with these communication skills young Peck". Frank LeFevre was a really nice little
bloke and he eventually became a pilot himself but had I not been to hand on
one fine morning he would not have made it. Frank had just graduated to being
able to sign for his own work and he had done a removal of grease build-up
from the damper packs, up on the rotor-head of a chopper snagged for
excessive vibration. A start-up and rotor engagement was required to
ascertain if the problem was fixed or if a blade ‘disk’ check was
required. The chopper started up and the rotors duly engaged, in neutral
pitch; I was having a smoke by the mobile crew shack and was startled to hear
a sudden clunk, a loud whirring noise and then see a spanner hit the deck and
slide towards me finishing up about two paces to my front. I shot forward,
kicked the spanner unobtrusively under the wheels of the crew cabin and
yelled out to Frank to give the ‘cut-throat’ signal to the pilot, which means
engine shutdown. As soon as all was still, the pilot clambered out and asked
what the devil was going on, young Frank was as white as a sheet and I
whispered to him that I would do the talking. "Begging your pardon sir,
I thought that I heard a strike on one of the rotor blades and instucted
L/Cpl LeFevre to curtail the checks." The three of us then began a check
of the leading edges on the three rotor blades. There on ‘yellow’ blade was a
humungous dint, when the pilot saw it he yelped: "How the bloody hell
did that happen?” Quick as a flash I responded: "Had to have been a
stone or some loose item on the hard-standing sir, sucked up through the
rotor disk" (the orbit of the spinning blades). "My God, someone
could have been killed!” said the worthy Rupert pilot instructor, supposedly
well -versed in the reasons for a chopper’s ability to fly. He then shot
off and we were all in hysterics somewhat later when we saw the notice pinned
to the Flight’s Orders board. This was to the effect that all ground crew
must ensure that the hard-standing and pans were free of loose items that
might be sucked up through the rotor disks of choppers. Blind Freddie would
know that if a chopper sucked air upwards it would screw itself into the
ground, not fly! Had Frank’s spanner, which he had left up on the rotor head,
been identified as the cause then his career would have taken a U-turn for
sure! At that time, when most people earned less than ₤800 per year,
each chopper blade came in at a cost of ₤1,000! Somewhere, sometime,
Frank will be yarning and telling that tale, I have no doubt at all! Gunpowder Plot
We had on Chopper Flight at this time a rather amiable young bloke who smoked one of those very ‘with it’ type of pipes that consisted of three parts that could be unscrewed one from the other, there was a traditional wooden bowl, an aluminium stem and a bakelite type mouthpiece. His favourite weed was some evil, honking stuff called ‘Sobranie Balkan Mix’, which contained some arcane additive described under the name ‘Yenidje’. He was called through into the office one morning NAAFI break to take a phone call that had come through for him. His filled but unlit pipe sat all alone upon the Crew Room table. Within seconds of his departure a starter cartridge was being dismembered, so that the string cordite behind the detonator cap could be removed. This was rapidly achieved and the string cordite was carefully mixed into the bowlful of baccy. Some four or five minutes later and we all sat with bated breath as the pipe was lifted up and lit, there was a sort of ‘whoof’ and a column of flame several inches long shot up into the air, the pipe was promptly dropped and came apart into its component pieces, accompanied by some invective that would have done credit to a fishwife. Once we had all stopped chortling and falling about all over the place, one wag said to him: "Do you reckon they might have overdone the Yenidje just a bit?” This set us all off again of course! The Cossack On another occasion I was crossing the hangar armed with a grease gun full of XG275 ready to grease the rotor head of the chopper I was working on. This grease was a bright orange in colour and almost identical in appearance to the polish that was used on our billet floors. Some of it used to mysteriously find it's way into the polish tins of the gash hands who roomed below us, sad that! As I walked past the chopper that was being worked on just by the Stores doorway, I noticed that young Frank LeFevre was doing some work in the engine bay, behind the bulkhead. He was the only one amongst us that could actually wriggle in and do things like that, so there was this pair of size five boots with the soles and heels invitingly winking at me. This was more than mere flesh and blood could stand, so I gave way to my baser instincts and liberally greased both feet fore and aft. Several of the lads had observed my fall from grace and had gathered to see what would happen next. Satisfied with my efforts, I smirked at the gathered audience and called out: "NAAFI up!” and with a few grunts and a wriggle or two, Frank eased himself out and stood up. He looked bemusedly around at the six or so of us gathered expectantly around the chopper and then started to walk. This, in a split second, developed into the most impressive display of Cossack dancing ever performed by a non-Russian. By my estimation, it took him about forty seconds to finally concede defeat to Newtons Law, in which time he had travelled several yards in various directions, the two matelots who were attached to Chopper flight said that they were very impressed by his fluent semaphore too! Matelots
Our
two resident Leading Hand matelots were a fair pair of tear-aways, they were
good for a laugh but didn't mix that much with us Pongos socially. They used
to amuse us most Monday mornings with their graphic descriptions of how they
had conned a couple of poofters, from one or the other of the several
Pompey pubs these folk frequented, into buying them beer all night. The
poofters would trot outside with them afterwards, expecting to receive some
small favour in return for their generous patronage, only to cop a swift
walloping and then see their intended prey legging it into the night. One
Monday morning, the pair of them slunk in looking very much the worse for
wear, and we finally coaxed the reason for their battered features out of
them. They had gone into one of these dives and set up a couple of
poofters for the usual sting, problem was, when they went outside and started
on them, four of the biggest poofters they had ever seen materialised from
somewhere and got stuck right into them. After the big steroidal
poofters had thumped them, they told them that any repetition of their
scam would see them get another thumping, along with a good ‘rogering’
for dessert! That was the end of their free weekend drinkies! Jacko
and Mitch
Coincidence reared its head when two mates were posted in together from FARELF, their names were Jackson and Mitchell. Jacko and Mitch were the best of mates and were inseparable. Mitch was a serious sort of bloke while Jacko was totally ‘Allah Keefiq’, meaning that he didn't give a twopenny hoot about anything. The basis for this cavalier attitude was down to the fact that he was awaiting a medical discharge on the grounds of perforated eardrums, he had a couple of other minor ailments that the Army insisted be given the green light before they would finalise his release - typical Army logic in insisting that everything but the unfit part should be in A1 working order before they demobbed you. Every Monday the pair of them would go on about how their joint Football Pools coupon had performed, then one Monday, Mitch announced that they had pulled it off, first Divvy! Sure enough, a check of the results confirmed his prognosis and 14,000 quid was theirs. His euphoria lasted until Jacko, late as always, turned up and informed him that he had forgotten to put the coupon in, which was something they took in turn. Mitch was almost in tears and who could blame him? That was serious money! Like the good mate that he was though, he forgave Jacko his sin and they carried on exactly as before. The week prior to Jacko’s release, they rang the bell again, this time to the tune of around 11,000 quid! Mitch was on tenterhooks until Jacko, late as was his normal routine, finally turned up. Now we had all been taking the piss and saying that Jacko would have forgotten to put it in again, Mitch wouldn't have a bar of that, loyal mate that he was. One look at Jacko’s face as he turned up was enough to tell the story, it was a re-run of the first win all over again and Mitch had dipped out again! To say that this was the end of a friendship was an understatement, Mitch launched himself bodily at Jacko and there was an unholy scrimmage until we separated them, in the interests of personal safety and a harmonious flight ambience, Jacko was despatched to Technical Control to see out his last three days with the Army. Revenge
is Sweet
We had another bloke on the Flight who was a bit
stand-offish, he owned an old banger that had to be hand started, never a
problem though as it was really well maintained. It would fire at the first
swing of the starter handle. He used to annoy the rest of us when he casually
drove past us while we were waiting for a bus and never offer anyone a lift,
same if he was going into |
