November 1954 to January 1955
As well as being the commander of the Venom wing I was also Wing Commander Flying at Habbaniyah, and had responsibility for all the flying at the base.
Habbaniyah was one of three bases built in Iraq under an Anglo-Iraq treaty in 1930. By the treaty Britain fully recognized the independence and sovereignty of Iraq, which in turn agreed that British troops should be based in the country in a peacekeeping role. Iraq at this time was suffering under uprisings of different factions and tribes, and we were able to contain these with the help of RAF aircraft. Thus Habbaniyah became a vital base to meet the uprisings of the Mullahs, particularly from over the North-West Frontier with Afghanistan. The base was made especially for the Royal Air Force, and was built on a desert site on a bend in the Euphrates, forty miles west of Baghdad. To the south was Lake Habbaniyah, a considerable size of freshwater lake, where Imperial Airways flying-boats used to land and refuel on their route to India in the 1930s. When I arrived at the base I discovered that there were no fewer than seven different units based there. Apart from the Flying Wing of three fighter squadrons and a Communication Squadron, there was a hospital, a ground-defence unit consisting of the RAF Regiment and Iraqi Levies. There was, of course, the usual ground support wings of Aircraft and Radio Servicing.
As well as flying the Venoms, I quite often made a point of flying the aircraft of the Communications Squadron into Baghdad and back, so whenever there was a flight required in either an Anson or the new Pembroke I took the opportunity to vary my flying in a useful way, as well as gaining flying experience on all aircraft types on the base.
Flying regularly over the desert and the considerable extent of the waters of Lake Habbaniyah, more than six square miles, I soon realized that the Desert Rescue Unit that was already in existence should be given regular training against the eventuality of an aircraft going down in the desert or in the lake. There was no chance of obtaining a proper air-sea rescue launch, so I had an existing launch fitted out with the necessary rescue gear, and an Iraqi boatman was trained to operate the craft from the yacht club where it was kept at readiness. A reference grid covering Lake Habbaniyah was devised so that any aircraft force-landing on the lake could be plotted accurately and thus the time for a rescue could be reduced as far possible. Overland the unit operated with special one-ton trucks fitted out with the necessary navigation and communication equipment. I was aware that my adjutant, Clive (Flt Lt Clive Leech), was already a very enthusiastic member of the team, and on the posting of the current leader I agreed to release him to take command of the unit. He was given the responsibility for bringing it up to a high level of readiness, and he undertook the task with his usual energy and enthusiasm, being perhaps a little over-eager to take his Austin one-ton trucks out into the desert for radio checks or other exercises when he might have been better employed as my adjutant. However, the usefulness of the unit and its efficiency was proved in a most dramatic way in the months ahead. To gain experience of their role I spent a day or two out with Clive, and we went north from Ramadi to Samara, a desert town with a glorious golden dome over its holy tomb, which provided an excellent landmark from the air visible for miles around. From here we crossed over the Euphrates by the ferry at Haditha, and returned to Habbaniyah via Hit, a very hot and dusty trip but full of interest.
On 20 October Pete Ellis arrived with Gp Capt Corkery, the new station commander, and there followed several welcoming parties at the various messes. Arthur Ryall, who commanded a considerable force of Iraq Levies (local Assyrian soldiers) on the station, was the first to welcome the group captain and his wife at the Levy mess at a guest night. The next day there were cocktails at Air House, followed by a ladies’ guest night at the Station HQ mess. On the 23rd I took several officers into Bagdhad in the Pembroke to the trade fair, and on my return I was flying a Venom when, while I was doing simulated rocket attacks, the hood of the aircraft suddenly flew open. Although no damage was done, it was a noisy and uncomfortable depressurizing experience, not to be recommended. Exercise Consist the following day required me to move out onto the airfield and control the operation from my caravan. This was only a one-day-and-night exercise, and after moving back inside the perimeter fence, when all was packed away, I went to lunch with the station commander and his wife; that evening the pilots gathered in the Flying Wing mess for a Pimms party that went on until the small hours, but the next day being a Sunday, thankfully there was no flying.
In early November Ivor Broom brought six Canberras through on a reinforcement exercise, and while they were being refuelled I had a chat with Ivor about the aviation news from the UK. I was anxious to hear about the Comet disasters, and as Ivor had recently spoken to John Cunningham he was able to provide details of what had happened. For almost a year BOAC had operated its Comet fleet with outstanding success in the first-ever jet airliner operations in the history of aviation. The aircraft proved safe and reliable and had operated at a profit. But following the Comet take-off crashes, just two hours before the end of that first year, BOAC and de Havilland were dealt a succession of devastatingly cruel blows. On 2 May 1953, Comet G-ALYV broke up in very severe turbulence at cruising altitude when climbing through a cumulo-nimbus cloud after taking off from Calcutta, and six crew and thirty-seven passengers were killed. Eight months later, after another Comet had taken off from Rome en route for London, and had reached cruising altitude, a catastrophic explosion occurred and the wreckage fell into the sea a few miles south of Elba. Only a few months later another Comet 1, after taking off from Rome en route for Johannesburg, met with a very similar disaster, and at cruising altitude in clear air an explosion occurred, the aircraft disintegrated and crashed into the sea south of Naples. After the most painstaking investigation, during which three-quarters of the wreckage of the Comet was recovered from the sea-bed off Naples and reassembled at the RAE Farnborough, the cause of the disaster was narrowed down to a hairline crack in the corner of one of the square windows, caused by metal fatigue. All Comets were returned to Hatfield and their fuselages modified in accordance with the findings of the investigations regarding fatigue resistance of pressure cabins. From then on the Comet 1s had no further failures, and all the succeeding marks were most successful and would surely have led the way to worldwide jet airliner operations had it not been for these unfortunate tragedies. All modern airliners now have circular windows.
On 11 November, after Ivor had taken his Canberras on their way eastwards, the whole station was assembled for a Remembrance Parade on the padang behind Station Headquarters, and after the parade we enjoyed a holiday, but the next day Black Robbie (Sqn Ldr Roberts) and I took two Venoms down to Shaibah and then on to Bahrein. After landing we were taken out in a seaplane tender to visit the Royal Navy in HMS Newfoundland, where we were to discuss a forthcoming exercise. On our flight back to Habbaniyah we had to turn back due to low cloud at base, but after a couple of hours’ delay we were able to proceed, though we had a long and rough descent through thunder clouds before emerging into the clear over the lake at a few hundred feet. Two days later I was again down the Gulf, landing at Shaibah and going on by road to Basra to visit HMS Newfoundland, then lying in the harbour. I had further discussions about the pending exercise, and after a small pink gin I flew the Venom back to Habbaniyah.
At this time I was persuaded to take over as president of the Country Club, and after organizing a few entertainments there I realized how much I was missing my family, and the married quarter business began to wrangle once more. I made up my mind to pursue the matter as soon as I had time. But at the moment I had to lead a formation of six Venoms down to Bahrein for Exercise Shop Window. We had a dawn take-off from Bahrein, and landed at the sand and oil airstrip at Sharjah, where the pilots were picked up by a coach and rushed to Dubai to catch a boat by the skin of our teeth that was taking the local Sheik and his guests out to HMS Newfoundland. Once we were all safely aboard, the Navy organized an exercise afloat, and after she had returned to her anchorage the Arab guests and the Royal Air Force were given lunch, the latter being plied with liberal pink gins beforehand. After further discussions in the afternoon we were invited to dine with the Admiral, and a very pleasant evening was enjoyed on board this powerful ship. The next day was spent in Dubai, and some of us went back aboard Newfoundland for further Navy hospitality. It was then time for the squadron to return, and the six Venoms left Sharjah early the next morning, landing back at Habbaniyah around teatime, having staged through Bahrein and Shaibah.
Before the approach of Christmas 1954 I did several low-level Venom exercises against desert targets such as Samara and Fort Ukedir, and again revelled in the thrill of low flying over long stretches of desert. Night-flying, too, was a wonderful experience, the air delightfully smooth, the myriad of bright stars above contrasting with the unbroken velvet blackness of the desert below. On this December night I remembered night-flying over the airfield and looking eastwards, seeing not a single light until the loom of Baghdad came into view some forty miles away. After that experience the events of the following days were even more unbelievable. I was working in my office, aware that both squadrons had several aircraft airborne, when the air traffic controller rang to say that they had received reports of a bank of fog approaching the airfield. I could hardly believe this information, as fog was almost unknown, and certainly not without any warning, but I ordered an immediate recall of all aircraft and rushed up to the control tower. Mike was leading four Venoms of 6 Squadron about ten minutes’ flying time away, and was able to lead them in on a direct approach to the runway. Even so, he could see the fog already engulfing the far end of the runway as he touched down with his three aircraft behind him. Then two Venoms of 73 Squadron managed to scrape in behind them, but now the fog had effectively closed the airfield. Two more of 73 Squadron’s pilots managed to find a gap in the fog where they could see open desert, and managed to land their aircraft with minimum damage. But there still remained a section of four aircraft airborne above the now impenetrable fog without fuel enough to reach Baghdad or another diversion airfield. I was now faced with a very difficult decision, but there was now no alternative but for me to instruct the pilots to abandon their aircraft and save themselves. Air traffic vectored them to a clear area north of the airfield, where they carried out a most commendable and admirable operation and ejected together, still in formation. All landed safely in open desert not far north of the airfield, and Clive and his Desert Rescue Team came into their own. We had already scrambled the team, who lost no time in making for the area where they had been briefed to search. Four of the pilots were soon located all together, and the remaining two after another hour’s search. Sufficient to say that Clive and his team did a marvellous job and fully justified the time we had spent training the team and for him to be absent from his office in Flying Wing from time to time. All the pilots were back at base by early morning of Christmas Eve, and the Yuletide festivities that followed were all the more joyful in the knowledge that the potentially dangerous situation had been handled so well and no one was hurt. The Christmas festivities started with cocktails in the medical officers’ mess, and the next evening cocktails with the station commander’s wife, followed by a Flying Wing mess party. There was a seven-a-side rugby match the next day with a Pimm’s party at SHQ mess, and this was just the build-up to Christmas. From Christmas Eve onwards there was not a day without some celebration, and not a mess not offering some sort of party, from cocktails to a full-sized ball. At one party Simmo (Wg Cdr Simms), an engineer officer also separated from his family, and I sat in a corner and turned to discussing the vexed question of married quarters. Finally Simmo came up with the brilliant suggestion of investing in a caravan each. This seemed a pretty ambitious scheme, but as he was shortly going back to the UK for a few days we agreed that he should look at a few caravans and get an estimate of the cost and also what the shipping charges would be. We decided that we would go into the whole scheme on his return after Christmas. Which we did; and much to our surprise the costs turned out to be remarkably reasonable, and all we had to do was to get permission from the station commander to bring two caravans onto the camp. But therein lay the biggest problem. He was rather reluctant at first to even consider the question, but we were under the impression that he rather admired our enterprise and audacity in trying to beat the system, and as he was that sort of chap we went about trying to persuade him of the benefits, and promising that we would be prepared to let the station have the use of the caravans when we were eventually posted home. We thought that we had almost persuaded the station commander when the medical staff heard of the idea and came down most firmly against it on the grounds that in that climate caravans would be quite unsuitable accommodation in which to house families. However, Simmo and I were so determined to get our families out without further delay that we agreed to go ahead in the face of all the opposition, and started the New Year by ordering two caravans to be shipped out to Iraq as soon as possible.
On 1 January the Under-Secretary of State for Air visited, and the senior officers were invited to Air House for cocktails. The next day there was a race meeting at the Turf Club on the racecourse, where I acted as a steward, although I was not at all clear what my duties were. Luckily all the jockeys behaved, there were no enquiries and the races went off well with great excitement and enthusiasm.
A rumour had been rife for some time that Habbaniyah was to be handed over to the Iraqis. This had now been confirmed, and it seemed that there would now be little delay in achieving the transfer. A squadron from the Iraqi Air Force was now moved in and the RAF undertook to help the Iraqis with their operational training. They arrived initially equipped with Sea Furies, a large and quite difficult fighter to fly, but they quickly re-equipped with Vampires, and this made the cross training with my squadrons that much easier. The Iraqi pilots flew quite well individually but showed little aptitude for aggressive fighting operations, and their weak leadership seriously undermined their effectiveness. Even after many years their air force never seems to have overcome this deficiency, as was seen by its pathetic performance in the Gulf War following the invasion of Kuwait in later years, when their aircraft never appeared. In the weeks following the Iraq squadron’s arrival, several senior officers of the Iraqi armed forces visited Habbaniyah, and flying demonstrations and lectures on air fighting and tactics were given for their benefit. On 13 January, Col Abadi, a senior officer of their air force, visited, and Venom formations were flown and a supply-dropping demonstration was carried out on the plateau airfield. In early February a special demonstration was laid on for the Iraqi Crown Prince, who was a member of our mess and a regular visitor, and he took a particular interest in the Iraqi fighter squadron and its training. It should be noted that all the Iraqi pilots were fully integrated in our fighter wing, and we all got on extremely well; and all their senior officers who visited from time to time were friendly and appreciative of our efforts. A few days later I had to fly down to Sharjah in a Venom to act as president of a district court martial. This lasted for three days, and on my return Peter Ellis and I took two Venoms to Amman and Mafraq to look at the possibility of carrying out a squadron exercise from that airfield. It would be a real ‘field’ exercise as there were few facilities at Mafraq, and it was all sand with no runways. This was the biggest problem, as jet aircraft taking off threw up an impenetrable dust storm, making it impossible to make further take-offs or landings for several mimutes. However, this would represent realistically the problems of operating a tactical squadron in the desert. At the beginning of March I flew over to Amman and on to Mafraq, where a control caravan with the necessary radio communications, a mobile air traffic caravan and supporting technical facilities were being moved in. That evening the Venoms of No. 6 Squadron flew in from Habbaniyah, and for three days they flew on tactical and interception exercises from the desert airstrip with no outside support. The aircraft were untroubled by the dense clouds of sand and performed well, and while the conditions were difficult all the pilots coped well in meeting the demands of intensive operations from a desert strip, which is what the exercise was designed to prove. On the return flight to Habbaniyah, some of our Venoms were diverted to search for a missing Iraqi Air Force Vampire, of which, unfortunately, there was no sign.