June 1956
With the departure of No. 6 Squadron, Habbaniyah had no operational role, and became a staging post on the Far East Reinforcement route. However, I still retained my Venom and there were Meteors in the Communications Squadron, as well as the passenger aircraft, so I was never short of something interesting to fly to keep in flying practice. On 11 May I took a Meteor down to Karbala to meet the Desert Rescue Team, and on the 13th I took several officers, including Hughie, in the Iraqi Dove to El Rashid for Iraqi Air Day. On the 24th I did a night reconnaissance exercise in the Vampire T.11, and shared again the wonder and thrill of night-flying over the desert, this time with Flt Lt Pemberton in the right-hand seat. June was a memorable month because our second son was born on the 8th, in the Habbaniyah Royal Air Force Hospital.
As he grew up, Robert had no great aspirations to fly like his dad, and I certainly did not encourage him in that direction. After qualifying as a quantity surveyor he practised for a short time in Sydney, and on returning to England he joined the British Steel Round the World Yacht Race, which he completed despite their yacht being dismasted in the Southern Ocean. Before departing on the last leg of the race from Cape Town, by the greatest good fortune Robert met the lovely Andrea, stepdaughter of Pat Quinn, another member of the yacht’s crew, and they were later married in London, where they have now settled with their three delightful daughters.
On 15 June I was left once more in charge at Habbaniyah when Hughie left for the UK for the VC Commemoration Ceremony. On the 20th there was a great gathering around the swimming pool when a swimming gala was organized, which caused great excitement for the youngsters, as this was the first time that they had been encouraged to take part in the races and diving competitions. In the meantime, out on the airfield, feverish work was going on to complete the fitting out of the ground radar equipment in the air traffic tower. Once completed and the ground radar at last in place, I was kept busy flying Meteor sorties to calibrate the equipment.
During the first week of July I did several trips into Baghdad, and on returning from the last, while practising a single-engine landing, the failed engine’s propeller would not unfeather, so I was committed to landing with only one engine working. This presented no problem as the Pembroke had a very good single-engine performance, which I regularly practised. The next day after the ground engineers had worked on the propeller I air-tested the aircraft and had no further trouble, and I took it into Baghdad that night to collect Lady Slim (wife of General Slim who led the revitalized Fourteenth Army to defeat the Japanese in Burma). She came to dinner with us that evening and was accommodated in the VIP quarters for the night before flying on to Britain the next day.
On the 19th I took a Pembroke into Baghdad and picked up AVM Stephenson and flew him to Amman. The last time that we had met was when the AVM was commandant of the Staff College and I received a reproof from him for beating up the mess in a Spitfire at Andover. Happily the subject was not raised on this occasion. The following week I went off in the Pembroke with Wg Cdr Beer, the senior engineer at Habb, and a keen ornithologist, and flew down to Lake Kerbala to photograph the birds. The lake is the favourite breeding ground for the Arabian Flamingos, and that day we saw and filmed thousands of the birds, both in the shallows of the lake and also in the air, where they formed a huge pink cloud against the blue of the sky. On our return flight, following the Euphrates northwards, we flew over the amazing remains of Ctesiphon, an ancient palace no great distance from the ruins of Babylon. It still contains a remarkable arch some 130 feet high, built of brick with no supporting pillars. It must surely be one of the highest arches of its kind anywhere, and it makes a most wonderful landmark soaring into the sky from the desert floor. It deservedly took up all our remaining film before we returned to land back at Habbaniyah. On the last day of the month I had to act as president of a district court martial on the RAF Base at Mafraq, so I took a Meteor to Amman and got a staff car to take me to Mafraq.
In the middle of August I was due for some leave and arranged for the family to have a few days up at Sersing in a hotel in the foothills of Northern Iraq not far from the King’s Summer Palace. I flew them up in a Pembroke to Mosul, and while Hughie flew the Pembroke back to Habbaniyah the family took a taxi to Sersing, where the British Vice-Consul, John Burgess, kindly took us to our hotel in his official car.
The hotel was rather basic but quite pleasant, with a refreshing, babbling stream running through the gardens, but the cool weather that we had been promised did not materialize and the weather continued stiflingly hot. However, the environment was relaxing and the change helped us enjoy the break At the end of our stay, when we came to leave, John Burgess kindly drove us to Mosul to catch a train back to Baghdad, and I had the opportunity to repay his kindness a few days later.
At the beginning of September Peter Casement came through flying a Shackleton, and stayed to supper. I had last seen Peter when we were on the Planning staff together at the Air Ministry, and our families used to get together for Sunday lunch from time to time. Peter was a well-decorated officer who had sunk more than one German U-boat during his wartime tour in Coastal Command.
When I wrote to the Vice-Consul in Mosul to thank him for his help on our holiday, he asked me if I could help in getting his shot-gun and his new puppy-dog up to Mosul. I was mystified how they had turned up at Habbaniyah, but there they were, through the Diplomatic Bag perhaps? But I was only too pleased to repay his kindness up at Sersing, and flew the gun and ‘Peter the Pointer’ up to Mosul on a reconnaissance flight, and handed them over to John Burgess at the airport, where his thanks were almost entirely stifled by his little dog’s delighted welcome.
The King of Iraq was a keen sailor and sometimes used to come to Habbaniyah to sail on the lake. His Dragon-class yacht and a Chris-Craft high-speed launch were kept at our yacht club and were maintained by Chris Rothshjaers, the skipper of the royal yacht, which was berthed at Basra and rarely left port. On one occasion Chris invited several of the officers and their families to a moonlight picnic on the launch. It turned out to be a most beautiful night and a memorable occasion under a sky full of stars reflected in the lake, calm and still under a breathless tropical night. Again I felt the appeal of this compelling country, but my pleasant reverie was soon cut short by the news of the arrival of Jock Cassels, who was to take over from me in a few days’ time, at the end of my tour in Iraq.
The day Peter Casement came back through with his Shackleton, we heard the news of the Vulcan crash at London Heathrow. This was a tragic accident that should never have happened, and was brought about by over-confidence and bad judgement. Sir Harry Broadhurst and Sqn Ldr Howard, who had demonstrated the Vulcan ‘V’ bomber very successfully on a world tour, had arrived back in the UK planning a grand touch-down at Heathrow, no doubt to impress the waiting reception. The weather was bad and below safety limits for the Vulcan, and although several diversion airfields were open with better weather conditions, the decision was made to try a landing at Heathrow. One attempt was made, but the landing was aborted, and on the second attempt the aircraft hit the ground hard, causing severe damage to the machine, but an attempt was made to take off again After gaining a little height, the air marshal and Howard ejected, but the three crew members who had no ejector seats or time to get out were killed. All the favourable impressions that had been created on the tour round the world were erased in a flash by the impact of this tragedy.
Before my final departure from Habbaniyah, I was determined to experience again the fascination and appeal of the desert, so while poor Eve got on with the packing I set off with the Desert Rescue Team on a protracted exercise. I drove one of the one-ton trucks, and we set off north to Samara, Tikrit and Kirkuk, and thence to the most northern Iraqi town of Sulaymaniyah, where we were found by the Habbaniyah Pembroke and were glad to receive the supplies dropped from the aircraft. The next day we soldiered on to Jahula Ba Quaba and various small villages for another night stop out in the desert. As we sat around the camp fire relishing the calm beauty of the night, one of our party came dancing back into the light of the fire in his bare feet and advised us all that if we ventured out we should be sure to wear boots, as all the ground around the whole camp was swarming with scorpions, no doubt attracted by the firelight. The one-tonners of the team finally drew in at Fallujah Bridge, very hot and dusty, to finish up our rations, and my most vivid memory of that desert sortie was the sheer pleasure of finishing off a large tin of whole peaches, to ease my parched throat. Nectar of the Gods!