November 1956
On my return to Habbaniyah I was able to find time to do another flight in a Meteor 8 on an air test after inspection ready for its allocation away to Cyprus. I also had time to sail in the regatta on the lake, and won the Battle of Britain Cup in the sailing race for dinghies in the Firefly that I had rebuilt. The racing was followed by a Regatta Dance in the Yacht Club, with the presentation of the winning cups.
On 17 October we gave our own farewell party of cocktails and small eats, and afterwards Hughie kindly invited us for dinner. He had been a splendid CO and always shown the greatest kindness to us, and I was glad and honoured that he had asked me if I would teach him to sail. We subsequently spent several hilarious hours on the lake gibing and changing tacks, invariably ending up with Hughie diving overboard and swimming ashore. After I left the service we were delighted to hear that he had been appointed as High Commissioner to Western Australia. He could be nothing less than a wonderful influence on his fellow Aussies out there.
The night following Hughie’s most enjoyable dinner we were dined out in the NCOs’ mess. The following day I flew the family and all our luggage to Baghdad in the Pembroke, and while Hughie flew it back to Habbaniyah the family boarded the night train to Basra Margil. Thus ended a most happy, interesting and rewarding posting, and we began an epic journey home.
As the train began to slow down on its approach to Basra we were woken up in our comfortable sleeper to see the sun rise over the Eastern Desert in a huge ball of red fire: an unforgettable symbol of our desert experience, although perhaps a sunset might have been more appropriate to our leaving. It had always been a happy perk if one could travel by troopship to or from overseas postings, and as we had not achieved this before I made strenuous efforts to get permission for us to return to UK by sea. Little did I know what I was letting us in for! After some efforts I was told that troopships were no longer sailing, but it was reluctantly agreed that we could go by a merchantman. So it was that we found ourselves at Basra preparing to catch a German heavy-lift ship bound for Rotterdam. At Basra our good friends Chris and Sheila Rothshjaers met us and were kind enough to have us in their house on the edge of town for the two days that we were waiting for the ship. We went shopping down town, and Chris took us to look round the Port Marine Dockyard. In a surprise visit he took us aboard the royal yacht, Queen Aliya. We were allowed to peep into the King’s sleeping cabin and see the royal bed with his crest over the bedhead. On 24 October, the day of our planned departure, Sheila woke us with the news that there was a smallpox epidemic in the town, and we had to be smuggled out to the port through the back streets, so that we could catch a launch to take us down the Gulf to our ship lying in the Shat El Arab, where she was taking on her load of dates. The ship was the MV Birkenfels, a German vessel registered in Hamburg, with huge derricks, which were clearly not required for the dates, but we understood that she had lifted a locomotive aboard on her previous trip. We started down towards the Gulf past the flaming refineries of Abadan and entered the Persian Gulf on 25 October. The whole family were now very excited at the prospect of a leisurely cruise home and of going through the Suez Canal in a few days.
The coast that we were passing down our starboard side was familiar to me as I had flown over it many times, but it was all very exciting for the family. It was not long before we had turned west and were sailing along the southern coast of Arabia, and then with Aden on our starboard side we entered the Red Sea. As we basked in the sun lying on the afterdeck contemplating the prospect of that leisurely cruise through the Mediterranean, we were astonished when the ship’s First Officer rushed up to us shouting, ‘It is war, it is war!’ with typical Germanic enthusiasm. Having been deprived of English papers for a week we had not the faintest idea what he was on about. He gradually got us to understand that Egypt’s Nasser had seized control of the Suez Canal, and that France, and Britain apparently, had moved against Egypt in support of Israel, whose forces were already advancing on the canal itself. Targets had been attacked in the Canal Zone, and supporting troops were following up. We could not believe that this crisis had developed so swiftly, and it took some time for the news to sink in, but when, after a day of dead-slow steaming up the Red Sea, a French frigate ordered our ship to turn back, we realized that there was a strong risk that we might be caught in the débâcle ourselves. Our ship turned about and later that morning entered the port at Aden on 8 November, presumably for the captain to seek guidance from the ship’s owners as to what action he should take.
The Egyptians in a fit of spite had now sunk several ships in the narrows of the canal, effectively blocking it, and so it was soon decided that our ship would continue to Holland (its original destination), but would be routed round the African Cape. Rather than two weeks at sea the prospect now loomed of something more like eight weeks on board. Had it only been the two of us we would not have been too concerned, but with three young children, the baby only five months old, the prospects were truly worrying. The decision having been made, and the ship committed to the long haul round the Cape, we could at least take some action to ease our journey. I rushed ashore and found the Services NAAFI in Aden and filled a sack with all the tins of baby food I could lay my hands on. I found another sack and filled that with many other baby needs, small toys for the others, and books and papers for us. I had only been back aboard for a few minutes when the ship sailed again, having planned to take on oil and rations at Cape Town.
The ship was quite comfortable, with four reasonable cabins, and the food was adequate, but the all-German crew did not include a doctor or, as far as we knew, anyone with medical training. We hoped and prayed that the children would remain healthy over the following weeks. I had brought copies of the national newspapers aboard at Aden, and we eagerly scanned the latest news of the ‘war’ in Egypt. According to the papers Egypt had been secretly rearming, and in league with Jordan and Syria was planning to surround Israel. When news of this plan leaked out, Israel, in retaliation, carried out a pre-emptive strike at Egypt from Sinai and was quickly only a few miles from the Canal. Britain and France called on the warring sides to withdraw, and volunteered a temporary occupation of the Canal Zone. Egypt refused, and much against the American and USSR’s approval, Britain and France set in train an invasion of Egypt. The Egyptians responded at once by seizing the Canal, and they later closed it altogether by sinking ships in the narrows. Diplomatic action from USA and USSR and the Arab states was so strong that the British and French had to withdraw from Egypt, but the Canal was blocked and was not opened to shipping again for several years, and condemnation of the impulsive British action was widespread. There were even allegations of collusion, and the whole incident was considered a disgrace. What was particularly ironic for me at the time was that, after all the training with my Venom wing in Iraq, Peter Ellis and his boys were now engaged in live attacks on Egyptian targets from Cyprus only a few weeks after Peter and I had been planning tactics for the squadron together. The squadron was now on active service only a few nautical miles away from where our ship had been turned back south of Suez.
But now we had to make the best of our predicament and keep the children happy, healthy and content. In an effort to maintain their interest – and mine, come to that – I had brought an atlas from Aden, and with the help of this I had produced a large-scale chart of the whole of our projected route, Basra to Rotterdam. Every day I would make a plot of our position so that we could all see the rate of our progress. It must be admitted that it was painfully slow, and I began to worry that I might not arrive back in the UK to take up my next appointment. We crossed the Equator going south on 12 November, and on a chilly, misty morning, we arrived at Cape Town, and with great excitement looked forward to seeing the town and Table Mountain when the mist cleared. But, alas, we were not allowed ashore, and after taking on fuel and stores Birkenfels made her way through the several troopships, including Staffordshire and Stirling Castle, which were entering or leaving harbour, and turned north for the long tedious haul up the length of the South Atlantic. We recrossed the Equator going north on 1 December, and in fine, sunny weather passed the most westerly point of Africa. When the Canary Isles fell astern we were glad to realize that we would soon regain our original intended route which would have taken us through the Mediterranean and be in home waters. The weather remained good except for a brief spell of rougher seas through the Bay of Biscay, and we passed Dover at dawn on a beautiful clear morning, but arrived off the Hook of Holland in a quite violent storm, and the final leg up to Rotterdam was tricky, accompanied by thunder, lightning, torrential rain and a blustery wind. We were soon ashore, and with our luggage were taxied through Rotterdam, gay with Christmas decorations, and down to the Hook of Holland, where we boarded the ferry Arnhem, which would take us finally to Harwich.
The last leg of the journey was very rough and noisy, but we arrived thankfully at Harwich soon after dawn, and the Customs officials there took pity on this exhausted-looking family, so that we were soon on the train to Liverpool Street. And suddenly the realization that we were home at last came over us and we were overcome with thankfulness and joy, made all the more so by the sight of a full English breakfast served in the restaurant car: eggs, bacon, sausage, fried bread, the lot. We claimed it as the best meal that we had had since leaving home all those months ago.
The date of our arrival at London was 14 December, the very day that I had estimated for our arrival when starting my plotting at Aden in that school atlas. I lost no time in reporting to the Air Ministry to hear about my next posting, and by an extraordinary chance I met Peter Ellis on the Ministry steps, also looking for a job. We had a quick coffee together in the canteen, but I could not wait to hear confirmation of my appointment. I felt myself most fortunate when ‘P’ Staff told me that I should lose no time in travelling up to Edinburgh to take over command of Royal Air Force Turnhouse, near Edinburgh. So on 19 December 1956 I took the Flying Scotsman to Scotland, where I was met at Caledonia Station by a staff car and found myself at Turnhouse, usefully employed in counting money from the Christmas draw in the officers’ mess the night I arrived. After all the rush and anxiety I had suffered in getting there on time, I was a bit put out when Archie Winskill said he was surprised to see me before Christmas, and seemed in no hurry to hand over command. However, I was delighted to find Mike Hobson was at Turnhouse commanding No. 603 Auxiliary Squadron, and I lost no time in renewing old friendships when I was invited to dine with Mike and Barbara in their married quarter the following night.
Once again Pat and Miles had hastened to help us, and had taken the family into their home in Nottingham before my family could come north to join me in Scotland. As I was not apparently expected to take over my command at once I was able to travel south again and spend Christmas with the family. After the débâcle of our married quarter in Habbaniyah it was a pleasant contrast this time for us to be able to move without delay into the station commander’s residence at Turnhouse. Almond House on the little Almond Beck was a huge Type One married quarter, and on 1 January 1957 Eve drove up north with the children in our new Morris Traveller, and we moved in and were soon unpacking and rattling around in the unaccustomed space. As soon as I had taken over command from Archie I settled into my office and gloried in the feeling of having my first station and, looking out of the window, realizing that all I could see was mine to command.
Firstly there was Mike with his 603 Squadron with Vampires, the Auxiliary Squadron of the City of Edinburgh. Across the country there was No. 602 City of Glasgow Squadron, which together with 603 formed a Vampire fighter wing over which I was nominally in command. There was a University Air Squadron with Chipmunks, an Air Experience Flight and a Communications Squadron – all my responsibility and providing a source of flying machines to keep me in flying practice. Turnhouse was also the civil airport for Edinburgh, and BEA operated two Viscount flights each day to London and return, and also civil flights within Scotland and to and from Ireland. Air Traffic Control and Safety Services were mostly manned by RAF personnel, and the civil air terminal and restaurant were civil controlled under a civilian manager.
To familiarize myself with the local area and the approaches to the airfield I borrowed a Vampire and did an hour’s local flight, ending with two radar approaches to the main runway. The secondary runway was short, with bad approaches and invariably across the prevailing wind. My next duty was to go across on the Firth of Forth ferry and pay my respects to the Flag Officer, Scotland, the General Officer Commanding the troops in Scotland and the Senior Royal Air Force Officer in Scotland, all of whom had their headquarters on the north side of the Firth of Forth. As a result, and remembering that there was no bridge across the Firth at this time, Eve and I were often asked to stand in for the senior officers at high-level functions in Edinburgh, a duty that we invariably enjoyed, especially the rugby at Murrayfield where I was given a box seat for every international game! My next duty was to visit the Edinburgh City Chambers, where the Lord Provost kindly invited me to luncheon.
On 9 January I flew a Vampire across to Abbotsinch to visit the CO of No. 602 Squadron, Don Bartman, and the next day flew a Meteor 8 down to Ouston to call on my AOC. I was delighted to meet Spud Spurdens, who had been my operations officer in Iraq and was now on the group staff there.
On the 10th a station parade was held at which I had to announce that all auxiliary squadrons were to be disbanded in two months’ time. This news was greeted with utter dismay, and my thoughts went back to No. 600 Auxiliary Squadron with whom I served in the Battle of Britain, and I remembered the great debt that we, as a nation, owed to those few ‘weekend’ pilots who fought and many died in the desperate air battles at that time. How short the memory, how deplorable the reward!
I soon discovered that Turnhouse was the gateway into Scotland, and I spent a great deal of time meeting and greeting important visitors flying in on visits. Within a week I had shaken hands with General Murray, Mr Kuppinger, the United States Consul, Chief Superintendent Fleming of the Scottish Police and the Duke of Edinburgh, flying his own de Havilland Dove. On another flight in a Vampire I landed at Acklington to call on Ben Boult, who was posted in to command the station from Cyprus. On the 27th I acted as ADC to Air Commodore the Duke of Hamilton, who took the salute at the farewell parade of No. 602 Squadron in Glasgow on its disbandment. After this melancholy and stirring march-past with the bagpipes wailing the lament, I picked up Eve and we drove back to Edinburgh and arrived in time to watch the international rugby match at Murrayfield.
On the 18th the Queen’s Colour of No. 603 Squadron was laid up in St Giles’s Cathedral with due reverence and solemnity, marking the end of this very distinguished squadron’s history.
After some investigations I was pleased to discover that there was a Hunter established for the use of the sector commander, who very seldom visited the station. The aircraft was kept at Leuchars, so I asked if it could be established at Turnhouse, where I would take on responsibility for its servicing and, incidentally, keep it in flying trim. The sector commander agreed provided I went across to the Hunter squadron at Leuchars for a full course of flying training on the type. So on almost every day for a week I flew over to Leuchars in the Chipmunk and flew the Hunter, Exercises 1 to 10, as a pilot of the squadron under the eye of the squadron commander. Finally I took control of a personal Hunter 4, fully competent in aerobatics, instrument flying, bad-weather approaches and landings. It was a special thrill when I looked out of my office window to see the Hunter lined up outside the hangar with my other steeds, and I often flew it from Turnhouse.
On 11 March the Spitfire that stood in the garden outside the gate of RAF Turnhouse was officially dedicated to those members of No. 603 Squadron who had been killed in the war; and there it still stands, a proud testimony to the brave, to be seen by all who drive by and hopefully remember in gratitude. Two days beforehand there was a farewell dinner held in the officers’ mess at Turnhouse to mark the end of the auxiliary squadrons. As might have been expected, the occasion was marked by a fairly wild party, ending at two in the morning with a hut of the mess being set on fire and the early-morning Viscount arriving at Heathrow plastered with the squadron’s crest on its shining fuselage, announcing ‘Gin Ye Daur’! It was not with a whimper that the squadron did its final landing!
In addition to my duties at Turnhouse itself, I also had administrative responsibilities for several outstations in the Hebrides, and it was often necessary for me to pay them a visit from time to time. I occasionally took the civilian manager with me, as he also had some responsibilities on the islands. Thus, on the 28th, Jock Halley and I set off in the Anson to Machrihanish Port Ellen, Port Leverl, Tiree and Benbecula, and after a long day returned to land at Turnhouse in the dark. Early in April Jock and I went in the Anson to Sumburgh and Kirkwall to pay visits to our staffs, and returned to Turnhouse late in the evening. I was becoming very conscious of the fact that the control of civilian airliners, and the safety of passengers, was in the hands of my air traffic people on the approach to, and departure from, Turnhouse, so I spent a good deal of my flying keeping my controllers in a high state of training. To this end I also took the controllers flying on approach and landing exercises to help them appreciate the pilots’ viewpoint. On 26 July I flew the sector commander, Air Cdre Robinson, on a staff visit to Ouston and Valley in Anglesey, making a point of thanking him for letting me fly his Hunter.
At the beginning of August I was fortunate enough to be able to borrow a civilian Dove from the local airline and fly the family, including Robert’s nanny, Ruth, for a sightseeing flight across the Firth of Forth and around Edinburgh. I had promised that I might fly them under the Forth Bridge, but perhaps just as well it was shrouded in mist on that day. At the end of the month I managed to get in two night flights to keep in night-training in the Meteor. However, even though I landed after midnight, being August in Scotland it never really got dark, so although I called it night-flying in my logbook I would have to wait until later in the year to get real night-training. In August a guard of honour was assembled for the arrival of General Montgomery, who was visiting the GOC, Scotland. Monty took the trouble to inspect the whole of my guard of honour, but he made no comment to the guard commander or me. A few days later, I, the sector commander and other officers were flown in a Ferranti Dove to Ringway, and then on to Blackbushe, from where we were taken in a coach to Farnborough for the SBAC Show. On my return to Turnhouse I was kept busy making plans for the Battle of Britain Open Day when our air display was to be the only one in Scotland. I remembered the air race that was organized at Andover, which I almost won in a Spitfire, and which turned out to be a most popular event, and I thought I would organize a similar handicap race at Turnhouse. I did several sorties in the Hunter to plan a suitable route, and had my navigation officer work out a handicap for each of the several types that would be competing. This was no easy matter, as the competitors varied between a Chipmunk, an Anson, a Meteor, a Vampire, a Javelin and the Hunter, and the aim was to have them taking off at staggered times to keep the interest alive at the airfield, and hopefully for them to arrive over the finishing line in a bunch, after a twenty-five-mile circuit. The Battle of Britain Show took place on 16 September, which dawned bright and sunny, with only a smattering of cloud that served to emphasize the beauty of the Pentland Hills as a background to the flying programme. There were several interesting visiting aircraft, including a Vulcan and a Valiant, resplendent in their ‘anti-flash’ white paint, the first time that the ‘V’ bombers had been on public view in Scotland. A wartime Mosquito flew in with a woman pilot, Mrs Veronica Volkersz, a wartime member of the Air Transport Auxiliary who had flown many aircraft types. The air show went ahead with aircraft demonstrations, formation aerobatics by Hunters of No. 43 Squadron from Leuchars, and some brilliant individual aerobatics by a pilot from No. 92 Squadron. The air race, which was the first of its kind in a Battle of Britain air show in Scotland, was clearly the most popular event, and the thrill was evident when six different types of aircraft suddenly appeared approaching the finishing line on the airfield, the Hunter and Javelin sweeping ahead of the rest just over the boundary, and I just got the Hunter a millisecond ahead of the Javelin, both doing over 600 mph in a deafening thunder of noise. No prize was offered, but it was decided to make the race an annual event to compete for a silver cup. The local press were full of praise for the air show, so I later approached the editor of The Scotsman, asking if he would agree to present the cup at future shows. He promised to put the suggestion to the management.
In October 1957 No. 151 Squadron was re-equipping with Javelin aircraft, but as the runway at Leuchars was being resurfaced the aircraft were delivered to Turnhouse. They were ferried in ones and twos and had to be parked on the far-side dispersal. This gave me the opportunity to familiarize myself with the drill for starting up the engines and the cockpit layout of the Javelin when I took the opportunity to taxi each one of them to their dispersal. By the time the squadron CO arrived with his pilots there was a full complement of Javelins awaiting them. The CO was the only one who had any Javelin experience, and before the conversion programme could start all the aircraft had to be air-tested, so I offered to do some of the testing.
So on 15 October, already familiar with starting-up procedures and the cockpit layout, I took off in Javelin 5 XH 689 for a familiarization and handling flight. Compared with the Meteor the Javelin was considerably larger and heavier, but I was surprised to find it was light on the controls, highly manoeuvrable and with an enhanced rate of climb and top speed. After an hour in the air I felt thoroughly confident, and after two approaches and touch-and-go landings I taxied the big machine in with a feeling of satisfied achievement. I did another flight in the Javelin in October, landing in heavy rain, and the following month flew a Javelin on an air-to-air gunnery trial. Later in the month I took a Javelin 5 up to 45,000 feet and did a supersonic run over the sea, followed by a QGH/GCA at Leuchars on its delivery there.
At the beginning of March 1958 I was attached to the Flying College at Manby for a Guided Weapons course, and while there I flew four Meteor sorties, one at night, from Strubby. I also managed to borrow a horse from the riding school and did a recce of the local countryside on horseback. On my return to Turnhouse I did several Meteor flights in cooperation with the local Army light ack-ack regiment at Dunblane, and these continued into April with flights for another Army light ack-ack company at Linlithgow. In May I took the Anson to Benbecula and Tiree via Acklington with a load of staff officers, and flew several Meteor sorties, including an aerobatic demonstration for the University Air Squadron’s ‘At Home’ day. A Meteor 7, that belonged to the Royal Navy and had force-landed at Turnhouse with a failed engine, came out of the hangar after the engine had been replaced, and I did a comprehensive air test before the Navy collected it. On 26 June I flew with Major Bounds in an Army Whirlwind to get some dual handling experience on helicopters, as up to then I had not qualified on rotary-winged aircraft but was very keen to do so. It was not until I was at the Test Pilots’ School at Farnborough that I was able to do this.
In July I took some leave and went caravanning up in the Highlands with the family. On our return from the north, August was mostly taken up with training controllers and calibrating the mobile homer. However, I did take a Chipmunk across to Leuchars and borrowed a Vampire T.11, and used that for more training of my controllers. The comparatively few air movements at Turnhouse meant that I had to supplement these whenever I could get an aircraft to keep my controllers up to date in their training. At the beginning of September 1958 I went with Capt Allen in a Heron to Ringway, Blackbushe, and I captained it on the return flight. On the 18th I flew the Hunter on an aerobatic sortie, and the next day in contrast I flew in a Troop Transport Beverley with Flt Lt Kirk and eighty soldiers of the Royal Scots Regiment on an air exercise. I flew with Mr Blair in a Twin Pioneer the next day on an aircraft evaluation exercise. But I was then disappointed to hear that the sector commander’s Hunter was now to be returned to Leuchars to be taken on the strength of No. 43 Squadron. So for the last few days of September I made sure of getting in four more flights in the aircraft before I had to take it to Leuchars on 1 October.
The month was mostly taken up with flights in the Anson to the Islands, where our annual inspections were due. Jock Halley, the civil airport manager, and several staff officers came along and we visited Port Ellen, Tiree, Benbecula and Stornaway, and returned to Turnhouse via Kinloss, concluding with a night landing. On the 18th, Exercise Sunbeam took place at Leuchars, and I flew across in the Chipmunk to act as observer. I was back at Turnhouse by teatime but had to return to Leuchars after dark for the night phase of the exercise. However, the weather clamped right down and the exercise was cancelled as it was below limits for the jets. But I took off in the Chipmunk and immediately went into cloud, and only emerged at 250 feet over the end of Turnhouse runway after a radar talk-down. I was pleased to get one up on the fighter boys. In November my instrument rating was due for renewal, so I flew across the Firth to Leuchars in the Chipmunk and took my test in a Meteor 7 with Flt Lt Richards, and managed to hold on to my Master Green Instrument Rating. Now that the resurfacing of the runway at Leuchars was completed, the Javelin squadron had moved back and none of their aircraft remained at Turnhouse. Not to be deprived of the odd flight in a Javelin, I flew over to Leuchars in a Chipmunk. In a borrowed Javelin, I did a climb to 45,000 feet with Flg Off Hamilton in the morning and a low-level navigation exercise with Flg Off Woods in the afternoon, followed by several QGH/GCA practices at Turnhouse, before handing the aircraft back to the squadron at Leuchars and flying the Chipmunk back to Turnhouse. at night. On 11 December I joined forty-nine other passengers on a demonstration flight in a Fokker Friendship of Air Lingus, and after landing, at a champagne buffet in the civil terminal. This aircraft was an early version of the Fokker 50, the type that Charles, our eldest son, flew when he was with Air UK several years later. He had transferred from his engineering profession to become a professional commercial pilot, and we were full of admiration, for it took a great deal of hard work for him to obtain his commercial licence. He undertook the task with commendable zeal and effort, and with the greatest support of his wife Sandra, who is also an accomplished pilot. Charles is now flying Boeings on long-haul flights for British Airways. And Sandra is a flying instructor at a civil flying club near High Wycombe.