AIRCREWIES DITS

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DIVER DROPS

Dick Godley

(A Pinger’s tale…..or the day Polly Parrott nearly killed me!)

It was way back in 1970 when I clocked up a massive total of 17hrs 35 mins on Aircrew BFT and AFT combined! At the start of the 14th hour we were in a Wessex 1 with Eric Pashley (Bald Eagle Leader and Landaway expert) at the helm to carry out diver drops. I cannot remember who else made up the crew (apart from Polly that is) but I think that the Instructor was Andy McQuillan.

Anyway we’d been going round and round in Portland harbour for about three quarters of an hour. I’d done my ‘despatches’ and was now the ‘diver’. Now as we all know, the only answer that will do when asking for “Permission to despatch the Diver” is a firm and clear “Despatch the Diver” from the pilot. (Eric being Eric had been trying the entire usual range of pilot tricks to catch us out. Too high, too fast, too low, wrong circuit, sneaking right, wrong words etc) Then and only then would the crewie give two taps on the divers shoulder. If he didn’t want to go he’d shake his head violently!

So it was about my 3rd jump and Polly’s last ‘despatch’. In fairness, for the first two of my jumps the circuit had been flown immaculately, so I wasn’t the least worried when awoken from my reverie on the step by two taps on the shoulder I stepped out into space. Polly was my mate and I trusted him.

Now for this exercise we used to wear dry suits over horsehair combinations – well that’s what they felt like on the skin – with the neck seal married to the suit by a metal ring and hose clip screwed up tight to prevent water ingress. Once into the suit – always a struggle – one crouched down to squeeze as much air out of the bag as possible or you stood a very real risk of surfacing feet first! When jumping you had to hang on tightly to this metal ring with your right hand, and with your elbow firmly tucked into your side.

So, on the way down, when I hadn’t made water entry after a couple of seconds I made the fatal mistake of looking down. I still had about 50 feet to go and started to fall forward – as you do! I don’t remember much else apart from a blow to the chin – who hadn’t been hanging onto his ring in the proscribed manner!

The next thing I recall was when I woke up with pain in my ears, all was a sort of deep green colour and for a split second I wondered where the hell I was. I then realised that I was underwater but which way was up? Follow the bubbles thinks I… and after what seemed a longish time I surfaced to see the cab in a very low hover with all the crew hanging out of the door looking for me. I’d been down a while they said later!

Recovery of the ‘diver’ went normally and having ascertained I didn’t need medical attention we finished the sortie and went back to the hardstanding for a de-brief. I was covered in ‘bites’ from the dry bag – they look like welts - which I was told is usual from deep dives, and my ears had just about cleared!

“It wasn’t personal” said Eric later “I was going for the record when I levelled out at 120 feet on the rad-alt and told Polly to ‘Fill yer Boots ‘ I didn’t think anyone would be daft enough to jump from that sort of height!”

 

 

Life as a Telegraphist Aircrew Tel-Air SPOOFING! .. WHO ME ?

Bob Graffham

In 1985 I was posted to the HS748 Flt at  NAS Nowra. (Fixed wing EW Aircraft) Looking forward to stuffing many a Sailor/Airman/Pongo electronically.   First brief is from the head TACCO who instructs me as "A new face"  not yet widely known about being posted, to see if I could try and catch a look inside the Sea Kings of 817Sqdn to see if any strange HF frequency had been left dialled in on the controller?   Problem being that we couldn't scan or jam a small part of the HF spectrum and Smartass Pingers were using an unknown freq as a chatter net to overcome the jamming!   Suffice to say I'd hardly stepped into the Hangar before a loud chuckle was heard from a fellow Aircrewman! They were already on the lookout for me!

TACCO went all glum but I suggested that said Pingers might be stupid enough to use a frequency belonging to somewhere on the far side of the planet? aka Culdrose Common? (Having been over there to collect cabs and be trained of course). TACCO states the bleedin obvious at poor dumb Aircrewman (me)! "That's what we wanted you to find by looking in the aircraft"!  Why did they not say so?

Bob turns up at next brief with said frequency all raring to go!  "How did you get it"  "Simple Sir! I went to Flight Planning and seconded a copy of the UK En-Route Supplement of course.  There are other editions for the rest of the world Boss!"    " #$*&^%$#* ".  He was feeling happier! I could tell?

What are we going to do about it? Can't jam the frequency!   

"Why don't I spoof them sir?"    "Don't be silly Bob! With your accent you can't spoof anybody!" (It was a sad restriction to my ability)  

"Wanna Bet Boss?"   Even today Bob Graffham speaks Australian with a heavy Janner Accent!.

We Jammed UHF Primary and already the silly Pingers were freely chatting on HF.   

Suddenly from out of the blue came a Broken West Country voice, "Aircraft calling Culdrose Common, you are breaking up, barely readable are you in difficulty? Over".  There was a Lo-----------------------ng   Pause!           Then something was heard between the two Seakings similar to "Did you hear that?". They shut-up immediately and the word around the base for a week or so was all about Propogation and the amazing HF signal travelling around the world to Cornwall!  

Word got around the airstation about "The Feret's" catch though and Culdrose Common was not used again.     

TACCO wondered where they might go next?

I was ahead of him!     Portland, Yeovilton and Prestwick HF Freqs were already on my briefing pad! And Yes! They did try just once to use them......        Ping-----------Bo..................       

Not quite as Bad as the RAAF  F18 pilots who thought they could use 243.0Mhz as their chat frequency though!  Their reasoning when brought to task over it? "Well nobody, not even the Soviets would jam Guard would they??????"   And you though British Crabs were wet behind the ears?

 

 

820 disembarked at Culdrose.

Bungy W.

One of the Squadron pilots, Pete Buckley lived ashore and had an aging old english sheepdog called Ben who used to come to work with him. Lovely dog but could s**t for Britain !! Every day after briefing, myself and Norman Chrossan used to be detailed off to take Ben for his constitutional walkies around the airfield - One, two days OK but every day NO !

Scam time; got Ben from Petes car and instead of walkies, we decided to lock him inside COs office (who was away at time), and scarper over to the NAAFI !! Few hours later and Ben had well and truly done his business all over said office, books, carpets, bosss boots the lot !!

Ben was banned from then on in from visiting the Squadron, no more dog sitting duties and me and Norm had more time to do our usual skiving ! Oh happy days !!!

 

 

Bulkwark run ashore in Gib

Pete Imrie

Bulwark in Gib, also big civvy liner. Bald Eagle takes me ashore to bar called JJs, it's full of Royal Marines off Bulwark. Bald Eagle winks at me and says, come on Pete, we can con these Royals into buying us beer.Bald Eagle tells said Royals he is Chief Officer off civvy ship and I am 1st Mate.

Royals think lash us up and get invite to big civvy liner. So....Much later.............

Now split into two groups, Bald Eagle in one and me in other. One of the Royals in my group finds out we are jolly jack off same ship - not even slightly impressed and threatens extreme violence.

Had to get him outside in case he picked up a bottle. My master plan is to get him outside then run away. He was too drunk to run very fast so would not be able to chase me..I looked up at him and in the roughest, toughest voice I could muster said "Right you! Outside!"

He picked me up by the throat and took my outside. I woke a few minutes later to the "Nee Naw Nee Naw!" of the ambulance.

To this day Bald Eagle says no-one else noticed and he stayed drinking free beer all night!

My mate eh?

 

 

HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS & INFLUENCE YOUR ALLIES  (Or maybe not !)

Garry Callow

It was sometime in 1975 at the height of the cold war and I was serving with 820 SQN with our SeaKing Mk1s embarked onboard HMS Blake, the ship had a port visit to Kiel and at the time the SQN disembarked our 4 aircraft to Kiel Holtenau airfield, so we could do a few Navexs and general flying practice whilst the ship was in port. (leave the hangar and flight deck free for Cockers P).

On arrival at the airfield part of the induction process prior to being allowed to fly was an airspace briefing, Kiel airspace was not too far from East Germany and any inadvertent entry into the then Communist airspace was likely to result in some shots being fired, or political embarrassment at least.

A very military orientated German ATC Officer conducted the briefing to the assembled 820 SQN British naval fliers in a very formal way and told us in no uncertain terms what the procedures to be followed were and spoke at length about the "Brass Monkey procedures" which allowed a Western aircraft to declare it was lost on a certain frequency to be prefixed by the word "Brass Monkey x 3 followed by aircraft details. Many other points were also raised by the ATC Officer telling us what we could and could not do and what heights were authorised over the nudie beaches etc etc.

After somewhat of a long time covering all these procedures and restricted airspace details, he finally finished and asked the audience "are zeer any questions" A young officer piped up from the back in a good GL voice, and said "Thankyou for the briefing, this is all very complicated, but interestingly my father did not have the same trouble in 1945!!!!!!!!

We did not know whether to laugh, cringe or cry at the time, and goodness knows how the CO smoothed that one over. On reflection it was a very witty comment said on the spur of the moment with the benefit of youthful ignorance. I still chuckle at that one today.

 

 

Picture the Scene. 819 detachment Sola air base Norway, early 80's. Ex Bold game.

Dougy Douglas

During a period of quite between the ski slopes and the bars - Umm briefings and lectures!

We the squadron aircrew were invited to Stavanger war HQ, built into the mountain side near Stavanger.

We assembled at what I remember as a bridge over a moat like arrangement, a quick check to see if we had our ID's due to the status of the place, all OK.

Our Norwegian host met us and started his Intro.

Welcome to the Norwegian War HQ, Stavanger, built by the Germans at the start of the 2nd world war.

Up pops the hand of our German exchange officer Helmut Kist. Excuse me says our Helmut, small inaccuracy ------- "We Germans had you Norwegians build it for us"

The visit was a little tense after that wee comment.

 

 

TALES FROM THE BACK SEAT or FLYING SAUCERS AND PUSSERS REDS 

Jesse James

I cannot remember who first started the craze; it just seemed to have happened, one fine day in Malta.

Someone said "lets make a flying saucer" so before you knew it all the great minds of the Squadron got to work and the era of the dangerous flying projectiles began.

Materials:  We started off with a flying ration sweet tin, a hole was drilled through the center, top and bottom and a nut and bolt fitted to hold the two pieces together.  Four small holes were punched in the sides of the tin and with a nail inserted were bent slightly downward.  As propellant we used the propellant block from a starter cartridge shaved up small with a knife, for ignition we used the gunpowder from a shotgun shell.

Theory:  Gunpowder would ignite the propellant; the propellant would burn fiercely lifting the outer rim of the lid allowing gas under pressure to escape, thereby giving lift. At the same time gas escaping from the holes in the sides would provide a rotational force, which not only assisted lift but also stabilize the saucer.

Practice:  First attempt; laid a trail of gunpowder from two feet away up to one of the holes in the side, lit said powder there was a hiss and a flash, and that was that.  Nothing!  We all stood around scratching our heads when one of our brave Pilots said "why not light a taper and blow the flame into the hole, "what a great idea" we said, lit a roll of paper and handed it to him to perform the honours. 1 blow, 2 blows, three blows WHOOOSH, the pilots eyebrows disappeared and with a hissing sound and a trail of white smoke off went the prototype.  With a bit of a wobble but gaining in rotational speed and height it climbed to a hundred feet or so before the "Engine" shut down and it fell back to earth. Someone ran over to retrieve it, picked it up, and then dropped it like a hot potato for that’s what it was, red hot!

Half a dozen further attempts ensued, whereby we perfected this simple but efficient design, on one attempt performed by one of the pilots, he just could not get the propellant to ignite, and after much huffing and puffing he stood up and walked away.

He had hardly walked half a dozen steps, when from the saucer came a gentle hissing sound, it started to rotate, gathered speed and suddenly lifted to a couple of feet, turned on its side and headed at a great rate of knots straight on to the retreating pilots backside. BULLSEYE!! He screamed and ran, the flying saucer fell to the ground, then lifted off again and chased after the retreating backside of one Tubby Spendlove Flying Saucer maker extraordinaire.

Phase Two: From our excellent results with the flying saucers we thought that perhaps using the same expertise, we could invent a rocket along the same principles, so we set to find the right materials, having nicked a length of drain pipe from the back of the office, we took it to the flight engineers who for a "tot" welded a blanking plate on one end and formed a Venturi at the other end, with this contraption and a box of starter cartridges we headed back to our own dispersal.  After a lot of discussion as to the launch method, it was decided that it would be a bit dangerous to fire it straight up, so we thought that perhaps we would be better firing it out to sea.

Then the "Great Topsy Turner" had the brilliant idea of fitting it to a "Pussers Red" this way it would act like RATOG and we would also be able to re-use it.  Idea accepted by all, we proceeded with various bits of wire and string to fix the contraption to the bike, once done the "Rocket" was stuffed full of propellant and a charge of gunpowder set at the mouth.

It being Topsy's idea he was unanimously nominated as Chief Test Pilot, suitable booted and spurred with flying suit, flying boots and bone-dome and delicately balanced between a couple of chocks, we lit the blue touch paper.  As the now familiar hiss started we shouted to Topsy to start peddling, with our shouts of faster, faster in his ears there came a great belch of white smoke from the rear of the contraption and off he went!  Straight off the end of our dispersal and into the open hangar of the American Squadron (Fasron 201) next door, the looks on their faces was something to behold, as this screaming maniac on a pussers red, looking for all the world like a whirling "Tasmanian Devil" with its backside on fire, shot into their hangar, little legs going ninety to the dozen.  You would have thought that they were used to us after a couple of years, not a bit of it!  There was one final prolonged scream from Topsy just before he crashed into the Yankee Master Sergeant and they both ended up in a grotty heap in the corner.  Meanwhile the pusser red had fallen on its side and with white smoke still belching from its orifice, was scooting round the hangar with yanks and limeys falling over each other to get out of its way.  I have never seen so much chaos and mayhem in one small area in all my life, apart from anything else; the hangar was used to work on mines.  There were half a dozen of these things spread all-round the hangar and there was this smoking pussers red running amok among them, how it managed to miss every one of them I will never know, but it did.  Apart from the Master Sergeant (who had a sense of humour failure) everyone else was rolling around on the deck, screaming with laughter.  After suitable bollockings all-round we left to start project three!!

Project Three: Someone had brought a 2lb biscuit tin into work and it had found its way into our crewroom, we thought it would make the flying saucer to beat all flying saucers and so it was to prove.

Using previous well-tried and tested methods of construction the magnificent machine was taken to the launch pad and duly launched.  It really looked majestic as it climbed to about fifteen hundred feet before heading off across the airfield in the general direction of the admin block.  Most pleased with our efforts we retired for a well-earned cup of coffee, about ten minutes later the Senior "O" came in and told us that the Cdr. would like to know who was responsible for the red-hot biscuit tin that had landed on the bonnet of his car, unfortunately none of us were able to help!  Next days daily orders read: The making of flying saucers is to cease forthwith.  Never mind, but we had already decided to move on to bigger and better things, but that’s another story !!

 

 

MORE TALES FROM THE BACK SEAT or STOP THAT DRINKING

Big Exercise in the Malayan Jungle, all three services are involved, the Army, the Air Force and representing the Navy, 848 Squadron with its detachment of Ghurkhas.

The scenario was as follows, to the North on the hill were the Crabs with their Sycamores to the West was the Pongo’s with their Hilliars and Scouts, to the East was our Squadron, with the Ghurkhas guarding the river to the South.

On the morning that the exercise started, we flew in and deposited our Ghurkha detachment in its position, and then we landed at our designated landing site and proceeded to make ourselves at home.  Building latrines, digging a fire pit, and generally scavenging anything that we could lay our hands on. 

It was while we were in the midst of all this that the Pongo’s turned up; we just could not believe our eyes.  First was the Cook House, complete with boilers, ovens and cooking ranges, then came the washhouse, complete with showers, washbasins with running water, and to top it all a canteen tent complete with supplies.  If you thought that was a shock, it was nothing to what the Crabs turned up with; it was all of the above and lots more besides. 

Both the Crabs and the Pongo’s had a Sergeants Mess Tent complete with waiter service, and this in the middle of the jungle.  There was us poor Matelots left with an off watch Stoker who volunteered to be Chef, a hole in the ground for cooking and “two cans of beer per man per day” as per Admiralty Instructions.

It did not take long for all the Senior Rates to wrangle invites to the other messes for meals etc. It did not take long for the Matelots to find out that there was free beer laid on at the other messes too.  At about midnight on the first night, out of the jungle came a load of drunken Matelots singing to their hearts content, this did not amuse the C.O. one bit and after getting things sorted out, called a meeting for the following morning.

After lecturing everyone on the evil of our ways, he said that he would not have this sort of thing happening again and to this end, the Duty Officer for that day, was to position himself at the Pongos Beer Tent and turn any wayward Matelots away.  This he did, but in the early hours of the morning, lo and behold, out of the jungle came some very inebriated Matelots in full song.  At this the C.O. flew into a rage and demanded that the Duty Officer report to him immediately. 

When the Duty Officer turned up all bleary eyed, he assured the C.O. that not one Matelot had been in the Pongo’s Beer Tent, to which the C.O. said “well they must have gone to the Crabs then, tonight I want a Duty Officer to be placed on each beer tent”, This was done, but later that night, out of the jungle crept many giggling drunken Matelots, the C.O. went ballistic, even after both Duty Officers ensured him that they had not even seen one of our lot, let alone allow them in to drink, he was still pretty sure that they were getting the booze from the other services there.

It was about three or four days later, when flying a mission over the jungle that the C.O. said to the crewman (Who shall remain nameless) “give us a wet of your water, I forgot to fill my bottle this morning”, without thinking the Crewy took his water bottle from his belt and passed it up to the C.O. 

Upon taking a large swallow, The C.O. ended up spluttering and coughing fit to burst.  The bottle was full of Ghurkha Rum not water, and the Crewy had forgot to change his bottles over before take off.  Of course we were rumbled and our nightly trips to the Ghurkha Camp were stopped forth with. 

 Still it was fun while it lasted.

 

 

CRABS - GOD BLESS 'EM (& SAVE US FROM THEM !

Jesse James

It was a lovely day on Cyprus, Monty and I were scheduled for an early morning towing detail.  With the aircraft fuelled and loaded with targets we taxied out for take off

Lined up on the runway, full power, "all set" says Monty, "lets roll" says I.  Off brakes and away we trundle.  All is going well, take off speed reached, pull back on the stick and up we go. At sixty feet the GREMLINS awake, just as we are about to retract the wheels both engines shut down.  "Christ"! Says Monty, "Brace yourself".

Now Akrotiri being a very modern airfield is fitted with all the safety equipment that one could wish for, so with great presence of mind, I press the tit, and in a calm (maybe a bit high pitched) tone of voice call "Barrier, Barrier, Barrier", we slammed back on the runway at about 100 kts and the Meatbox being the sturdy solid machine it was, took it in its stride.  With about thirty feet to go to the end of the runway and a speed of 100kts there was no way we would stop in time. 

Not to worry, any second now the barrier will go up and bring us to a safe stop.  WRONG, the barrier stayed firmly down, so in a cloud of sand, flies and camel sh*t we disappeared off into the Bondoo, eventually coming to rest about half a mile from the end of the runway. 

Both of us out of there like greased lightening, I stopped just long enough to knock off the ground flight switch before joining Monty on a sand dune to await our immediate rescue. 

WRONG AGAIN, after sitting there for about five minutes with nothing apart from a shite hawk-wheeling overhead, I went back to the aircraft and having checked that there were no fuel leaks, switched on the ground flight switch and then the radio.

The chat went as follows; -

"Akrotiri Tower this is Acorn One over".

"Acorn One this is Tower what is your position over".

"Akrotiri Tower this is Acorn One, we have crashed half a mile off the end of the runway over".

Silence.

"Akrotiri Tower this is Acorn One, I say again, we have crashed half a mile off the end of the runway, and are awaiting a taxi back over".

"Roger Acorn One you are cleared to taxi for runway..AGHHHH.... I think it was at this moment some Senior Erk had grabbed a Junior Erk by the throat as he reached over and hit the panic button.

Shortly after the strangled cry of the 'Crabfat Bird' Monty and I were treated to something resembling a 'Wild West Show', as lots of pretty red wagons came bouncing over the Bondoo and surrounded us, from the said wagons issued forth many men dressed as aliens dragging long hosepipes with gleaming brass nozzles on the end, standing or kneeling in various poses they then looked to the big chief alien for what to do next? It was at this stage of the proceedings that without a word passing between us, Monty and I stood up as one and commenced cheering and clapping this wonderful performance. 

The Crabs as usual had a total sense of humour failure!! And with much muttering about crazy sailors flying, gave us a lift back to dispersal.

 

 

HMS Eagle February 1971 somewhere in the Med..  How to make friends and impress your C.O. (Or not)

Sitting in an empty crew room minding my own business on a particularly rough and windy morning I was suddenly aware of SOB's bursting in with Cdr Air and the SAR pilot ..." "The Admiral has to go to  Undaunted - get your kit on, your off in 30 minutes"  Where the SAR crewies were I  haven't a clue but  I (as a mere pinger) drew the short straw.

Timeline

09:45 One Wessex MK1, One Pilot, One Admiral, One pissed off Aircrewman. Admiral arrives , strap in him plug him in and off we go !

10:15 Establish hover on Undaunted's port quarter : Unstrap & unplug Admiral, open door get Admiral in strop,  & notice Undaunteds  Captain, No1, and various other impotent people  standing on quarter deck at attention with caps under arms, all trying to stand upright whilst the weather was trying to make them fall over !

10:16 (attempt 1) Start patter, push Admiral unceremoniously out of door and aim him at the quarterdeck. Admiral going down slowly,  quarterdeck coming up very rapidly.  Potential  = Admiral with broken legs. Reverse process - Admiral now coming up, quarterdeck going down.  Thinks - I need  a new plan !

10:17 (attempt  2) Admiral still dangling. Continue patter aim Admiral at Quarterdeck , Suddenly quarterdeck  kicks to starboard and rises - Quarterdeck now higher than Admiral who is precariously close to sea & ships side. (Notice Impotent persons still at attention watching  Admiral disappear below deck level and out of sight).  Quarterdeck sinks and kicks to port. Potential = Admiral carries out very close inspection of ships side near (or possibly below) waterline.  Thinks - I need another new plan !

10:19 (attempt 3) Admiral still dangling, but now looking quite pale.  Impotent persons still at attention looking quite bemused. Thinks... I need to get this sorted fast.... Close eyes.. pray... lower Admiral  - HOORAY .. He's down (albeit astride a very large winchy type thing) . Recover strop & set course for the ACRB.

10:45 Land On

10:45.1 Told to report to CO, who proceeds to deliver the not totally unexpected news that said Admiral was not very happy with the quality of service he experienced, being transferred from Helo to Quarterdeck ! (Of course this was in the days prior to ISO 9001),)Potential = Very angry Admiral, CO & very embarrassed Aircrewman

 

 

1982- 846 Squadron HMS Fearless How to eat your PENGUIN

John Sheldon

On our way to the Falklands with 846 on board HMS Fearless, we were being briefed by a Maj Ewan Southerby-Taylor, who was an ex boss of the Royal Marine unit based in Stanley.  

He was giving us the details of the wildlife inhabiting the area.  

One of these animals was the leopard Seal (Dangerous Beast) he said "The Leopard Seal grabs it food (Penguin) and shakes it until it comes out of it's skin" at this point Splash Ashdown pipes up  "Excuse me sir, but I always take my wrapper of my Penguin before I eat it" the massed audience creamed down with laughter, but old Ewan did not see the funny side to it.

 

 

1997 - 705 Sqn Culdrose RMBFT

Larry Slater

Crew    Larry Slater (Instructor) Bungy Williams RM Another RM  Capt Swallowmenob AAC on holdover

Bungy Williiams produced a good brief for a one and a half hour navex.Normally I write down the cab we are flying in on my knee pad, but not this time. G51, I can remember that!!

Twenty minutes later walking down to the duty officers desk, I asked Bungy what cab we had ( I had forgot!)

"G55 Chief" he came back smartly.

Funny I thought, I'm sure we briefed G51.

Thought nothing of it. Went and did a walk round on G55 with Bungy. He got in the back, I'm in the front left hand seat, then the AAC pilot turns up, does a walkround, gets in, straps in, just about to turn the key when one of the civvy maintainers turns up.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"On a navex."

"Not in this one you're not. You should be in G51"

"I'M GOING TO F**K YOU WILLIAMS!!!!" came the reply from the left hand seat.

So  we all unstrapped, got out and walked to G51. Needless to say that  the staff instructors who  were on the 705 building verandah gesticulated in a masturbating motion!!!

Three lessons were learnt that day.

1. Write down the number of you aircraft.

2. Never trust a student.

3. Beware of AAC pilots