IT TOOK TWO TO TANGO IN A BEAUFIGHTER.
By a one-time Navigator
Pilots come in all shapes
and sizes. Some, if not all, have odd quirks. Some are garrulous and some are
taciturn, not unlike a broad cross-section of humanity in general. It is
asserted that there are two types of men, those who fly airline and those who
don’t.
Perhaps this was put
about by the pilot’s confraternity. They do, however, comprise a rather elite
force, if it still permissible to speak in “elitist terms”.
So when we newly qualified
Navigators came face to face with them, at a certain stage the facial
appearance, the quirks, and even the physical appearance of these gentlemen
greatly taxed our ability to sort out the ‘wheat from the chaff’.
This, of course, took
place at Operational Training Unit, and, after some two years or so training,
it seemed a pity to jeopardise all the costs of this, not to say our bodily
safety, by committing ourselves, willy nilly, to a pilot of short acquaintance and talents not
obviously apparent.
At first impact, our two
respective groups sized each other up with hopefully disguised nonchalance.
Should I plump for a large fellow, with hands that seemed likely to be able to
do useful work with a control column, hailing, it would appear from the high
veiled of
These days, when boarding
a 747 which will climb to heights unheard of in our day and obviously much more
dangerous territory do we expect to be able to give the Captain the once-over”
to gauge his skills, in his glass
cockpit? (Frankly I don’t see why not). But here we were, trying to pair off, my
group, all from ‘Blighty’, confronted airmen from the
most remote parts of the Empire (as it was). Did I prefer the Blue the Springbok
or a Kiwi? What did I know of the Czechs, the Belgians, or the Poles, on offer?
Not a lot really.
A bad choice here could
result in an attack of the dreaded L.M.F. should incompatibility subsequently
set in. Gentle probing to see how many hours and on what they were able to
offer me, bearing in mind that few of us had more than 200 hours or so. Not so
little when, in 1918 operations were started, and usually abruptly terminated
with as little as 20 hours total time.
There was little time to
gauge personal habits, like capacity for alcohol, late night partying, stamina
in pursuit of popsies etc. Individuals had there own
order of priority in such matters, complicating ready assessment of
compatibility to jointly indulge in these essential diversions, It became
readily apparent that the Colonial types would not be wanting in earning merit
points in all of these subjects.
Later experience showed
that adventurous activity in all these delights had little effect on some, and
next morning a compass course would be flown with more than the usual
precision, prompted, no doubt, by a sense of deep satisfaction of a successful
outcome of the foray of the previous evening
What impression we callow
youths, sporting our hard-won half brevets, gave our opposite numbers is a
matter of conjecture. Our self-confident to be able to navigate with skill and
style was fairly fragile. Moreover, we were still in some awe of the general
run of pilots, who tended to be more heaty
in manner and could do things with aeroplanes which often startled us and tended
to hurl our navigation instruments on to the floor of the aircraft.
At Air Observers School,
the invariably forgot to say please when the undercarriage on the faithful old
Anson had to be wound up (one hundred and twenty turns), and, of course wound
down again, although it was not unknown for a pilot (and a trainee navigator)
to experience a moment of mental aberration to be sharply brought to earth by
the unpleasant noise of the impact of rapidly turning propellers hitting the
runway.
Anyway, I write about our
impressions, and if any pilot Is prepared to put pen to paper on the subject of
crewing up, I promise his views will be read with objective interest, our
shoulders being wide enough to lake any ribbing and umbrage will not be taken.
The general format, for the establishing of individual crews, had been well
thought out be the senior officers concerned.
There was little or no
pressure, although time was important so that real twining could continue, with
the added incentive to polish our skills, at both ends of the aircraft, as the
Real thing was just about on us, or, in the hackneyed phrases of the fiction
writers, ‘our mettle was about to be tested’.
At this stage I had a
sneaky suspicion that we were all concerned as to the quality of our own
mettle, but after the requisite number of ales in the Mess, such doubts rapidly
disappeared in the general festivities and the rendition of traditional Air
Force songs, seemingly hawing on being crushed beneath heavy aircraft engines. Or indulging in physical acts which I personally didn’t quite
comprehend, or if I did, thought highly incapable of being achieving.
Suddenly the pairing
process was complete and all settled down to the final stage of training before
joining an Operational Squadron. For all of us, that moment in time when our
skills and personalities had be joined for our mutual benefit, and survival,
and also in the wider sense of the effectiveness of our duty in the activities of
the Air Force, was indeed a moment of truth.
Almost without exception,
the fruits of this procedure of crewing, was the establishment of that almost
indefinable quality of comradeship and bonding that occurred between each
individual crew of Beaufighters and from then on, the
vagaries of ‘Lady Luck’ could be faced with hope and confidence.
Who can forget that last
operational ‘sortie’, whether it was in number, or in hours, or in time on ‘ops’,
when the anxieties of all previous trips seem to roll up all into one, until
that very sweet moment when the wheels hit the deck and the feeling, almost of
disbelief, that the tour was over.
The unique experience of
facing considerable hazards together, with a blend of skills and a sense of
harmony, greatly enriched or lives, and this has remained with us to later
life, to be recalled with pride and pleasure.
The Australian
expression, “Good Mates, describes so aptly those days now so long ago, but
which are never very far from our daily thoughts”.
Sam (VKN) November
1997