大象传媒

PROLOGUE
___________

I was born on the first of May 1923 the only child of Emma Alice ( nee
Johnson) and Wilfred James Evans and our home was No.10 Woodland Road,
Chelmsford, Essex.
I was educated at Kings Road primary, infant and junior school and at the age
of eleven " passed the scholarship" to King Edward VI Grammar, all in Chelmsford.
My favourite reading were the adventures of Wharton , Tom Merry and el al,
the creations of Frank Richards in "The Magnet" and I joined everything that was
going. All the clubs and competitions, I even tried the Cadet Corps band where at the
audition I failed to make any noise at all with the bugle and couldn't do any sort off roll
with the drum sticks.
This caused my mother to seek an interview with the Headmaster to express her
concern but she was reassured that comic books were better than no reading at all.
Similarly I was the salt of the earth to anybody who wanted to start anything at the
school as they were always assured of one recruit.
In 1939 I passed my School Certificate with Matriculation exemption and was
destined for the sixth form when the outbreak of war intervened. The aforesaid
Headmaster recommended me to the local bank and I got the job.
With the same neurosis I joined the air raid wardens, the home guard and all the
old boys clubs. In May, at seventeen, I tried to join the R.A.F but was turned down
because I couldn't hold up the mercury for sufficient time in the breathing test.
In the bank I held my own although one dear old lady on the staff remarked she
thought the bank was on the slide with having to employ scholarship boys. Fortunately
the Manager didn't have this problem and entrusted me with letting a young lady into
his office after the bank had closed for customers and taking his dog for a walk in the
park.
In the October I tried again to be a pilot, and this time at the aircrew selection
board in Uxbridge I was successful and I can now tell my story.

Wistaria Cottage
Church Lane
Three Mile Cross
Nr. Reading
Berks.
Feb. 4th. 1994
Dear
I thought I would put down on paper my memories of being an airman, both
military and civilian over almost forty years.
I joined the R.A.F. in October 1940 and did my initial training in Torquay.
This was basic Air Force stuff , drilling, marching, weapon training, guard duties and a
very basic look at elementary flying theory.
Early in 1941 I left Liverpool on the Dutch ship M.V. Dempo for Capetown
in South Africa. We were part of a large convoy, probably 20 troop and cargo ships,
with as many destroyers, frigates, cruisers and even a battleship to escort us.
We zig-zagged well into the North Atlantic before turning on a mid Atlantic
southerly course to Capetown. Most of the ships were bound for either the Middle or
Far East.
In Capetown we boarded a train to Bulawayo in Southern Rhodesia, now
called Zimbabwe. It was to last four days, our seats turning into bunks for sleeping.
Every now and again the train would pull into a siding by a town and everybody from
around would come out to meet us and entertain us with the most fabulous food that
we hadn't seen for many a long year. The hospitality was fantastic and it left a warm
glow, perhaps to be offset a bit later when I found out how badly the White people
treated the Black population. I was not used to this, and I think it was the first time in
my life that I formed an opinion for myself.
When we arrived in Bulawayo, there was only limited number of places at the
elementary flying training schools (EFTS) and a boatload of pupils to fill them, so we
spent the first few weeks in a transit camp run by the Rhodesian Army. It was quite
an experience, everything done by a bugle call, even lights out. I saw quite a lot of the
countryside during this time including the burial ground and memorial stone of Cecil
Rhodes, explorer and founder of Rhodesia, in the Matopos Hills. Rhodesia is mainly a
plateau with no large hills or mountains but nevertheless is about 4000 feet above sea
level, which is higher than the highest part of the U.K. (Ben Nevis).
My EFTS was at Induna, an aerodrome about thirty kilometres from
Bulawayo. The roads were just rolled dirt with two strips of tarmacadam about two
feet wide and the distance apart was the width of a car's wheels, so on your own you
straddled the tarmac, and with oncoming traffic only one set of wheels was on unmade
road. The airfield itself was grass, no runways, so most take-offs and landings were
into wind.
The aeroplanes were Tiger Moths-biplanes with two open cockpits one
behind the other, the instructor in the front and the pupil behind. To talk to one
another meant wearing a flying helmet with a tube attached to each other. Because it
was an open cockpit and very cold the dress was a flying suit and a parachute- I felt
like Biggles.
To start the aeroplane the propeller had to be rotated by hand. This was done
by a ground mechanic, and when the engine was primed, the pilot would call
"Contact". The mechanic swung the propeller to start the engine
The first lesson was to be able to move the aeroplane on the ground (Taxy).
This was done by applying enough power to be able to use the rudder pedals to steer
as it was necessary to zigzag the aeroplane to see where you were going.
Take off is into the prevailing wind, full power is applied and the aeroplane is
kept straight with the rudder and the stick, between your legs, controls the wings with
a sideways movement and fore and aft the climb or descent. The proper climbing
speed and the right climbing attitude must be kept otherwise the aeroplane could stall
and fall out of the sky.
The initial instruction was in keeping the aeroplane straight and level, and
turning while maintaining height and attitude. Then the emergencies such as stalling are
practised. The Tiger Moth stall is corrected by pushing the stick forward, in fact you
can use a stall to do a rather spectacular turn, called a stall turn, and is part of every
aerobatic display to this day. Also part of aerobatics is the spin originating from a stall.
Other emergencies to be covered were a stopped propeller and engine failure. In
the first case if there is sufficient height then a dive with a fairly sharp pull-up would
restart the prop. The second case meant finding a suitable open space to make a forced
landing, as there was no power, rudder could be used to slip height -no good for
modern day aeroplanes.
All this practice was done around the airfield, and had to be mastered before
circuits and landings. This determined whether you were going to make it as a RAF
pilot. All this time you knew that only six out of ten pupils would go on to the next
stage. At around twelve hours training I was allowed to go solo. I shall never forget
the excitement of lifting off the ground and flying around the circuit to make a
successful landing, much to the relief of the instructor.
At eighteen years old I was cockahoop, and during the next few hours solo I got
too brave. I tried to do a loop without being shown how and paid the penalty when
being stuck upside down I watched the propeller come to a stop in front of my very
eyes. Fortunately I had been shown how to recover from the resulting spin and to
restart the engine. I am afraid I kept quiet about it, thinking of the six out of ten as
mentioned earlier.
Rhodesia from the air looks very flat with few distinguishing features such as
roads, railway lines, and places of habitation. Houses were huts made of natural
materials and scattered in villages with no recognizable road system. Towns as we
know them in England are scarce and even Bulawayo, the second largest town in the
country, had only twelve thousand population. The weather was always excellent but
there could be a strong haze which made it difficult to see a clear horizon or the
ground. It was good sense therefore when flying alone and practising manoeuvres to
have a reference point and the most distinguishable of all was the aerodrome.
I learnt this the hard way, of course, when after a session of steep turns each
way I couldn't see the aerodrome or much else in the strong haze. I descended to see if
I could make out any landmark at all .I found a railway single track and followed it and
when I saw a farmhouse with a good open field close by, decided to land. I carried out
the drill as taught, a low pass over and a wind check all seemed fine. The approach and
landing were fine and I thought I had got away with it when there was a sickening
crunch and the aeroplane slewed around and tipped forward on to the propeller which
shattered. I stopped the engine and got out to find that I had struck a termite hill with
my port wheel. It was only a small hill but tough enough to smash the wheel. An
African instantly appeared and fetched the farmer, who having established where I was
from, called the airfield for assistance. Unfortunately the district was called Essex
Siding and the people at the airport thought that I had come down on or by the railway
so they alerted Rhodesian Railways, who in turn stopped the trains till they could find
out more. I, in ignorance of all this, stayed with the aeroplane, every now and again
food and drink would appear, but it was a long wait.
Eventually a long articulated lorry turned up, accompanied by a car driven by
the Duty Officer. He examined the field and my tyre marks and said a foot to the right
and I would have been fine. He was very nice as he drove back to Induna, it was pitch
black by the time we arrived, I was very apprehensive and there was a note in the flight
room to report to the Flight Commander at eight in the morning. The Flight
Commander listened to my story and said "My aeroplane is outside, go and fly, and if
you ever do that again go bush and never come back." I did hear later that the lorry got
stuck in a dried up river bed and it required a crane for rescue. I think I was lucky to
be able to continue my chosen career.
I had a total of fifty hours by the time I had finished at No 27 EFTS. on the
twenty eighth of August 1941 and not surprisingly under the assessment sentence "Has
he shown aptitude as a pilot navigator?" The answer is "No".
After that I had a few days off with a bad cold and that put me back a course to
continue. I was lucky enough to be able to go to the Wankie reserve and on to the
Victoria Falls with a Rhodesian friend, a fellow course member, in his car. It was a
wonderful experience, besides the Falls we saw herds of elephant, buffalo and so many
other animals in their natural environment.

Chapter 2
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No. 21 S F.T.S. was at Kumalo, much closer to Bulawayo, in fact right on
the edge of the town which did give us the opportunity to have a little social life,
such as being able to go the Bioscope as they called it. We call it the cinema, I can
only recall one film now and that was " Lady be Good ". The other big social
event was to be able to stand round a stall eating hot chicken legs, a luxury not to
be seen back in Essex during the war.
The training aeroplane was an Airspeed Oxford , a two engined monoplane
with a proper cockpit , but I don't recall any heating so we still looked rather like
Biggles with a parachute strapped to our rear end. The first few hours followed the
same pattern as Induna, learning how to cope with what could go wrong, but now
there was a new dimension, one engine failing but still having some power on the
other engine giving a change of emphasis on being able to trim and control the
aeroplane that wanted to go in a different direction. After a few hours with an
instructor and a solo check with a different instructor, the big day of "going solo".
At Induna I had a very nice instructor, patient and painstaking and very
controlled. At Kumalo at first I had a similar person, a South African, but he was
replaced by a bully, whose technique was to make you out to be an idiot, and there
was no carrot just the stick. For the first time in my life I hated, really hated, the
only time I got any praise from him was when I was flying in formation. I was his
wingman, and he said he had never seen a pupil flying so close, in fact all I wanted
to do was to push in his leering face with my wingtip. All the flying, with the
exception of one hour with the instructor at Induna who did the actual handling,
had been in daytime, now it was to be at night. It really is a very different
sensation, gone is your friendly horizon and in that part of the world without
moonlight it is very black indeed.
The second part of the training at S.F.T.S was more service orientated,
flying with other pupils practising instrument flying, map reading and other
navigation exercises. Plenty more formation flying , never as good again, bombing
and taking aerial photographs. The highlight for everybody was the low flying
exercise, it is the only time you fully realise the speed you are doing.
So on the 24th day of December 1941 I got my coveted wings, one of the
six out of ten, it was a wonderful feeling and I even forgave my I.T.S. instructor,
or at least I have now. I must have learnt something about navigation during this
course however because I now note from my logbook that under the heading "
Has he shown aptitude as, (1) Pilot Navigator ? Yes
(11) Observer Navigator ? Yes .
From Kumalo on the train again, firstly to Johannesburg and then down to
George in Cape Province. I remember that we had quite a long spell in the station
in Johannesburg and one of my course had a really great go at me, accusing me of
all sorts of things, from being a know-all to being dirty etc. etc. I had never
experienced anything like it before, so I was learning a bit about life as well as how
to fly an aeroplane. I hardly knew the chap, I certainly can't place his features at all
although I can remember him telling me he was a bell-ringer, I've got a block about
bell-ringers ever since and now I can remember why.
The course at No. 1. School of General Reconnaissance was a navigation
course and included most aspects of military reconnaissance such as aircraft and
ship recognition. It also included interceptions, square searches and radius of
action exercises. It took some fifty hours flying plus ground school. I note from the
log-book that I now rated an above the average navigator, so I must have
progressed during my time in Africa.
George is in the beautiful Wilderness district of Cape Province and is an
area of really outstanding natural beauty, but we had so little time to see anything
of it, although I do recollect a marvellous barbecue or I seem to recall it called a
braefleis, something like that anyway, on the banks of a river with a wonderful
bonfire, no doubt built by the natives, and singing many South African songs, many
of which became very popular later on in UK. such as " Picking a chicken with me"
and "Sugarbush" to name a couple and show how knowledgeable I was of the pop
music of the time.
This part of South Africa was a stronghold of the Oseverbrandvag "Sp" who
were mainly of Afrikaans stock. Boers who still lived at the turn of the century in
history, and who were against the war or particularly being on the British side of it.
It was only a small proportion of the Afrikaaners but as we still know it only takes
a few to be a great nuisance, and so it was deemed prudent for us to be pretty
restricted as to where we could go.
After the course, back on the train to Capetown to return back to wartime
Britain. The date was now the end of March 1942, but before we shipped out we
had a week or so around Capetown, including a visit to the top of Table Mountain
which is very well named.
So, back on the boat. I can't remember the name but it was one of the Union
Castle Liners. Just a word about troopships. They were not cruise ships, you slept
in hammocks, slung above the tables that you ate from, and the space between was
almost touching your neighbour, hundreds to a deck space. There were always the
chores to do such as " cleaning the heads" and for some reason, even now I can't
think why, maintaining guard all round the ship. Also, this time very
understandably, keeping watch out to sea and manning the anti -aircraft guns. On
the way home we didn't have the hammocks, there was so few of us. The South
African Army didn't serve out of Africa, so there was plenty of space. However we
still had the other duties, and as this time we were not in convoy, but all alone, we
took the look-outs very seriously.
So I arrived back in Liverpool and on the station waiting to catch the train
home, very splendid in my R.A.F. uniform with my glistening sergeant's stripes and
my wings, I was sneered at by a couple of local scouses, female, "You brillcreamed
ponce, why don't you do a proper mans job and go to sea"
I still think it was all worthwhile.

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