It had been a long hot, tiring, day flying loads of
simulated ammunition-boxes of sand - in the turbulent air from Malacca to Triang,
on an RAF exercise in Malaysia in the early 1960's. The Twin Pioneers stood in line on the edge of
Malacca airstrip-their engines though stilled creaking and crackling as they
cooled from their labours.
As the sun dipped to the horizon and the temperature
eased down from the nineties. The crew gathered in the marquee that served as a
mess tent. The first Tiger beers had hardly turned to steam in thirsty gullets
when the harassed flight commander appeared in the tent, casting a searching eye
over the assembled throng. The word passed quickly that he was looking for
a crew for a VIP run on the morrow . As if by magic the tent
emptied- it was only later that I learned that these tasks were a wretched
nuisance involving much waiting around with take off and landing times being
altered to suit the passengers changing itinerary-there was none of the kudos
associated with VIP flying on more sophisticated aircraft types. On
short-range transport you were at the beck and call of the senior passengers. Therefore
the trips were disliked by the more experienced crews, hence the exodus.
Safe as I thought in the knowledge that I held a lowly
D category (troops only as passengers) I continued with my libation,
chatting amiably with a navigator who obviously had not been quick enough to the
door.
Early bright next morning we learnt the details.
Pick up the New Zealand High Commissioner and party at Terendak at 1000hrs and
fly them to Seletar for a "Doors Open " time of 1100hrs- a doddle -
justifying my casual approach to the task. Duly authorised "operationally
necessary to use a lower category crew" I attended the flight line to a
chorus of whistles and calls from the ground crew. The Chiefy asked
without enthusiasm if I would be taking a crewman, he was strapped for
tradesmen. I replied that I would not as I was going to Seletar, our main
base. This refusal precluded the issue of any spare pack up as it was
generally agreed that aircrew resourcefulness did not stretch to any other
servicing except strip refueling from flimsies. We got to
Terendak without incident , it's about 10 miles from Malacca- and my B category
nav. had timed things so there would be no need to stop engines for the pick up.
We parked at the end of a deserted airstrip, not a thing moved, even
the usual mata-mata (Malay policeman) did not make an appearance to cast his
watchful gaze over the proceedings. After 10 minutes with both engines set at
1200 RPM and the gills wide open the cylinder head temperature began to rise
markedly. The anxiety level on the small flight deck also increased as the
minutes ticked by and pick up time came and went. I knew that it would be
difficult to restart if the cylinder head temperature (CHT) wet much above
100degrees C but I also knew that I could not accept probable overheating
if I kept the engines turning. To resolve the dilemma I decided to shut
down. With a feeling of impending disaster I closed the slow
running cut outs as the CHT reached 120 degrees C. The engines
stuttered to a stop and almost immediately the nav. began gesticulating and
shouting lewd imprecations, indicating with a stabbing left index finger across
his front that the party had now arrived and were approaching from the starboard
side.
Matching the nav's profanity I ran through the drills
and as he showed the party to their seats I fired the cartridge to start the
starboard engine. To my immense relief it started first time, and I
prepared to start the port as the nav settled into his seat and picked up his
map. I pulled the Bowden cable starter "smoothly and to its
limits" as prescribed in Pilots Notes, but all that happened was the
emission of a long plume of acrid grey smoke from the starter exhaust- the
propeller remained defiantly stationary. I swiftly reselected and banged
off almost a whole magazine of cartridges to no avail the prop either
flailed around for a few turns and stopped or did not move at all.
The obligatory waiting times between firings was ignored in an attempt to
save face.
A hurried conference was shouted above the noise of
the starboard engine. We would need to replenish the starter magazine, luckily
a spare tin of cartridges was carried at all times , and the starter would have
to be activated from under the engine nacelle having first opened the
cowling. We did not have a screwdriver with us but a hasty search of our
corporate finances revealed a 10 Sen piece, just right for Dzus fasteners.
As the nav. left left to do the tricky bit my erstwhile civil flying experience
got the better of me and I told him to brief the passengers of the situation on
the way out. His face was a picture.
He appeared on the port sponson and quickly opened up
the cowling. Having replenished the magazine he indicated to me that he
was ready to attempt a start. Needlessly reminding
him through mime to hang on to the main strut to offset the impending slipstream
I set the throttle a good dollop up the quadrant for luck.
I switched on the ignition and with a bravado I
was not feeling I shouted that I too was ready. He reached up and operated
the starter. In repudiation of my previous efforts the engine burst
unhesitatingly and gloriously into life. My high throttle setting had
to be reduced quickly as the nav. was hanging on for dear life in a cloud of
smoke and dust as he tried to close the cowling but he was not quick enough
to prevent the passenger door-left unsecured by the nav. on his way out being
caught by the sudden gale smashing against the stops and falling to the ground
to be blown under the tailplane.
Eventually the nav. appeared, his white flying suit
"sooted" and despoiled his blackened face clown like under tousled
hair. He stated briefly that he had retrieved the door and
secured it closed with lashing tape and now would I please get the show on the
road without further ado! Well that was the gist of what he said.
The trip to Singapore was uneventful except for
the usual cu-nimb dodging routine and we arrived at Seletar hopelessly late for
our "doors open" time. To add insult to injury, my landing was
abysmal. The Twin Pioneer could be a stiff legged brute and if the round out was
a touch late on tarmac- an arrival could be teeth shattering. I smote the
runway with a dreadful thump, the aircraft leapt into the air and slumped
back onto the runway and we waddled clear at the centre taxi link.
