RAF stories: 2022

I was stationed in Belize in 1981 during the Belize Independence celebrations, during which various dignitaries arrived at the airport. However, one particular day an aircraft was inbound to land which couldn’t be recognised by our Butcher Radar. I was quickly ordered to assemble the lads – complete with guns – follow the aircraft down the runway and, if necessary, stop it by shooting at the tyres! This was live-action gung-ho stuff, and off we tore down the runway snapping on our magazines. While making threatening gestures towards the DC-3 aircraft and its pilot, we suddenly received a radio call to stand down. The aircraft stopped, the door opened, and out stepped the mysterious newcomers; a group of bewildered Panamanian musicians booked for the independence celebrations!

MIKE G

In about 1980 I was on 51 Squadron at RAF Wyton when I watched a wily old ‘sooty’ corporal at work. Faced with an uncooperative Nimrod engine, he tapped its starter motor with a hammer to reset the internal clutch-disengage mechanism and allow it to start. The ‘engine fails to start’ entry in the aircraft’s F700 log book was rapidly cleared by the corporal with a quick-witted note: “Percussion adjustment carried out”, and the aircraft proceeded with its mission. I witnessed this as a junior technician engine fitter, and that day I learned the importance of acquired on-type knowledge, and the appropriate use of humour!

JIM M

While with 103 Squadron in Seletar, I was sent to a jungle pad to fix a non-starting Whirlwind 10. With the crew nowhere in sight, I changed the igniter plug and flat battery while talking to the lone soldier standing guard. It was then that I noticed burned matches galore around the jet pipe area. I was about to remonstrate with the guard for smoking near an aircraft when he reluctantly admitted that the crew – two very long-in-the-tooth SPEC aircrew and one a Wing Examiner to boot – had been turning the engine over and throwing lighted matches at the exhaust from the jet pipe, presumably hoping to light the fuel-rich mixture. The consequences, had they succeeded, would likely have been a flame some 10ft long plus a few singed eyebrows! Under the circumstances, a mere flat battery was probably the best outcome.

JOHN S

During my time at RAF Akrotiri in the 1970s we serviced all RAF aircraft in transit to and from the Far East. One morning, while awaiting a VC10 from Singapore via Gan, the RAF Police informed us that they suspected drugs were on board. Our assistance was therefore requested to help search the aircraft after the passengers had disembarked. Upon its arrival we showed them the small number of potential hiding places any passenger might have access to, but nothing was found. The officer in charge then commented that the drugs had probably been flushed down the toilet and were now in the Indian Ocean. I explained that all waste was held in tanks until they were emptied by ground crew; a fact he was thrilled to learn. The contents of the tanks were soon emptied onto the ground, and about 10 of his men – issued with wellingtons, poking implements and torches – began their search. Nothing was found, but seeing so many white-hatted ‘snowdrops’ performing their duty was a surreal sight.

FRANK B

At the beginning of my National Service I and numerous other young men reported to RAF Cardington to be kitted out. Our heads were shorn and we were sent off to collect our ill-fitting uniforms. Then came the ‘parcel parade’. This required us to go on parade with our civilian clothes wrapped in a parcel ready to be sent home. The Sergeant then came along with his form, ticking the box by our names as he took each parcel. One chap, however, had no parcel at all, and had arrived in his oldest clothes and simply burned them in the billet stove. As there was no box on his form to cover this particular situation, the Sergeant marched him off to wrap some rubbish in a parcel with his home address written on top. Satisfied, the Sergeant took the parcel, ticked his box, and the form was complete.

PAT L