Tales

Minutes pass as the two jets fly in tight company through the black night and nothing happens. No torchlight code from the back of the Stratotanker and definitely no lowering of the refuelling boom. Finally, in frustration, with the B-52 crew signalling frantically all the while, the B-52 skipper decides to break formation and fly alongside the tanker to see if they can get a response from the flight deck. Silence ensues, however, as the giant bomber comes up alongside a commercial 707 passenger jet with probably 160 dozing passengers oblivious to the close company they have just been keeping!

Gone To The Dogs

Who said the RAAF takes life altogether too seriously? Not according to a story concerning a well-known Bankstown aerobatic instructor. Prior to retiring from the RAAF a few years back, this flier held the job of transport operations staff officer at the then Operational Command, responsible for the tasking of all RAAF transport aircraft.

One day, it seems, RAAF Richmond had a requirement to carry a toy poodle as part of a personnel shift. “Because dogs are full of piddle and pooh, which don’t go very well with aircraft structures, getting approval to carry dogs on RAAF aircraft, even toy poodles, was very difficult,” recounted a former 37 Sqn (C-130) executive. “But we thought we’d give it a try and so a signal went off to our friend, who was the authority on these things.”

A few days later back came the reply from the august and sober corridors of Operational Command: “Reference your signal… Puppy-dog tasking is approved.”

Ups and Downs!

After completing my initial flying training on Tiger Moths at Benalla in 1943, I was transferred to Uranquinty in New South Wales for conversion to Wirraway advanced trainers. Soon after arriving at Uranquinty, my instructor, Flight Sergeant Williams, was teaching me landings at a satellite aerodrome with repeated circuits and bumps along with several other pupils and their instructors engaged in the same exercise.

Approaching lunchtime, and after a short break, it was decided by the instructors that they would return to base taking off and flying in formation to show us “sprogs” how it was done. On getting into the plane and being informed of this, I became totally engrossed in the excitement of what was going to happen and completely overlooked fastening both my parachute harness and seat belt.

However, on settling down and at the required cruising revs, our plane kept dropping back and one of the other instructors indicated that our wheels had not fully retracted and, despite re-engaging the system, continued to do so. In order to try and force them up, my instructor pushed the control column sharply forward and as my canopy was open—it was summertime—and not being secured, I was thrown upwards and can vividly recall desperately grasping the side of the plane as I left the seat.

On realising what was happening, my instructor very quickly pulled the column back and whether that action or my grasping the side of the cockpit prevented me from being thrown out I will never know. Being in the rear seat, the instructor had a good view of what was happening and claimed he briefly saw daylight between me and the plane, which probably was to both frighten me and teach me a lesson, as I think had I have gone up that far the slipstream would have most certainly swept me out. The episode sure taught me a lesson and I rightly received a severe tongue-lashing from Flight Sergeant Williams and later was told I was the subject of mirthful discussion that night in the sergeants’ mess.

— C Uniacke (Templestowe)

The Way It Was

My family grew up in Broken Hill in the far west of NSW in a much simpler age. I remember a story that my mother used to tell that would sadly never happen today. At that time the community was serviced from Sydney by just two or three DC-3 flights per week and when the Douglas came to town it was still a big event. Kids would pedal out to greet it and it was not uncommon for their parents to often find an excuse to be at the airport around the same time.

Anyway, our house also played host to a wily pet parrot that obviously had better hearing than the average Homo sapien. The bird, obviously amused by the mayhem that took place whenever the DC-3 overflew our house and everybody rushed out to wave, thought that it could better this. Hence, within a short period the bird learnt to identify the distant drone of the Pratt & Whitneys and begin bellowing at full strength “Here comes the plane, here comes the plane!”

The same words the humanoids would yell whenever they heard it coming. This gave my family enough time to get into the yard before the DC-3 arrived rather than watching it depart. Imagine something as simple and joyous as that happening today!