TOO SLICK AROUND THE COCKPIT

For those who missed part one I’ll introduce you protagonists: they are Bertus van Ryswyk – a bit of a rookie in our Commando Squadron. A lovable loskop (scatter brain).

Then there’s myself – that’s me in the baggy overalls with a single second-lieutenant’s pip on my shoulder. I was rapidly promoted to captain and then worked my way back to this very satisfactory rank. It adequately portrayed my meagre value in the defense of our country.

Next is my immediate military boss, Major Gordon Rivas who battled with being my mate in civilian life while trying to discipline me when in uniform.

Finally we have the famous, much decorated WW2 hero, Commandant Bob Kershaw who deeply resented me for my cowardly attitude towards aviation.

In this episode I will introduce you to Candidate Officer Koosie Smit. Do not shake his hand – he is unclean in the worst possible way.

So now back to Bertus and his crazy prop swinging. He would leap into his aeroplane and bounce straight out again. Then he would dash round the wing and start jumping up and down at the front while he swung the prop with unbelievable vigor.

Then there would be a puff of dust from his sparkling boots as he shot round the wingtip, dived into the cockpit and out again, to repeat this amazing procedure.

I should explain that our squadron was not the sort of Commando setup which involved crawling out of muddy ditches with Arnie Schwarzenegger, Bruce Willis, a machine gun and one of those straps of bullets across our chests.

No, we didn’t really go in for that sort of thing very much.

We were a kind of weekend, Dad’s Army setup – more into drinking Baileys until we fell over. We liked to get up at a civilized hour and stumble around a bit until we could organize some coffee and follow it up with bacon and eggs. We would then find a quiet corner and do nothing until the FRAG arrived.

This was always a big event. The FRAG was a couple of yards of paper with holes down the sides. It was sent from some God-like authority in Pretoria and it came out of a noisy teleprinter machine that clattered away in the ops tent. It detailed what everyone was to do with their lives that day.

Like a TAF or METAR, it was not easy for us ordinary people to understand – you had to have a sort of code book in your head before it made sense. It could also be quite annoying – it tended to interfere with one’s hopes that the breakfast B and E would be allowed to gently repair one’s tissues, while more coffee would wash away any contaminants that lingered in the bod.

So, you could say we were less front-line than Arnie and Bruce. We aimed for more comfortable surroundings while we messed around with aeroplanes and flew to places where people didn’t shoot at us.

We might be detailed to take an important person to another secret location and bring back a sensitive message. Or perhaps to take a troopie with tummy-ache to a secret medical facility.

Important stuff, but not muddy.

Before returning to Bertus I must tell you a short and sad story about a FRAG. Sometime before the Bertus incident, we were at a training camp in another secret location on the south coast when the whole enterprise was thrown into disarray. In order to protect military security I will call the leading protagonist Candidate Officer Koosie Smit.

A Candidate Officer (KO in Afrikaans), pronounced kah ooer, is about the most useless thing in uniform. It wears white stripes on its shoulders to warn others not to trust it with anything more complex than toilet cleaning.

On this day KO Koosie Smit awoke after a riotous evening of downloading Baileys and a large amount of a vaguely suspicious curry. The reason for his awakening was an ominous inner rumbling in his digestive tubes. He felt an urge to head for the bush in a bit of a hurry.

As he dashed past the ops tent he saw a long stream of paper nailed to the central pillar. Realizing this could come in useful, he shot in, grabbed the communiqué and continued to a secluded spot.

No one noticed anything untoward until a short while later when Major Rivas and Commandant Kershaw started disturbing the early morning birdsong by kicking up an annoying racket and loudly demanding if anyone had seen the bloody FRAG.

Soon KO Smit confessed that what he thought was nothing more than a nicely absorbent few yards of bathroom tissue, was in fact the document that would detail the activities of the entire squadron for the next 24 hours.

I will skip lightly over the distressing, and odious, spectacle of KO Smit, on his haunches, in the middle distance, using a stick to cleanse the document, and then transcribing the bulletin with a shaky hand onto several bits of clean typing paper on a military clipboard with a rusty clamp.

So back to Bertus van Ryswyk who was still kicking up a young dust-devil as he tore round his aircraft in ever more desperate attempts to start it. I recognized that regardless of rank or job description, I had to act pretty smartly as someone was going to get maimed or killed.

I zoomed across to the offending KO and did something that Arnie and Bruce would have applauded – I saved the life of a compatriot with a few well-chosen words. “Bertus, you bloody idiot, you are grounded.”

“No, Sir, you don’t understand – I have to collect the general from…”

“No, Bertus, you don’t understand – the general will have to wait until someone else collects him. Now stagger up to the ops tent and tell them I’ve spoilt their fun. When you have done that, come back here and put your aeroplane to bed. Next, tell Maintenance you have a flat battery. Then find two cups of coffee, and meet me in the briefing tent.”

“But…”

“Just do it Bertus. And three sugars for me.”

The result was that I spent the remaining few days of that camp teaching every one of our 18 pilots how to hand start their aircraft. We all felt better for it afterwards.

The bit I remember clearly was Bob saying to me, “So what was the problem with van Ryswyk?”

“Same as your problem Commandant.”

“What do you mean?”

“Too slick around the cockpit.”

“You cheeky bastard Davis. Do you realize I could have you demoted again for that?”

“Yes please sir.”

Bob gave me a puzzled look before marching off.

Next I’ll tell you some more stories about that amazing flock of pilots who barged into my life.

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