The ITCZ usually moved between central Congo and Southern Rhodesia’s southern border. During the time we were at Ndola for ‘the Congo Crisis’, however, the ITCZ remained almost stationary over Katanga and the northern sectors of Northern Rhodesia. This made flying difficult and even dangerous, as proven when the over- tired aircrew of Dag Hammarskjold’s DC6 aircraft crashed in line with, but way short of Ndola’s active runway.
The crash site was discovered the following morning by one of the Provost pilots sent out to search for the missing DC6. The aircraft had been heard by all of us in the early hours of the morning as it passed over Ndola Airport on its procedural NDB let-down. But on the inbound leg for landing the pilot few into a 100-foot-high forested ridge five miles from the airfield. Inspection of the crash site, where a number of local charcoal producers lived within the forest, showed that the aircraft had met with the trees, wings level, in a shallow descent. Had the cloud base not been so low, the crew would have picked up the lights of Ndola and arrived safely. Instead the aircraft descended below the check height given on the International let-down chart for Ndola. However, a United States Air Force Jeppesen manual, found clipped open at the Ndolo (Congo) section, happened to be 1,000 feet lower than Ndola (Northern Rhodesia).
Dave Thorne and I, flying Vampire FB9s, operated as a pair for the entire period of our stay. Our task, along with those of other Vampires and a couple of Provosts based at Ndola, was to make the RRAF’s presence known along the western Katangese border and keep an eye open for any trans-border movement of refugees and foreign armed forces. All flying had to be conducted under persistent low cloud, which in places was no more than 100 feet above the trees. This made map reading particularly difficult on our small-scaled 1:1,000,000 maps.
Beyond the built-up areas, tarmac roads and railway lines linking the Copper Belt towns there existed nothing but a sea of magnificent tall trees that stretch for hundreds of miles in every direction. A few dirt roads were marked but no physical features existed to defne the international boundary line. In consequence we strayed across the border on occasions, once with Dave leading us as far beyond it as the rail-line just east of the UN- occupied base at Kolwezi. This was some forty nautical miles north of where we thought we were. Fortunately the weather was so bad that we seemed not to have been noticed.
A second deep penetration occurred with me leading. We had come upon a large convoy of vehicles at the border post of Kasumbuleza. Having orbited to identify vehicle types and numbers I rolled out to fly along the roadway leading to the Northern Rhodesian town of Bancroft. We had flown some distance when Dave Thorne radioed “Cheeky!” at the same moment I saw the black smoke ahead caused by fighting in Elizabethville. We did a smart turn about and retraced our route to Kasumbuleza.
It was only then that I realised that the road, power-lines and hills on the right side of the road from Kasumbuleza to Elizabethville looked exactly the same as those from Kasumbuleza to Bancroft. Considering there was no sun to give an automatic sense of direction, I had been remiss in relying on hills, road and power-lines without also checking my compass heading.
When out of radio range of Ndola Approach, we often switched over to the Elizabethville Approach Control frequency to listen in on UN aircraft chatter. We had heard ’Tiger formation’, four Indian Air Force Canberras, a couple of times before something unusual occurred one morning.
We had just switched over to listen to UN natter when Tiger Leader came up on Elizabethville Control, “Tiger, check-in.” Spontaneously the usual “Tiger 2”—“Tiger 3”—Tiger 4” check-in occurred. But this time it was immediately followed by “Tiger 5”—“Tiger 6”—“Tiger 7”—“Tiger 8”; all in typically Indian accents.
The formation leader, showing annoyance transmitted, “Tiger, do not be playing foolishly, check-in”, whereupon Tigers three to four were followed smoothly by the phantom Tigers 5 to 8. The leader obviously realised someone was interfering so he instructed his formation to QSY (change frequency) to their operational channel.
Next day Tiger Leader was bringing his formation back to base. Having come onto the Elizabethville Approach Control frequency the formation checked in normally and, sure enough, the phantom Tigers 5 to 8 checked in too. The leader ignored the interference and asked Elizabethville Approach for a QDM (heading to steer to base) whereupon the Approach Controller, another Indian voice, asked Tiger Lead for an unmodulated transmission. This is a radio transmission with no voice inclusion that allows the directional sensing apparatus to receive a smooth (unmodulated) carrier wave on which to sense.
As Tiger Leader transmitted, screeching in our headphones told us that a second aircraft was transmitting at the same time. The approach controller told Tiger his transmission had been blocked and asked for another unmodulated transmission. Again the screeching of an overlaid transmission disallowed the controller from establishing a heading for Tiger Lead to steer. His directional indicator needle would have been flicking randomly around its 360-degree dial.
This situation repeated itself a few more times before Tiger 2 told his leader he was low on fuel and breaking away for an independent recovery to base. In a relatively short time the obviously angry Canberra leader was on his own, the other Canberras having also broken formation. Two days later we heard Tiger Formation once more showing that all Canberras had made it safely back to base. By this time the 4 Squadron pilot responsible for interfering with Tiger Formation had been exposed and given a flea in the ear. He did not interfere with Tiger Formation again.
The Katangese forces were fighting the UN forces with all they had and one colourful French pilot’s exploits came to our notice. We knew him as Max and I only met him once. He operated a Twin-Dornier out of a small bush strip, Kipushi, whose 1,000-foot runway was half-inside Northern Rhodesia and half-inside Katanga Province. Most nights Max got airborne for his one-man air war against the UN. Crudely applied green and brown poster paint seemed to handle the rainy weather remarkably well and the camouflage effect was excellent. He employed crudely made bombs that were hand-dropped through an opening cut in the floor of his aircraft. Using the gas flame that emitted from its high stack at the Union Miniere copper-smelting plant near Elizabethville, Max made timed runs to drop two bombs off each pass across the blacked-out UN airbase. He ignored ineffectual searching ground fire and made run after run against unseen aircraft on the ground. His efforts were well rewarded; in particular the destruction of a UN Globemaster was high return for such crude and inexpensive effort.
When he could, Max drank at bars in Elizabethville where UN forces were present. What guise he employed I cannot say but his objective was to find out how his bombing had affected the UN air effort and to glean whatever other information he could. In doing this he befriended a helicopter technician who agreed to take him onto the airbase and show him over a small Bell helicopter. Max’s casual questions were answered and he found out how to start the machine. He then awaited an opportunity to steal it.
When the right moment came, Max started the engine and, never having flown a helicopter before, heaved the Bell into the air and wobbled and swayed into forward flight. There were no difficulties with the low-level bolt to the border and Kipushi airstrip. But landing a helicopter is no simple matter as Max found out when his attempt to hover for the landing ended in a big mix-up as rotor blades beat the airframe to destruction. Max survived the experience and was airborne again that same night in his Dornier to bomb UN planes.
On 18 December the instructors were released from Ndola to return to normal duties. Most of the flight back to Thornhill was in bright clear skies, which was wonderful after the awful weather around Ndola. However, this changed as we approached Thornhill where we had to make independent radar approaches through torrential rain in severe thunderstorms. Bulawayo and Salisbury were experiencing similar conditions so there were no question of a diversion. Flight Lieutenant Ron Vass directed me by radar to the point where I was handed over to the Precision Radar Controller whose voice I recognised as that of Squadron Leader Bat Maskell. Without hesitation I requested to be passed to Flight Lieutenant Mac Geeringh. As always Mac guided me right onto the runway whose lights I did not see until Mac instructed me to look up for touch-down.
Having just settled down in the crew-room with a cup of coffee, I received a call from OC Flying who asked why I had insulted Squadron Leader Maskell by asking for Mac for the final radar talk-down. I explained that there had been no intention of insulting anyone but that a few weeks earlier on an instrument let-down in clear sky conditions my student, reacting correctly to Bat Maskell’s directions, would have reached ground well to the right of the runway. The experience had badly affected my confidence in him. Mac Geeringh, on the other hand, had a very reassuring voice and a special way of coaxing a pilot down the glide slope. For me, this had always ended up smack on the runway centre-line. Considering the weather conditions during this let-down I needed this confidence. OC Flying was satisfied, I heard no more about the matter and my personal relationship with Bat seemed unaffected.
The return to Provosts and instruction after jet flying seemed boring but it had its rewards because Dave
