I had just hit the ground.
Shortly after Hermione had reached me, 2 of the farm workers
in a Land Rover arrived and took me (and I assume my parachute and the wretched
PSP) to the nearby farmhouse, Kirkmains.
I was greeted by Nancy Cowe, the farmer’s wife, and taken into the front
room. Nancy insisted I put my injured
foot on the best sofa, made tea and provided a telephone to call
Acklington. I got through to the Duty
Instructor in the Tower, Flight Lieutenant Tom Gilmore. “Ah Brown,” he said, “you’re on a Navex
aren’t you!”
This is how the flight ended:
And this was the result of the "Viper Cocktail:"
I smoked at the time but had been too obedient to the rules
to have gone flying with cigarettes and matches in my flying suit. Nancy was a non-smoker but recalled that she
had once given her husband a “Rizla” cigarette roller but that he had never got
the hang of it. Moments later she
returned with the roller, a packet of papers and a wallet of Golden
Virginia. I set about rolling myself a
cigarette – a skill I had mastered as a Boy Scout. It was hopeless. I seemed to have lost complete control of my
hands and strands of tobacco scattered everywhere (all over the best sofa)!
Shortly afterwards, a yellow Whirlwind helicopter from No
202 Squadron, also based at Acklington, arrived and ferried Phil and myself back
to Acklington. The helicopter was
equipped with a homing device which could detect the transmissions from the
“SARAH” location beacon which, together with its battery, was stowed in the Mae
West (life jacket). In a survival
situation, it was necessary to unpack the transmitter and activate it. To permit the homing pilot to discriminate
between multiple survivors, the transmitter gave out a discreet signal,
according one of a number of “colour coding” marks on the transmitter. I don’t think there was any procedure to
ensure that 2 pilots in the same aircraft chose different colours. Anyway, we had both chosen the same colour
so, if we had needed to be found, the rescue pilot might have had some
difficulty! Subsequently HQ Flying Training Command issued orders covering the
use of different coloured SARAH beacons by occupants of the same aircraft.
I telephoned my Mother, living in Morpeth at the time, to allay any worry she might have had with news reports of Acklington accidents. I explained that I had been obliged to jump out of my aeroplane but that, apart from a damaged ankle I was perfectly OK. "Oh dear," she said, "does everyone on the course have to do that?"
I cannot recall how I got to Ashington Hospital but I was in
and out very quickly with a plaster cast on my right ankle. I was returned to Station Sick Quarters and
put to bed. The Senior Medical Officer
(SMO) recognising that there may be some interest amongst my fellow Course members
said that I may be visited, but only by 2 or 3 at a time and only for a short
period. In the event, a large number of the
Course arrived, suitably equipped with crates of Newcastle Amber Ale (a staple
of the Mess Bar at the time). This was
all very jolly until, sometime later, when my visitors had departed, it was
necessary to visit the toilet. Not
wishing to alert the Duty Medic to our disregard for the SMO’s instructions, I
attempted to reach the lavatory unaided.
I failed, overturning the bedside trolley in the process. This alerted the Medic who provided the
necessary support and cleaned up the mess.
Nothing was said about the incident, probably because of my, somewhat,
celebrity status.
I spent the next few weeks in plaster, unable to fly and engaged
in all sorts of interesting things like “weeding” old files. The RAF had a filing system in which correspondence
records were, generally, filed by subject categorisation. After a certain time, files were “put away”
to an archive repository where they would be kept for many years. However, before being put away, local
procedures required that files be weeded for irrelevant or out of date
material. With my limited service
experience, I hadn’t the slightest idea of the relative importance of most documents
– which could be shredded and which should be archived – the signature of an
Acting Pilot Officer seemed to good enough, however! Fifty years later, when I was doing some
research for the Reunion Weekend to celebrate 50 Years since our graduation, I
visited The National Records Office at Kew.
I was dismayed to find that all records of RAF Acklington at the time
were, to say the least patchy. There was
a record of NAAFI opening times, a bus timetable to Ashington, and an Astra
Cinema programme but nothing much which recorded what was actually happening on
the Station at the time. Obviously,
another amateur weeder had done his work!
Service procedures required that there was an Inquiry into
the accident and I was interviewed by the President, a Squadron Leader I
think. In those days, we would “talk
through” the events first and then, formally write in freehand the statement. In talking through, I gave my verbatim
account of the conversation immediately before ejecting. “Should I eject?” “No, hang on a bit.” “OK,
off you go!” He listened patiently and
then wrote down – “my instructor ordered me to prepare to eject and then,
shortly afterwards gave the executive command ‘Eject’ ‘Eject.’” I signed accordingly!
We visited the Armoury and Survival Equipment bays to thank
the Airmen who had so diligently serviced the seats and packed the parachutes.
One of the face blind handles had been found but the other was missing. Accordingly, another handle had been provided
and, in a sort of “blind” tasting, I was invited to choose which handle I
wished to retain as a souvenir. I have
it to this day and it has a serial number and section and reference – but I
have never checked whether it is the real thing.
Shortly after, we received a personal letter from James
Martin CBE, Managing Director and Chief Designer of the Martin Baker Aircraft
Co Ltd and I became Life Member Number 664 of the Martin Baker Tie Club and the
Caterpillar Club. By an incredible coincidence,
the tail number of the Jet Provost was also 664!
I recorded in my Log Book that I had completed “0” landings
during the sortie but achieved one “Martin Baker Let-Down!”
On the morning of 5 November 1964, I attended Ashington
Hospital. “Go and have an x-ray and then
we will see about taking the plaster off,” I was told by one of the
Doctors. So, I went and had the plaster
taken off and then had the x-ray – fait accompli! I was a bit unsteady but pronounced fit. Shortly after lunch on the same day I was
airborne again in the charge of Flight Lieutenant Spencer in Jet Provost T Mk 4
XR643. My Log Book records the “duty” as
circuits and landings, steep and maximum rate turns, low flying, practice
forced landings and aerobatics. The only
thing I had difficulty with was taxiing because my right ankle was so weak. I
could not use the right brake to steer the aircraft so I was OK as long as I
didn’t need to turn right on the ground.
Despite my setback, I was allowed to catch up and to
continue with the rest of the course and, thanks to some superb individual
attention from a fantastic bunch of instructors, graduated with the rest of my
chums in April 1965. The formation phase was particularly memorable – I’m sure
the syllabus was greatly expanded to suit the instructors’ sense of fun,
particularly Wally Black.
Although my ankle was as good as new, I had a lot of trouble
with my back, having sustained a compression injury to my spine on ejection. I subsequently underwent a course of
treatment at Ely hospital which involved being “stretched” on a rack like
device. It was excruciating and I’m sure
other patients got better just to stop the treatment! All these years later, I still have
discomfort from sitting in the same position for long periods – 8 hours in a
Victor was agony (the fleece lined seat of the VC10 with frequent refreshment
provided was a different matter) and I’m sure I finished the Course shorter
than I started! Despite this, my Instructors expected me to go to Valley for
advanced training on the Gnat. The
potential danger of a second ejection was never discussed and I can honestly
say that it was not a factor in influencing my decision to opt for the multi-engine
advanced training at Oakington. I think
those seeds for large aeroplanes were sewn by my first Auster instructors at
Crosby on Eden – Bert Hodgson and Dave Daveko but more of that in another piece
in the future. Nevertheless, rather like
the film “Sliding Doors” I cannot help reflecting, from time to time, what
might have been my fate if I had opted for the other route? Perhaps I too would have found the attraction
of the magnetic lake on Anglesey? But better the bird in the hand – a 35-year
career which never felt like working and with never a dull moment! That’s to be very thankful for and thanks to
Martin-Baker for affording me the chance!
A little over a year later I was invited to a commemorative dinner at the Dorchester Hotel to honour Sir James Martin CBE and to celebrate the 1000th successful escape.
Forty-nine years on, I finally got round to accepting Sir
James' invitation to visit the factory.
This I did on 30 September 2014, 50 years since the accident. I had a very nice nostalgic day and was able
to find my name on the wall recording the chronology of successful escapes, now numbering several thousands.
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