In my last Summer at school I elected to visit the main RNAS station in Lossiemouth Scotland HMS Fulmar on a course. This was the home of many of the Fleet Air Arm’s training activities including the main strike weapon of the force the Bucanneer Jet. A sub sonic fighter that performed its task at tree top level. Skimming over the surface of the land or sea it would arrive at target climb steeply, drop its weapon then immediately return to the ‘privacy’s of low level flight. A brute to fly the mark One version was known to fall from the sky.
My colleague on the trip was Mac Noel an American from Connecticut USA. Mac was at the school for just 12 months as his Dad was in the US military and was advising on the build of a nuclear submarine at the Camell Laird ship yard in Birkenhead.
For all of the above reasons this ‘All American boy’ was very popular. He seemed to go out of his way to be a ‘nice guy’. On the journey to Scotland I was to learn that maybe the truth was a bit different.
Mac confided in me that his time in our school had been a trial. His Dad had insisted he show all things US in a good light and Mac had done as he was told. However on the way North Mac asked me to ‘let him be himself’ in the week ahead. He asked me to call him ‘Kurt’ ?? and he suggested some of his behaviours might surprise me but would be much closer to the real Mac than I had previously experienced. After two days I was all but to disown him !!!!
The base itself was fabulous. Wonderful aircraft everywhere. There were around 14 of us on the course. We all wore our fatigue uniforms on a day to day basis but for our ‘official tour of the base’ conducted by a Chief Petty Officer, we had our best uniforms on. Standing out in the mix were two young men from Edinburgh who looked absolutely magnificent. They wore tartan trousers, not kilts, all the rest of their uniform was just magnificent to uphold. The CPO noticed them immediately. “Ah’ he said “I see standards will be high welcome to HMS Fulmar gentlemen” These two were members of their school CCF, like us, but their sponsoring regiment was the famed ‘Black Watch’.
The Hangars with their various flying machines were awe inspiring. The gym had everything you could possibly want and then more. The officers mess was magnificent with ‘silver service’ as standard for dinner. The ratings mess (canteen) was incredible. Self service there were all sorts of different service bars. Salad/pasta/curry on and on and this was in 1978 mind! We watched as a group of ratings toasted the Queen and ‘spliced the mainbrace’. (The then traditional naval tradition routed in sailing ships of drinking a tot of rum at lunchtime!!). Best of all where ever I looked there were some of the prettiest women I had ever seen. They say women love a man in uniform well this boy loved a woman in uniform. No pilots then but many of them were engineers. Passing massive flying machines a pretty head would emerge from the workings of the beast. We were a ‘bit of young’ I suppose and they had great fun flirting with us.
On the first night The CPO announced a manoeuvre which was geared so we ‘potential recruits’ (oh that was why the course was run) could bond with each other. We were loaded on a bus and taken to the nearby seaside town of Elgin. On the beach a number of tents were set and a fire was burning. We were given some steaks to cook and left on our own. The light Scottish evening gave no sense of time but soon we were cooking our steaks. Mac or Kurt was suddenly way more assertive that I had seen him before. He of course knew his way around a barbecue but I had never heard the sort of negative barbs he was throwing around before coming out of his mouth.
Around 8:30 there was an alarming development. A group of around 25 local youths had gathered near our camp and they began to throw stones at us. Now I was born in Liverpool and I confess to being a bit more reluctant to be bullied than most but in this case I was genuinely concerned. The odd stone became a hail and finally one boy was hit cutting his eye. One of the Black Watch boys took charge. He ordered us to form up in line of threes. The stoning halted for a few seconds. With the second Black watch at his side and Mac (Kurt Noel) making up the front rank we confronted the intruders. The first BW raised his arms to the skies and spread his legs. He was over six foot tall. The Second BW mimicked the stance as did Mac. With a blood curdling roar number one let out a cry. ‘Come Away The Black Watch’. He ordered us to start moving slowly at first. Left, right, left right he barked as we advanced towards the gang. The stoning now stopped it was possible to discern that the rabble were having second thought as some moved backwards to hide behind their mates. The pace increased and with perhaps 25 yards to go the order ‘CHAAARGE” was given. We broke into a run and as we did the gang turned a headed off in full retreat. The BW leader hurled some oaths and threats then ordered us to stop. We watched the fleeing rabble laughing and in my case anyway relieved. One man did not heed the call to stop. Mac Noel chased a youth down and I watched from a far as he pounded punches into his body. Oh dear! At that moment I decided that I would distance myself from Mac. He clearly was not at all the way he seemed. One message was clear however “Don’t Mess with The Black watch”
Day two started bright and early we went to the ‘Kit place’. I was issued a flying suit, mae west and best of all a white Flying helmet. The helmet had a visor on it in smoked glass with a protective cover. The orderly threatened us with all sorts of consequences if we scratched the thing. We arrived at an area of the airfield where several Wessex Whirlwind helicopters were parked. Enormous ungainly beasts whose role was to rescue downed pilots on land and sea. A group of grinning WRNS greeted us.
Every military airfield, apparently, has a ‘reserve station’ nearby , usually about six miles away. In the event of an attack planes will divert to the reserve station in order to land safely.
One of the Helicopters engines growled into life and 4 boys were loaded aboard. As we entered the craft we were given a basket by one of the WRNS. The beast took off. It was beyond noisy even with the benefit of the noise cancelling in built earphones. We were plugged into the internal intercom and a rating sat in the open hatch looking unbelievably cool as we gained height. Soon we were moving away from the airfield. This was the first time I had flown by the way and I was more than a bit uneasy as the mighty beast lurched along. We gained height perhaps a couple of thousand feet and soon we could see the ‘reserve station’ below us. There came next a cruel trick. Via the intercom we were ordered to ‘look up’ as we did so the rating pointed to the roof of the helo. Suddenly the engine note dropped and with it the mighty bird. It seemed to plummet like a wild fairground ride before levelling up much closer to the ground. One cadet turned white I was summoned to move forward toward the rating. We were perhaps 200 feet up, I dont know but it looked a long way done. I had a sort of sling passed over my head and around my armpits-you know the drill. The rating sort of wrapped himself around me and the which swung out and down we went. On the ground the rating barked an order. I was still clutching my basket. ‘You will have around 15 minuets to fill that basket with mushrooms’ he said ‘ no fill no ride back’. ‘The walk back is six miles’. I watched as he moved back up to the helicopter which moved to another part of the airfield to drop the next cadet and I got picking. After about 20 minutes the Helo returned and the pilot came down toward me its rotor wash making me unsteady on my feet. I was ordered, by sign language, to show my basket-thankfully it was nearly full. The mighty beast rose up to its ‘hover height’ again, the rating descended before we were both winched back up.
Back at the main airfield a rather excited group of ratings were received of their booty and later that evening out side the ratings mess was a table with small punnets of ‘field mushrooms’ -‘2 shillings and sixpence each’ marked on an honesty box.!!
Day three was amazing. The Bucaneer aircraft had two crew. the pilot, who sat in the front, and an Observer. In effect The Observer was in charge because although this plane had all sorts of issues it was at the very edge of technology at its time. The plane had nuclear capability!! The Observer sat behind the pilot working all sorts of wizardry. One draw back we were were told about was that The Observers forward vision was limited and coupled with omni present ‘tree top turbulance’ as the plane skimmed the earths surface Observers would become airsick. It was a fact of life. The Observers were trained on an Otter Sea Prince. The fuselage of the training planes was fitted out with 4 stations that mimicked the rear seat of the Bucanneer. Training missions were flown with trainee Observers being set all sorts of scenarios that might encounter when in action. There were three trainee Observers on the flight. I was in the rear train pod. As we got on the plane I noticed one thing. The seat had a sort of large hole at the bottom of the back panel. The three trainee Observers had parachutes filling the hole. I did not.
My second flight and off we went. Everyone was very busy and I plugged my helmet into the intercom. As the pane gained height the first of many messages came across the airways. “Otter1 Otter 1 Lossie Tower. Bandits 25 Miles North East compass reading XYZ Intercept and identify” was the order or very similar.
The plane itself was twin engined and the weather was stormy and the plane ,moved all over the place. I could not see out and soon I wished more than anything else this ordeal would be over. Alas no it lasted over three hours.
My reflection we were over Norway when the Port Engine spluttered and died. One of the trainee Observers reported the event to Lossie Tower registering position etc. I became alarmed but I kept trying to assure myself this was a ‘training exercise’. Minutes later the Starboard engine followed suit. There was a silence, an eerie silence and the plane started to descend very slowly at first but then uncomfortably quickly. I clutched the arms of my chair. ‘MayDay MayDay MayDay’ was the radio message. ‘Otter One Otter one position something North something West preparing to bail out’. Oh my goodness me I was in total total panic mode. I desperately looked around for a parachute but as I had already scoured the plane for one unsurprisingly none appeared. Then music, sweet music, first the port, then the starboard engine coughed into life. The Otter levelled out and we headed home. It was a training exercise it was!. Climbing out of the plane I was totally relived but that experience stayed with me because for years afterwards flying caused me all sorts of concerns.
The final day was also memorable as we were to watch the English Electric Lightning perform its party piece. We also saw two entire squadrons of Bucaneers, fully laden, who were off to foreign parts on a train mission, take off. To see a formation of these beasts waiting far away down the main runway was a sight to behold. As their engines fired up we first of all saw the smoke and seconds later heard the roar. The whole lot rolled forward together straining to gain speed on a windless evening. At last like some swarm of prehistoric monsters the planes slowly lifted from the ground. We were in perfect position to watch sitting as we were in a bunker by the side of the runway. As the lead aircraft rose up I swear its pilot looked across at us and raised his thumb. Awesome!!
Mac Noel, who due to a whole series bad behaviours I had now disowned, did not return to school as his Dad’s time in Birkenhead was over so I never saw him again. The trip was memorable and as I returned home I formed a view that maybe a service life in the Fleet Air Arm was a possibility. Over time I really became enthused about the idea. In truth the first time in my life I could see a way forward in terms of career. Unfortunately several months later massive cuts in the service were announced and I shelved the plan. Every time I saw a Buccanner however I would regail all around me with its qualities, drawbacks and performance capabilities. Does anyone remember the Torry Canyon incident and the bombs that failed to detonate- another story.!
My round naval cap had the words Birkenhead School CCF in gold writing on it. Having taken part on this course, and passed (not sure what we actually passed but heh) from that day onwards I was allowed to develop my ‘cool’ in front of other boys. My cap bore the identifying logo HMS Fulmar.
Tales of a Life Well Lived 