The 81st Entry
RAF Halton Aircraft Apprentices
Sept 1955 - July 1958

ISSUE No. 4 - AUGUST 2005
81st ENTRY NEWSLETTER
Editor: Mike Stanley

'Active Service!!!! but still in Paradise'' by Brian Spurway The Continuing Adventures of......

Certainly there are members of our illustrious Entry who, during their Service careers, had reason to visit RAF Gan; John Gornall, I know, was stationed there as a Cpl/Sgt from '66 to '67 and, much later, Derek Liddell did his stint. Others will have staged through when it was in full swing as a staging post. but it's quite likely that my arrival in August '59 was our first.

One could not help but be impressed in those early days when the airfield was still being built. It truly was a tropical "Paradise", the most southerly of islands on the most southerly Maldivian Atoll, gleaming white in the tropical sun, palm trees spreading their shade (and the occasional falling coconut) on pristine beaches lapped by the warmest of gentle waves from within the bluest of blue lagoons. The southern side of the island swept by the Indian Ocean with breakers that could be seen from almost anywhere one chose to stand, the highest point one could stand alleged to be only six feet above sea level and who was I to disagree? Yeh!! Well so much for the holiday brochure bit of this tale.

The runway was pretty much complete running East/West from shore to shore and gleaming coral white, the large aircraft dispersal was receiving its finishing touches and looked capable of accommodating all of Transport Command not just the occasional transit aircraft. A company called Costains had the building contract with a labour force of Pakistanis; there seemed to be hundreds of them working plant and driving around in totally corroded Comet (made by Leyland I think) lorries; the salt air, coral sand, and rain, had literally rusted the body work away leaving just chassis and enough cab to drive from. Come knock-off time this horde of workers disappeared to their compound on the far side of the island and we saw neither hide nor hair of them 'till morning.

Permanent accommodation was being built, some maybe was being used, but transients like we three throw-outs from Changi were given the dregs which amounted to sharing a Kadjan, nothing short of a woven palm leaf hut and a rusty corrugated-iron roof, with a gang of aerial erectors who were there to build the HF site on an island called Hittadu (on the other side of the lagoon from Gan). We were six to a room, each of us with minimal locker space and a bed complete with mossie-net….Oh, and a pump type mossie-spray.

Whoever thought the resident mosquitoes would be put off by the nets or killed by the spray had got it all very wrong, believe me the sound of two Merlins at full chat had nothing on a single Gan mosquito inside one's net. Air conditioning, well the breeze did its best and had plenty of holes to get through (as did the rain, more about that later), electric fan maybe, not a chance mate you're in transit!

Running along most of the southern side of the island between the beach and the Kadjans were the fuel pipes so the smokers had their NOSMOKING signs to obey, or surreptitiously ignore; with the price of NAAFI fags, that must have been quite a problem for them.

Other than the officers, who I think had their own facility somewhere near the fuel tanks, messing (also consisting of woven palm leaf huts) was combined for grub but had separate bar areas as the SNCOs' Mess, the Cpls' Club and the NAAFI. There was an outdoor(ish) cinema, rather like an American drive-in affair without the Buick and the willing companion, that was full for every show. Thinking back I seem to recall that there was something on there nearly every night, and what was there to do otherwise except top up the Tiger level and read, yet again, the girlfriend/wife/whoever's letter that had arrived on the last 48 Sqn Hastings about a fortnight ago.

Not yet twenty-one and a confirmed bachelor (if only I'd known that within fourteen months the latter definition would be gone for ever) I did not fully appreciate the absolute bloody hell that the married unaccompanied, or just seriously committed, guys were going through, but to say that some were seriously affected by their separation is a complete understatement; for anyone who had such misfortune…."Respect man!".

Our old Dak flew recce. trips most days and our aircrew encouraged us to go along with them, I was all for that and went as often as I liked. We flew North, always brilliantly clear weather with unlimited viz, at about five thousand feet looking for the anticipated arrival of the Maldivian Government "fleet" that was threatening British interests in the area. Shortly after our arrival at Gan a RN destroyer, HMS Cavalier (incidentally now in dry-dock at Chatham as the RN's only surviving WW2 destroyer), had arrived and laid anchor in the lagoon; she was replaced during our time there by HMS Caprice. The simple plan of operations was that the Dak would locate the "enemy"and radio back to Gan, the destroyer would then go and encourage them to turn round and sail home. With no restrictions on low-flying the Dak could, well sort of anyway, descend and try a bit of gentle persuasion itself and ………!!

I never did like Bronco (should mean something to all of us, and thank God for soft tissue paper) so given the ability to throw some rolls away whilst airborne was just great, and carefully thrown, at the speed we flew, they made damn good streamers. Occasionally the Nav popped off a time-expired Very cartridge to add to the awe inspiring streamers pouring out of the big silver bird, so we can safely assume that the occupants of the Buggaloes (big ones) and Dhonies (little ones) making up the fleet must have been scared "sh**less" (or maybe just couldn't stop laughing); a big grey warship bristling with guns bearing down on them at 35 knots was nothing compared to what the RAF had to offer.

I've been lucky enough in my flying career to see many amazing things from the air but, for pure beauty and colours, little compares to the Maldivian chain. The same can be said for that part of the world at ground (or sea) level too; there can be little so peaceful as sitting on a lump of cauliflower coral immersed in incredibly clear warm sea water breathing through a snorkel marvelling at the colours, and shapes, of fish and coral for almost as far as the eye can see.

This was daytime activity when not flying and the good old Queenie was paying me for doing it, just how lucky can you get? Then, with hardly a warning, the sky goes grey (even black) and it rains……more like being under Niagara Falls than in just a rain storm….and the lightning flashes (you've never heard thunder like it)….and within seconds that beautiful "Paradise" becomes a flood area and you remember the pair of shoes and some KD you left on the Kadjan floor…..the rain stops as quickly as it started and the old humidity creeps up along with more frogs than you ever thought could exist worldwide popping out from their hidey-holes. That's the tropics for you and I can honestly say I loved it, both there on the island and everywhere else I had the good fortune to be in the Far East until repat. in '62.

Time was rolling on and we had been at Gan long enough, replacements, aircraft and bods, were soon to arrive and we were to return to Changi. Little did I know then that I was to return on numerous occasions and would eventually, on 26 March '76, be the Flight Engineer on the last RAF Hercules to visit Gan. The following day the RAF handed the airfield, lock stock and barrel, to the Maldivians and the only one of our Entry I know to have returned since, albeit as a tourist, is (once again) John Gornall.

Further nostalgia can be obtained by singing 'The Gan Song' says Webmaster Willie