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Dirty Down South. Premium Videos. Searches Related to "south auckland". He also learnt a lot of marching drills, would you believe! Flying this single-seater, single-engined aircraft, capable of speeds of knots, meant these were exciting times for my father. His rank was now pilot officer. A typical day at Pembrey was as follows: 7 a. The flag was made of canvas and as there were three students shooting at the same flag, the shells were covered in different colours so that should the bullets hit the flag it left a particular colour. This made it possible at the end of the training session to determine how many direct hits had been made by which pilots.
My father loved it, and at the time of leaving he had the. At the end of the shooting my father would return to base to clean up. A single-engined, single-seater, swept-wing plane, it could achieve supersonic speed in a dive — an exciting first. The plane had to be put into a vertical dive at knots.
Despite the myth, passing through the supersonic boom did not result in a peaceful calm for the pilot but as you pulled out of the dive you did experience incredible G-forces. For 18 months they were. He asked to be reallocated to the RAF transport division — many of his flying peers considered such a move madness. Coincidentally, at the time the British Overseas Airways Corporation BOAC , the state airline, was trying to revive the fortune and lives of the first passenger jet, the Comet.
A series of airline accidents one on takeoff and one in mid-air due to metal fatigue caused by pressurisation meant the Comets were now being taken out of service to be strengthened. After being rebuilt, they were handed to the RAF to test the redesigned planes on longer routes and volunteers were to asked to fly as co-pilots with Comet Squadron, which was based at Lyneham in Wiltshire, west of London. Dad spent nearly two and a half years at Linton flying the Hunter, a more powerful plane than the Sabre, practising landings two or three times a day, as well as gunnery practice.
Winters, however, were a different story with periods of up to six months being snow bound. In these dark and dreary months there was little to do. Not surprisingly, my father became a bit depressed that after all this effort he found himself cooped up and facing a future that was now appearing rather meaningless — his career path was likely to be squadron pilot then perhaps one day base commander, neither of which my father found at all appealing. At this stage my father was nearing 30 years old and he spent a further two and a half years travelling the world carrying military support staff for the H-bomb tests to Christmas Island in the Pacific, and to Woomera airbase in South Australia, where the British also detonated the H-bomb.
The Comet had a limited range of only miles, which consequently meant many stops. These were fun times for my father and included travelling to such exotic destinations as Greenland.
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A letter to my father from his mother Geraldine. My father, A. Jones, R. Jones, D. Kenyon, A. Austin, J. My father thought it quite funny to fly with oxygen masks in a Tigermoth. In those days he used to get around in a three-wheeled Messerschmitt which he used to drive on occasion to London. He found this twoseater to be a very underpowered vehicle. Dad applied for command on a Hastings at Changi airbase, Singapore. He spent two and a half years there, flying Hastings on military operations transporting military personnel from as far as Cyprus in the west to Honolulu in the Pacific and all ports in between, including Aden, Christmas Island and Hong Kong, to name a few.
After 12 years of flying for the RAF his contract was now up; he was given the option of staying for the rest of his working life or accepting demobilisation. Working for the RAF had been good for my father, taking him all over the world, from Christmas Island to Gan in the Maldives to Aden in Yemen, where on a stopover he had joined the flight engineer and the captain for a walk down to the port. Spying some rock mussels my father, being a good Kiwi lad, indulged in a few. Hours later he was so stricken with gastroenteritis that he had to be stretchered onto the plane back to England.
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He had seen a unique world, one on the brink of discovery of the technological age, where air travel had brought the world together and where no corner was too far or inaccessible. At this stage my father was. Dad returned to Singapore to rejoin his family and for his new job at Malaysia Air Charter, an inter-city, inter-township charter firm servicing the Malaysian peninsula, East Malaysia and Singapore on light aircraft, including old Cessnas as well as an old Lockheed.
He had had to requalify as a civil pilot; it was as if his previous career had amounted to nought. These were good times for Dad.
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He enjoyed life in Singapore, and, with the arrival of Wenda, he now had two children. At the end of my father was based in Semporna on the island of Borneo for six months, flying Cessnas and moving general freight. However, after an altercation with the owner over unpaid perks and bonuses, Dad left to work in Vietnam. The new job was for a Singapore company, flying from Saigon to airfields and airstrips throughout the delta and east coast to the western Vietnam border transporting light freight, management and personnel.
The job lasted only three months, as an application he had put in with Cathay Pacific two years previously was acknowledged and an interview offered. My father was excited at the prospect of flying for Cathay Pacific, a fledgling airline formed after the war which, with the growth of the Asian economies, had enormous possibilities. My father is in the front row in the middle. The Comet transport plane my father flew. Early Comets were to be plagued with metal fatique and literally fell out of the sky. My father, my grandmother Geraldine, my aunty Charente, my uncle Keith, my grandfather Dick and my cousin Abigail.
Dad was offered a position, and flew Convair s, which could accommodate up to passengers, followed by the Boeing in which he received his command as captain after three years. Flights took him as far west as London and as far east as Vancouver, with numerous places in between — Dad saw it all. The next few years were restless ones for my father. We moved to lavish accommodation in the countryside of Shatin where now an enormous city exists. My father employed a string of housekeepers to look after his children in his absence.
These were fun times and I recall many parties at our house with its enormous pool and amazing gardens. After a few years in Shatin we moved nearer Mongkok to be closer to the airport and the local school. My father advertised for a new housekeeper and a young Susanna Kwok applied for the job; this was to change both their lives as she and my father became husband and wife on 5 July A year age gap and a cultural divide made the early years of married life difficult for everyone involved, including their children, but 36 years later they seem to have something special.
Collectively known as the Revolutions of , they heralded the end of the Soviet Union two years later. Connells over the years having spent many a day and night casting into the Hinemaiaia just below the power station. I remember lying on the banks, miserably cold, as my dad would work the pools one by one, and he never failed — he was the best trout fisherman and I was immensely proud.
We arrived at a large pool to find three frustrated fishermen; the fish could be seen but none was biting we were told. Dad motioned me to take a seat so he could take his turn in the line of hopeful fishermen.
I will never forget seeing him catch four fish in the pool, much to the bewilderment of the other men, and as his son I was glowing with pride. My father had been extremely lucky, but I am not sure he really knew it or appreciated it. For the next few years he enthusiastically followed his passion for trout fishing, but over time even that waned.
One can only play for so long before one tires of it. My father and I would make trips from time to time to his favourite spot, Hatepe, at the mouth of the Hinemaiaia River, roughly halfway between Turangi and Taupo. Hatepe holds special place in the hearts of the Connell family, with so many. It generates enormous tsunami waves, and the death toll in 14 countries exceeds , There was always a trout in the freezer in those days — and a story.
However, once when coming home as Dad drove into the garage the fish had worked its way forward so when he went to press the brake pedal the trout impeded its progress; needless to say it was an expensive fish.
As Dad grew older his ability to take on some of the more arduous treks to rivers became too much for him. We resigned to sitting at the tailrace at Tokaanu trying our luck. I managed the rod while Dad reeled in the fish; it was our first joint fish — we had a good laugh that day. As a child I always found it a cold and damp place, but my father loved it, and one morning he returned with a pound brownie.