This week’s photo is a fascinating little snap of a British paratrooper in training:
On his head this paratrooper wears the distinctive training helmet which had a large ring of sorbo rubber under a khaki drill cover with a pair of ear flaps come chin straps coming down either side:
This trainee also wears a khaki drill step in oversmock that appears to have been issued primarily to those training at Karbit in Egypt or the Indian Parachute School at Willingdon Airport, New Delhi:
It is often forgotten that many men trained to jump by parachute in both Egypt and India. Ted Tegg learnt how to parachute in India:
On joining the army, I was first posted to the Royal Berkshire Regiment, after going through Primary training in Ballykinlar in N.I. and subsequent Corp training in Colchester I was posted overseas to India, primarily to join the Royal Berks in Burma.
It was there that I volunteered to join the Parachute Regiment and was posted to Rawalpindi, which was the training centre at that time.
There followed 7-8 days of intensive ground training in which we learnt about the parachute, how it worked, how to use it and more importantly, how to land safely.
I think more time was spent on landing technique than any other aspect of the parachute, to ensure as far as possible, a safe landing on the ground.
The second week started with two acclimatization flights, to get us used to flying and to try and minimise the air sickness problem.
Carried out in Douglas Dakotas, mostly over some of the foothills of the Himalayas, these were pretty rough flights. The RAF were responsible for the entire training program and our instructors were two flight sergeants.
The first drops were made by two people going out on each circuit of the aircraft, jumping from a height of 800-1000ft and landing on the DZ (drop zone), which was a fair size ploughed field.
Nobody had any idea what the first drop would be like, and speculation was rife.
In the event, each person had his own experience.
My own experience on leaving the aircraft, was to blackout momentarily, not losing consciousness or feeling any sense of falling, but I did lose my sight.
All senses returned , when with a slight jerk, the parachute canopy opened.
The first thing we noticed was the almost complete absence of sound, but we all got a rocket, after we returned to Barracks, for shouting at each other on the way down.
The remaining drops, one on each day, were doubled up to 4,8,16 and so on until it reached 20.
Standing in line in the centre of the aircraft, we hooked up to the wire overhead and moved along with the left foot forward on each step.
We did a right turn on reaching the door, and placing the instep of your left foot over the edge of the door, you kicked out with your right foot.
Hitting the slipstream, you did the smartest left turn of your life (probably the reason for my blackouts), and glided downwards on your back, the parachute opening as it went, due to the static line pulling the parachute out of its pack.
We did two drops in one day, one of which was at night.
This was something different as the only light was four green lights, placed one at each corner of the DZ.
Trying to assess the direction of drift in these conditions was difficult, and it was almost the last minute before you could get any idea where you were going, but we did make it.
I think it was the 5th or 6th drop that things went wrong, and i almost had a serious accident.
Leaving the aircraft with the parachute opening in the usual way, or so i thought, i found that i could not move my head or control the parachute in any way.
the reason for this was that the lift webs, the four straps which connected the parachute rigging lines to the harness surrounding the body, had become crossed and was jamming my crash hat on my head.
Not being able to look down to the ground to assess my drift, together with the loss of control, i had to take pot luck on how I landed.
I didn’t realise at the time that I was descending far faster than normal, and landed in quite a heap, with the parachute all around me.
I was one of the last to leave the aircraft, but the first one to hit the ground.
A number of observers on the ground were watching the descents, as they were made, and an Officer and a Sergeant approached and asked if i was alright.
I was fairly shaken, due mostly to hitting the ground so hard, not being aware of any injuries at that time, the Officer said, “You had a pretty rough time on your way down, you had better have a look at your parachute.”
Between us we spread the canopy evenly over the ground, and what I saw was quite frightening.
The canopy is divided into 28 sections, each called a gore. Each gore is divided into four panels.
The damage consisted of the four panels in one gore, each being badly torn, and two others being similarly damaged, plus a number of small holes scattered here and there.
The parachute was then gathered up and taken to the edge of the DZ, where the Officer and Sergeant discussed the possible cause.
As far as I know, there wasn’t any enquiry into this accident, but i would assume the Officer would have made an appropriate report, if only to justify the damaged parachute, which was an obvious right off.
With training over, I was posted to the 16th South Staffs Parachute Battalion, part of the 44th Indian Airborne Division.
The back of the photograph indicates that this was taken at Tanai Fort ‘en-route for Manzai (and Delhi) from Wana. Wana was a fort in Waziristan whilst Manzai was in Baluchistan.
Note the British soldiers taking a breather around the armoured car, each is wearing khaki drill with Cawnpore style solar topees. Behind this armoured care are a four wheel and a six wheel truck:
And three further armoured cars:
Also in the picture is a dispatch rider’s motorcycle:
The armoured cars seem to be Crossley type cars rather than Rolls Royce designs. The domed turrets were particularly Indian in design and sported Vickers machine guns that could be slotted into four different sockets to provide all round fire. On top of each turret sits an armoured cupola for the car’s commander to sit in and control fire from. This example is preserved and on show at the Tank Museum in Dorset:
Even with armoured cars, these convoys could be perilous:
The column appears to be a light artillery unit and is entirely mounted, the officers leading on their chargers:
A small group of mounted troopers follows close behind:
Whilst the main column trails behind. There appears to be a succession of guns and limbers, each pulled by four or six horses, with the gun crews either riding pillion or on the limber itself:
The column stretches away into the distance, curving round behind the bridge and shrouded in dust from the horses’ hooves:
In the background a native village sits next to the road, its peaceful slumber rudely awoken by the passing troops:
Behind this column would have trailed a large gaggle of hangers on, everything from cooks and servants to prostitutes and acrobats, all trying to part the soldier form his cash. Marches typically set off early in the morning before the sun became too hot and an advance part was sent ahead of the main column to prepare the following night’s camp. The camp was usually pitched near a small village or town and by the time the slow moving column reached it, hot and dusty, it would be ready for them. Apart for a few sentries, most men were then free to relax and visit the shops if the settlement was small enough. Any large town usually led to an order to remain in camp overnight. The following morning the camp was squared away and the process repeated until the column reached its final destination.
The Festival Office’s resident designer, James Holland, considered that the vessel would “not convert easily into a showboat”, but with the massive demand for shipping to help rebuild Europe after the war, he and his colleagues felt lucky to have any ship at all.
Pat Kennedy toured the ship in Birkenhead:
The visiting of this ship to a port was clearly a major local event and the Eagle comic printed this helpful cutaway diagram of the exhibition ship for its readers:
Once the festival was over Campania was converted back into a naval role and helped support the early atom bomb testing at Bikini Atoll before finally being scrapped in 1955.
HMS Crane was launched in 1942 and was to become one of the longest lasting ships of her class with the Royal Navy, only being broken up in 1965. Initially she was allocated the pennant number U23, but post war she was re-designated F123, and it is with this pennant number she appears here:
The sloops were designed for convoy duty, but were larger and faster than corvettes. Each ship had six quick firing 4” guns in three twin turrets. One on the stern and two on the bow:
Like all small ships of her era, HMS Crane has an open bridge:
A tall mast sits behind the bridge with her various radar and communications antennae:
By the late 1950s she was very out of date and serving in the far east, as one sailor who joined HMS Crane in 1959 recalls:
The print represents Major General Hector MacDonald, a controversial character from the late Victorian army. He is in his full dress regalia as an aide de campe to King Edward VII:
This print was clearly framed around the time it was printed and may have hung in the mess of a regiment, it is an impressive and particularly large picture. He wears an impressive range of medals including the DSO and the aiguillettes of an Aide de Campe to the King. Hector MacDonald’s likeness is seen on a daily basis by millions of people who have no idea who he is. This is because he was the soldier who inspired the label on the famous Camp Coffee brand:
Hector MacDonald won the rare distinction of rising from the ranks to major general. The son of a crofter-mason, he enlisted as a private in the Gordon Highlanders at the age of 18. In 1879 Macdonald took part in the Second Afghan War, where he gained a reputation for resourcefulness and daring. By the end of the campaign, he was nicknamed “Fighting Mac” and promoted to second lieutenant. Returning to Britain by way of southern Africa, he saw action in the First Boer War (1880–81). At the Battle of Majuba Hill (Feb. 27, 1881) he was conspicuously courageous.
The men are clearly ratings, their caps being perched above the seating area:
By the 1950s most ships included a number of mess decks for their crews and although hammocks were still in use, more modern ships were beginning to have bunks and central areas with seating and tables where men could sit when off duty and play games, talk or generally relax. This photograph appears to be in the mess of a group of ratings who may have been stokers or other engineering ratings as one of the men is dressed in a boiler suit:
It is clearly somewhere in the tropics as two men are stripped to the waist, and at least one is wearing shorts:
That might explain why they seem to be enjoying their ice-cream cones so much! Despite the heat, it appears it might be Christmas as a row of cards is hung up on the bulkhead behind them:
As one would expect from the date, the men are all clearly smokers and packets of cigarettes and lighters can be seen on the table in front of them:
One interesting feature about the table is that it has a series of pull out ashtrays built into the edge of it, one of which can be seen open with a cigarette in it:
Life aboard ship in the 1950s, even with a ship’s mess for downtime, could be boring as recalled by Alfred Pickup: