Chapter 9
1958 – 59
A Touch of the Trans-Atlantics
About
this time my Chief Technician
promotion came through (three tapes upside down with a crown on top), so on
arrival in America I became an 
honorary Master Sergeant.
We were all given our equivalent American
rank’s pay – rather more than our British
pay.
The RAF had not yet started the regular flights to the States so a large group
of us found ourselves boarding the French Line ship, Flandre. The sea was rough
that October
(’58) and instead of all that wonderful French food I
spent my week aboard in a
deckchair nibbling dry biscuits. A couple of nights in the Governor Clinton
Hotel opposite the Grand Penn Station, wandering into Broadway and a few bars
and on an American civil airline to
Davis Monthan USAF Air Base at Tucson,
Arizona.
The main trades on the Thor were
Engine/airframe, Guidance, Control, Ground electricians and the elite group, MSATs (Missile System Analyst Technicians (emsats for short) – missile
pronounced as in mistle thrush, to which Arthur and I were placed with ten
others. We covered the whole system for fault finding. The Americans, of
course, had complete control over nose-cones and warheads
At Tucson we were training in classrooms and on
missile parts along with American airmen (USAF) and we were a little
apprehensive as to the relative abilities. We need not have worried. My
particular RAF trade of Instrument Fitter for, example, involved various
autopilots (big planes), auto stabilisers (fighters), all types of gyroscopic,
magnetic and combination compasses, air and ground computers (mostly mechanical
then), drift meters, bombsights, etc. All these were split into four or five
different trades by the Yanks. In our weekly tests at Tucson the USAF guys
generally gained just above the pass mark of 60% whereas most of
our lads were
getting 80 - 90%. This can only be due to the excellent selection process and
training methods at our RAF technical schools.
The
missile body and control was by the Douglas Aircraft Corporation, engine by
Rocketdyne, guidance by the AC Sparkplug Company and the nosecone and nuclear
bomb, no doubt, by Old Nick Himself. The nosecone was not as one might
expect, a sharp, pointy, streamlined thing but had a very blunt shape (see
drawing above) made of 4
inch (10cms) thick copper which melted (ablated) as it rapidly slowed the
warhead. The basic plan was as the drawing above. It is off the secret list now, fifty
years later and if you want precise details then visit the space centre at
Leicester or the Cold War Exhibition at Cosford, Shropshire.
Thor was an ICBM - Intercontinental Ballistic Missile –
'ballistic' simply means it
works like a bullet, once it leaves the end of the gun it is on its
own. The
whole rocket is fired along a fairly straight trajectory for a couple of hundred
miles and with slight adjustments to ensure it is going at the right speed and
direction, retro rockets are fired which slow the main body and allows the nosecone to
continue on its own, like a bullet, for the rest of its maximum distance of 1500
miles (2500 kms). One interesting aspect, designed to simplify the maths and
control resulting from the Coriolis Effect (the force that supposedly makes
water swirl one way down the plughole) due to the rotation of the earth. To
keep this constant, all flights took 20 minutes irrespective of distance; i.e.
for shorter distances, the Thor was simply fired higher to take up the time.
Navigation for earthbound vehicles, cars, boats, planes, in spite of the earth's
curvature is, for all practical purposes, two dimensional; the two dimensions
being direction and distance, i.e. measured with compass, clock, sun, stars,
gyroscopes, logs and knots on string. Once you start adding vertical
distance, things start getting a little more complicated and Inertial Navigation
fits the bill.
The guidance system is the
part of rockets (and space ships) that has changed th
e
most. The one metre diametre ball contained a platform on
gimbal rings that was stabilised by three large gyroscopes (pay attention, I
will say this only once). On the platform were three smaller gyroscopes acting as
accelerometers, altogether a couple of hundredweight (100 kgs). Computing
was in its infancy and tended to be analogue and mechanical rather than digital
and electronic. This meant that integrating acceleration t
o
give speed, then integrating that to get
distance along the x, y, z (pronounced zee in American)
axes to give position was all done with small motors, lead screws and variable
resistors. The latest
guidance systems use vibrating reeds instead of rotary gyros. Now that I know a
little biology I realise that these reeds are identical with the ones on certain
flies shoulders. Catch a crane fly in the autumn and look near the base of the
wings with a loupe lens. They are called haltares and have been in use
for millions of years for the same purpose. No doubt earth bound rockets now
use the GPS method.
After half a century, nothing written above could be called secret. It was
not really secret at the time although we, of course, had to sign the ‘secrets
register’. The only truly secret knowledge was the target setting (which
could easily be guessed, anyway) and the ‘red phone signal, to lift off’ time.
As we shall see later, this was probably known too, as we knew their
capabilities. It was really just a big game of poker or ‘liar dice’.
Technicalities apart, there was a new country to investigate. Arizona was
cowboy country with very few cows. Guns
were allowed as long as they were in view. Our tutor was a gun nut and
came in one day with a bandaged lower leg. Practising quick
draws for a competition he had put one through his calf. Almost
unbelievably he came in the following day with two sticks and a bandaged foot.
Tucson (to Jim it was always Tuckson) is surrounded by the Sonoran desert, home
of the Papago Native Americans and the Saguaro (pronounced Sawaro) cactus.
These monsters grow only here and in Mexico. They were becoming so battered by sharp-shooters that they are now 
a
protected species. The desert was also home to ratt
le-snakes, poisonous Gila (Heela)
monsters (18” - 45cms. lizards), large hairy spiders and tumble-weed. These latter plants were quite spooky at night as they rolled silently along to pile up
against the camp’s chain-link fence.
Papago women collecting Saguaro
fruit. Ted >
We spent most of our time on camp as it had plenty
of entertainment with its social clubs, cinema, bars, etc. The main difference
with the RAF camps was the eating arrangements. . The RAF has the three ‘free’
messes, Men's, NCOs' and Officers'. All USAF personnel were paid a ration
allowance and meals were bought as required. There was the consolidated mess
which catered for all ranks, this was cheap and usually used by all ranks for
breakfast and sometimes lunch. It was not unusual to find a table with the
officer, NCOs and men at breakfast discussing the coming day’s work. Then there
were the Officer’s, NCO's and Airmen’s clubs, all quite plush affairs with
restaurant quality food and good entertainment at weekends. Our weekends were
usually spent at the NCO club until the bars closed about 2am then off to the
bowling alley outside camp. Here we would play for a few hours, have a couple
more drinks and breakfast before staggering back to sleep half of Saturday
before the fun started again.
The American airmen were overtly patriotic and would not mak
e jokes against
their own country. In the consolidated
mess was a huge mural of the iconic, "Raising the Flag on Iwo Jima". On the juke
box was a recording of "The Battle of
New Orleans", where the Americans chased out the
Brits. When we first started going into the mess, someone would put it on with
much giggling and looking our way. We sorted that one out by going straight to
the juke box ourselves and putting it on first. They simply could not understand this.
They were even more baffled when we explained that the singer was our own Lonnie Donegan.
We were able to use the PX or Post Exchange on camp, a well stocked supermarket
with reasonable prices. Although we were away for Christmas, our children back
home did very well for toys.
Christmas was much the same there as here; too much to eat and drink but I was
also spending a lot of time (being led astray might be a better description)
with Jim and he, being a Scot (and me a half Scot) we decided to do New Year in
style. There was a seven hour time difference, midnight at home, 5pm at
Tucson. We had arranged to celebrate by getting our drinks at the NCO club bar
just before five, feed the juke box and put on “Ould Lang Syne”. Unfortunately
the bar staff changed at five and it was touch and go. Drinks in hand, we
rushed to the juke box, fumbled the keys and got “Home on the Range”; but it set
the pattern for the evening. More of the ‘colonials’ joined in the game as we
celebrated New Year in Iceland, Greenland, Brazil, etc. as midnight reached each
time-zone. Tucson became just one more staging post as, by now Hogmanay, moved
on to California and beyond with “Ould
Lang Syne” repeated at every zone; stopping only at the International Date-line.
I became
friendly with Isabel and Otis Parish, who often visited the NCO Club (Otis was
ex USAF), and often went out with them and was even allowed to drive their '65
Chevvy (Chevrolet) as I did when we went to Mexico.
Tucson was only about sixty miles (100 Kms) north of Nogales town which
straddled the Mexican border. The American side was typical US style with
modern fuel stations, burger bars and neat housing whilst just through the
chain-link fencing there were adobe houses, Mexicans wearing big sombreros and
ponchos and every other shop a bar selling every known liquor in US one gallon
bottles (nearly 4 Lts.). Also wandering from bar to
bar were the 'Little Fat Trumpeters';
so named by Jim, of course.
There were 7 or 8 with guitars and trumpets with one accordionist.
"Fascination" was popular at the time and it comes to mind, Mexican style, every
time I think of Nogales. It was usual for the US locals to ride down, cross into
Mexican Nogales and buy to
p quality hooch for half the home price. The
allowance was one gallon per person so we went with families and really stocked
up for them.
Tombstone was also down that way and so we visited the OK Coral, the Opera
House, bought the newspaper dated Oct 26th 1881 –“Three killed in
gunfight at OK Corral”. There was also Old Tucson built by the film studios
where many Westerns were made.
One unusual occurrence while we were at Tucson was the snowstorm that hit
southern Arizona in December 1958, which laid down six inches (15 Cms.)
of snow in the area. Three Scouts died in the mountains and motorists,
some of whom had never seen snow, took their vehicles out and
were practising skids and spins on the otherwise empty roads.
The fact that the RAF lads, generally, found the course not too difficult
resulted in a few of us not taking life too seriously. Jim and I became a
little notorious for our production of poems, prose, drawings and new words of a
decidedly non-technical nature. Some items we wrote individually but often
one of us would write something and pass it to the other for comment. For
those of a delicate constitution I suggest you pass over the next page. I
do not think it is suitable as a play for puppets.
Jim’s contribution is in blue, mine is in Green.
Minutes of the meeting held in the
boardroom of the
“Polythene Ball-Cock Company Limited”,
2/1/59
Chairman
Ladies and Gentlemen – the reason for this extraordinary meeting is that we have
come to a moment of crisis in the company’s affairs. An immediate decision is
required on the issue, “Should we go all out for polythene cocks for the
Saudi-Arabian market or should we concentrate on flooding
Afghanistan with
polythene balls? A decision must be made today. Comments, please.
Warehouse Chief Before any decision is made I would like to inform those present that the
problem is complicated by the fact that our stocks consist mainly of African
type cocks and Japanese type balls. As you know, African cocks are much larger
and have an extra orifice, whilst Japanese balls have a lower specific gravity.
Projects Engineer
I feel sure this could be overcome. I well remember a similar situation some
years ago when we had a rush order for shelaleh shaped cocks for Ireland.
It was a race against time, for we had to meet the order for St. Patrick’s Day.
All we
had in stock at the time were some of our special hand-wrought, inlaid
balls for Iran.
How to
make a cock
from an inlaid ball? That was our problem. I’m sure you must all remember how the
charge hand in the finishing shop came up with the idea of kneading and cajoling the balls under a high pressure jet of hot ravioli.
I’m sure we’ll win through this time as well.
Designer Agreed on that occasion we did win through but we must remember that balls and
cocks are designed for their respective purposes and efficiency will be lost if
their roles are interchanged. Besides, I take great exception to having my well
designed balls covered with hot ravioli.
Anxious Lady Shareholder
It’s all very well for you to argue over the technicalities of cocks and balls
but as you are all aware I depend on them for my livelihood. Every fluctuation
of cocks and balls has an instant effect on me. Sometimes pleasurable, sometimes
otherwise depending upon whether the fluctuation is upward or downward.
Production Manager
May I put forward the suggestion that we turn our efforts to a crash programme
of American type Automatic ball-less cocks
( the Americans did have such things in the
billet loos) The cocks themselves would be larger but
the streamlined cock is easier to handle without the complication of balls. It
would be a simple matter to plate the polythene with gold; gold plated cocks
would be a novelty, even in Saudi-Arabia.
At this point the
tutor put a stop to the meeting ;
perhaps
just as well.
Well, I did warn you about content and there might be more.
When I
want to remember the year we were there, I just recall the TV jingle for the
Chevrolet Impala, “Truly 59, in
every modern line”. Not that we
watched much television but they were on
most of the time in practically every room in the various clubs and bars just as
they are in Britain today.
Having spent our three months
or
so at Tucson we moved
on to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, on Lake
Michigan. Here we would be learning the secrets of the Inertial Navigation
System at the AC Spark Plug Company. Our class times alternated between
7am to 2pm an
d
2pm to 9pm and we would generally take a cab on the 7am and 9pm trips but
usually walked the two or three miles across the river on the 6th Street Viaduct
at the 2pm times to catch up on shopping or visits to the bars. We were
here at the coldest time of the year and there were regular snowstorms.
RAF greatcoats were heavy and clumsy and
could not really be worn with civvies so many of
us bought anoraks and rubber overshoes to protect shoes from slush.
Once again we
found the classroom work fairly straightforward and Jim and I were soon at the
silly writing. Jim was always making up stupid words so I gave him this:
Nostalgia
Oh, to have
lived in the good old days,
In the time of
the horse drawn commode.
When
Gnukedites were wrought by hand
And the spung
lay in heaps in the road.
Those were the
days when life was good,
When the grook
was lumpynged by hand
And the walls
were covered with spindled yips
And a snoosh
hung over the land.
For them was
not the mechanised bed,
electronic toe
pogs and snold.
They did not
care for slurpinged hair
And
frimpingtons just left them cold.
I'd love to
wear the noshicalled smots
and coats with
tribostical belts
And smoke
hairy hambongs, floating in snulch
And drink
large firkins of schneltz.
But now they
just wiffle and snurge along
With yallops
of various hue
And how can a
man do his best with a yuff
That is coated
with gleminal smew?
Jim rather
sneeringly implied that I was an amateur at the daft words, so I tried again
with:
Shtonking
Time
The flurgies
were whelping at Sprilig.
The Wiffles
were slurging their mhuts.
The Snigs were
snimping all around
But where the
hell were the Yhuts?
I saw them
zerking at Yaffle.
I saw them
shiburgling at Fnuff
But when their
zill arrived at Pfnif
Their conxes
were filled up with chuff.
Now the Yhuts
were zibulous bumphies,
So perhaps
their fninkers were snaffed
But snaffling
of fninkers is zergy,
So their
yitters will have to be yaffed.
Although
utterly nonsensical they had to have a certain wacky logic to them. Jim
grudgingly allowed me to continue as his collaborating author.
As there was
no convenient airbase close to
Milwaukee (Wocky to Jim)
we were settled into apartments - Jim, Freddie, Ron, Nigel and I were in the
White-Ro apartments where we cooked and cleaned for ourselves. Nigel was
no older than the rest of us but was like a father to us, forever trying to
suppress our baser instincts! Jim and Ron professed no cooking skills at
all so opted for permanent washing up. We remaining three took it in turns
to shop and cook. Home cooking was cheaper than eating out and we
(actually Nigel decided we were not going down the cold beans route) cooked
properly during the working week. W
e
were off in different directions and times at weekends so shopping included a
pile off TV ready meals in the fridge to which we helped ourselves as required.
My specialities were shepherds pie and a roast, usually a leg of lamb.
Breakfast also was self help, mainly cereal and toast.
Wocky was a German/Polish town and all the German sounding
beers were brewed there - Budweiser, Schlitz, Pabst, Muller, etc. (The AC Spark
Plug Co. actually occupied an old brewery site) so apart from supermarkets there
were excellent bakeries and delicatessens. We did visit the 'Diners' sometimes and although we criticise
the McDonalds type takeaway, the traditional short order cooks were amazing.
Our regular one had 'Brownie' as cook and a girl, Pam, as waitress, who took
money, cleared tables and served food. If there was a bit of a queue, Brownie would ask,
"Wachawan'?" to three or four customers at
a time.
These would reply something like,
"Twoeasyoverwhitetoasttomayters'nhashbrowns"
Our turn would result in, "Um -
egg and bacon and, um, do you do beans? Oh, yes, and some toast, please.
Not a frying pan in sight; just a square metre of stainless
steel with a runnel at the front. A squeegee would be swept across the
heated cooking surface to clear it, a splash of oil and the next half dozen
customers would be catered for. You are not allowed one egg, they come in
pairs; he picks up two at a time in his hand, cracks and drops them onto the
sizzling surface without a scrap of shell. Ham (not bacon; you had that
with waffles and maple syrup!) slices interleaved with paper for easy lifting
and placing and in seconds the whole plate is covered with dozens of different
food items exactly matching the individual requirements of the entire queue.
That was real kitchen skill and all done calmly and without swearing.
Let's see Gordon Ramsey match that! Oh, yes, the final touch; four
slices out of the automatic toaster, spread in seconds with the brush in melted
butter - well it is going to melt anyway! Within minutes of giving your
order, Pam was serving you at your table.
We became very friendly with 'Brownie the hairy brush cook'
(named by Jim, of course). 'Hairy brush cooking' becoming the generic term
for short order cooking. And everything was spotlessly clean. In Britain
at the time we had 'greasy spoon' cafes and the Lyons Corner House. Brownie
joined us in the bars sometimes when off shift, slept on our floor occasionally,
cooked us a meal for when we returned from work and when we moved on he decided
he, also, might move south, as a woman he knew was becoming too possessive!
We did not
spend all our free time in bars (although many provided optional extras such as
strippers, lap dancers and nipple tassel twirlers), there were the cinemas,
bowling alleys and the dance hall. This latter was not a stand and wriggle
disco place but a proper ballroom with an all age clientele and a Polish accent.
The permanent band was Frankie Yankovitch and the Yanks and they played mostly
waltzes and polkas - my sort of dancing. Guest bands included Tommy
Dorsey.
USAF
personnel have a per capita allowance for games/sports but as we
were without any camp facilities we had three months allowance piled up which
the powers that be decided would be used for a farewell party; band, food,
drink, all provided. The civvy instructors as well as our own single lads
had brought dance partners. Memories of the evening are a little hazy as
when food and band had been paid for there was a lot left over for drink. The final
evening at Wocky was spent in a bar until 2am. We then took a few cans
back to see us through the night while we finished packing and tidying and then
left at 6.30 am by truck and were soon on the plane south and catching up on
sleep. We did feel a bit jealous of Arthur and three others who bought an
old Buick for $200, drove down to California via Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon.
When we left California they sold the car for $250!
Vandenberg
Air Force Base was another huge camp with many launch sites, airfield and all
the usual facilities, which
needed a vehicle to get around. Here at V'berg we would be dealing with
the whole launch site, the various power supplies controlled by the EET
(Electrical Equipment Trailer), launch sequences by the LCT (Launch Control
Trailer) and missile systems with the MCOT (Missile Checkout Trailer). Instead
of just poring over circuits and individual components, we could now learn the
system in and around the trailers and missile. As an MSAT, one of my
actual launch duties was to don a white, Lox (liquid oxygen ) suit and helmet
and clamber up into the the main engine to look for leaks with a rubber torch.
Most practice runs were done without actually loading fuel but there were the
occasional 'wet' runs. W
e
would drive or be driven each day to the launch sites a couple of miles away
from the domestic site.
One
operation which we were able to watch was a static firing; where the engine is
run but the missile prevented from lifting off. On the day
of the static firing on pad two, most of us were on pad one about fifty yards/mts.
away mostly in trailers and watching from the glassless 'window' openings.
A couple of RAF officers had made a bet as to whether it would work or not.
We could hear the countdown on the tannoy system " - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1 - main
engine ignition". The roaring started, a burst of flame from the engine
along with the deluge of cooling water roared down the flame channel ( The
cooling water system and the channel were only fitted on these oft used launch
pads). Suddenly something small shot out from the side of the missile near
the engine and went off like a ... well, like a -- rocket. The engine
output got bigger, enveloped first the engine then becoming a bigger and bigger
fireball until only the nosecone could be seen. This now slid gracefully
down into the huge hemisphere of roaring hell-fire.
Apparently
the gas generator, a football sized pressure chamber that drove the fuel pump
turbine, could not take the pressure and and went all to pieces. We saw the
bit that got away; the rest caused havoc inside the missile. The ball of
fire subsided and left a pall of smoke drifting away and small bits falling like
black snow. The engine also escaped and ended 50 yds/mts along the
discharge channel. We thought this was wonderful and shouted such helpful
snippets as, "Run for the Hills" and "Is it Radioactive?" A couple of Rocketdyne
engineers responsible for the engines were almost in tears. The two RAF
officers were arguing; "But it did fire up" - "I'm sorry but I
really cannot accept that as a normal, 'by the book' static firing."
Needless to say, no warheads were harmed during this procedure. Following
this, my contribution to literature was :
Don't go up in a rocket, daddy,
'Cos I saw the one on pad two.
You know I don't like Barbequed beef
And that's what'd happen to you
Our stay at
V'Berg was not all a boring training routine though. We did have a social
life, of course. Apart from the clubs on camp, we spent a lot of time in
the local town of Lompoc (or as the local radio called it - Missel Siddy -
Missile City).
Some of the bars were a bit rough and were mainly for the Mexicans of whom there
were many in California. We were about to go into one and standing looking
through the door windows was a USAF guy.
"Are you
going in?" we asked. "I am too young to die!" he replied and did not go in. So
neither did we.
One or two of the bars, had a small dance floor a
nd a two or three piece
band, one of whom played the Western Steel Guitar, like the Hawaiian guitar
held horizontally on the bar and pl
ayed with a heavy rod in the left hand to
produce the typical 'woow-woow' sound. Around the floor were cubicles to
hold half a dozen each. We were in 'Martin's Bar' when a female voice called from the 'cubby' next door, " I can hear some Goddam Limeys!." It was
Betty, an English wife of Mel, a USAF Tech. Sergeant who she had met while he
was stationed at Mildenhall. Mel did not dance and Betty was glad of a
partner, so we danced. The dances were, again, mainly waltzes and Polkas
but different to the more European flavoured dances of Milwaukee (Polish style,
feet closer to the ground, Western style, knees are well raised ). Jim, Freddie
and I spent a lot of time with Mel and Betty, and their three children, with
meals out and at their bungalow home.
The camp was
half-way between LA in the south and San Francisco in the north and although
many of the RAF contingent went to both places I and my immediate group found
all the entertainment within a few miles of V'berg going no further than Santa
Maria, San Luis Obispo and Morro Bay, just a few miles north. Arthur,
one of those who bought the car and shares in its use and we went with him
to Morro Bay. It was famous for its seafood and we enjoyed a delicious
lunch. I had a wonderful mixed fry of prawns, oysters, mussels, clams,
etc.
Food generally in the States was excellent with huge portions.
There was the place that specialised in flame grilled hunks of bread and beef,
there were the pizzas, various salads, Thousand Island dressing, avocados, fried
chicken, chilli beans and - well this was fifty years ago and Mr.
Sainsbury only had a market stall. I have never been a fussy eater; I
enjoy trying new foods and having grown up with wartime shortages I usually left
a clean plate, so I was beginning to suffer the American disease that we are
also now suffering in this country. My taut, lean body was becoming less
Adonis and more Bacchus. By the time I arrived home I had gained two and a
half stone (16 Kg) and it took over a year to get rid of it. It was not
just the wonderful food in restaurants but the 'Poor Boy Sandwiches' (10
different meats and cheeses in a baguette) and the packs of 'Half 'n' Half (half
milk, half cream), from the lunch wagon and, of course, the beer intake.
It was just as well this was our last stay in the US.
We boarded and changed various internal airlines on our way home; then
had a few
days in New York for the official clearance of our stay before boarding the
liner Queen Elizabeth. Once on board I found myself involved with an an
international set - American, Canadian, French, Polish and Swiss. It was
when the hat competition was announced and admitting to a general craft interest
I was inveigled into leading the making. There were six prizes and six
girls in the group and we were determined to take all six prizes with our
entries. Unfortunately we missed the first prize but took the remaining
five. After the event we had a ceremonial burial at sea of the hats (well,
a ceremonial floating).
On the QE I
was, at last, able to enjoy 'cruise food'. In spite of the luxury, food
and company why did we keep singing, "The Party's Over"?
Sorry there was nothing about puppets in that chapter but I
was honing my writing skills and there was a bit of craft work on the hats!
On the other hand a bit of extra knowledge is always useful. Electronics
and control systems are everywhere - even in puppetry these days.
Music of the time - "More and More" by Webb Pierce - "Release Me" by Kitty Wells (Englebert Humperdink was then just an early composer,
the other one was still in nappies!) - "One Night with You", Elvis - "Hawaiian
Wedding"- At Milwaukee -" Volare" - "Hey,Venus" -
"My Funny
Valentine" - "May You Always" by the McGuires.
Learnt - Polishing up writing skills
which were hardly 'dramaturgy'.
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Chap 10