IN 1950 I WAS in the final phase of my flying training at RAF Heany, near Bulawayo in Southern Rhodesia – now Zimbabwe. Rhodesia was then a forward-looking crown colony with dominion status in the offing.
Before joining the RAF, while learning to fly at a club, I realised that flying, in some form or another, was the only life for me and now I was on the road to becoming a professional pilot. I was even getting a little pay, but the RAF discipline was something I found very difficult to cope with.
At Heany, it was in fact nearly non-existent compared with training in the UK. You can’t really have heavy discipline when your uniform consists of just a grubby pair of khaki shorts and a shirt.