Jeram-Croft - The Accidental Aviator

The Accidental Aviator

Larry Jeram-Croft

Copyright 2021 Larry Jeram-Croft

All rights reserved.

Main Cover image: Lt Cdr Bob Mckellar and Lt Larry Jeram-Croft, HMS Andromedas aircrew.

Also by Larry Jeram-Croft:

Fiction:

The Jon Hunt series about the modern Royal Navy:

Sea Skimmer

The Caspian Monster

Cocaine

Arapaho

Bog Hammer

Glasnost

Retribution

Formidable

Conspiracy

Swan Song

The John Hunt books about the Royal Navys Fleet Air Arm in the Second World War:

Better Lucky and Good

The Winchester Chronicles:

Book one: The St Cross Mirror

The Caribbean: historical fiction and the Jacaranda Trilogy.

Diamant

Jacaranda

The Guadeloupe Guillotine

Nautilus

Science Fiction:

Siren

Non Fiction:

The Royal Navy Lynx an Operational History

The Royal Navy Wasp an Operational and Retirement History

The Accidental Aviator

Chapter 1

Papistry, girls and motorbikes

This book is about my time in Her Majestys Royal Navy in general and the Fleet Air Arm in particular. However, to understand that you need to know why I joined up in the first place. So, was it: a burning desire to serve my country? A desperate need to learn to fly and soar amongst the eagles? The deep love of the sea and the need to protect those upon it? Even a need to follow in my fathers footsteps?

Nope.

The interview got me three days off school. Twice.

And thereafter I progressed with my life basically without a plan like many people at that age. Eventually and certainly more by chance than judgement I found myself flying with the Fleet Air Arm. Hence the title of this book.

I was born in Redruth Cornwall in 1953 (good year that: the Queen was crowned, we climbed Everest and I was born,). My father, a FAA fighter Ace of the Second World War, was serving as Lieutenant Commander (Flying) normally known as Little F at the Naval Air Station at Culdrose. He left the navy later one day before they announced a major redundancy and wouldnt let him post date his resignation. He lost out on the equivalent of enough money to buy a decent house bastards. We went on to run several pubs after that, including the well known Rising Sun at Warsash that is still there today and then emigrated to Canada. That only lasted a year and then we came home to live in Winchester with my grandparents in a rather large house in a good part of town. It was only meant to be a temporary arrangement and soon Dad went back to Canada to get a job. We never followed. I have never been sure of the detailed reasons. At the time I was too young to understand and never really wanted to know afterwards. So I was brought up by my mum and grandmother.

Gran was a devout Catholic and so my older brother, younger sister and I became Catholic too. We attended Catholic Primary Schools, I was an altar boy at the local church and even went to confession regularly. At Christmas there were no pressies until we had been to Mass. But I knew no better and did as I was told. Mum decided that the local Grammar School wasnt Catholic enough (or at all) so my brother and I were packed off to a public school called Redrice near Andover, which did all the right stuff.

I hated it. I hated all the silly Catholic rituals. Sunday Mass that was only enlivened by a good farting contest in the pews, followed the same day by another ceremony in the evening whose name Ive forgotten. I hated cross country runs on Saturday afternoons and Rugby where, being a short arse, all I ever got was flattened by the bigger boys. But most of all I hated being away from home. If there had been prizes for homesickness, especially in the first year, I would have won them all.

So when mum asked me did I want to attend an interview to get a Cadetship into the navy and it meant three days away from prison, there was only one possible answer. Off I went to HMS Sultan where I did some intelligence tests, spent some time with a couple of barrels, rope and bits of wood pretending to ford a river and attended an interview with some very stern looking people with gold rings on their sleeves.

And failed. Apparently, I was too young but would I like to come back next year and have another go?

Does the Pope have a balcony?

Same again the following year and this time Id even mugged up a bit on what ships the navy had and other possibly useful stuff. This time I passed. I didnt really have much of an idea what I had actually passed but frankly didnt care. However, there was now a problem. To cash in my Cadetship I needed certain A levels and for some reason, the school were not able to provide the right ones (I think Mum might have been running out of money at the time as well). So it was with great sadness that it was explained to me that I would have to leave my dear public school and go to the dreaded Peter Symonds Grammar school in Winchester. Deep, deep joy.

I loved Peter Symonds as much as I hated Redrice, not the least because I went home every night and that was just the start. The teaching was excellent, in fact, the school had a brilliant reputation at that time. Religion got a vague mention at morning assembly and that was all. Even better, was that half a mile up the road was the Winchester County High School for Girls. At Redrice, it wasnt deemed correct for us boys to even think about the opposite sex (did they really believe that??) let alone meet any. At Peter Symonds it was almost a competition to meet as many as we could.

I also discovered motorbikes. My first one was a dreadful old Panther 250 which I bought for ten bob. The front forks were broken but I fixed them and somehow got it through an MoT. It had fixed rear suspension, an oil leak from the dynamo which dripped onto the exhaust so that when I stopped at the lights I would slowly disappear in a cloud of smoke and if it fell over was so heavy I couldnt lift it up again. I loved it to death. Others followed.

The years of 1968 and 69 were fantastic. I acquired a real girlfriend, then several more and learned all the things that teenage boys learn at that age. Our house had two garages at the rear that were actually the old stables. My brother and I cleared out the old hayloft above them, got some old carpet and decorated the place. It was fantastic for parties and as we were separate from the main house, we could basically get up to anything we wanted to. And we did. We were too young for pubs but that didnt seem to matter too much to many of the local landlords and many of my friends had parents who would go away for weekends and let their offspring use their houses for parties. Bear in mind that this was the time that my generation were inventing rock and roll, mini skirts, Watneys Party Sevens and promiscuity what a time to grow up.

Now in amongst all this teenage development, there was also the need to actually do some work at school. Good exam results were needed to get into University but I had a get out of jail free card. I had a naval Cadetship. The terms of the deal were that if I got a mere two A level passes, then the navy would accept me to join as an engineer (I went for this option as it gave me a degree). In reality, I dont think this affected my work output that much it was just that I didnt have to waste any time thinking about my future. In the end, I got three decent passes.

The final hurdle to overcome before being offered a place in the RN was a really tough medical in London. I dont remember much except travelling up to Waterloo desperate not to drop the lemonade bottle full of last nights pee before I arrived. And then them saying my eyesight wasnt good enough for the Seaman branch but was good enough for engineer, which was fine as that is what I wanted to be.

I had also joined the Combined Cadet Force at school and something they were offering was the chance to be awarded a Flying Scholarship. This would be 35 hours learning to fly at a flying school somewhere. So I filled in a form that included me lying about my eyesight and was mildly surprised to be asked to attend an assessment and interview at Biggin Hill. It was great fun, all sorts of weird machines designed to test reflexes and spatial awareness along with some written tests. I didnt know it at the time but it was the same procedure used for all potential aircrew not just cadets like me. Much to my surprise, I was offered a scholarship if I would go up to Carlisle that summer. This actually worked out rather well as we had decided that the massive house we lived in was far too big and had sold it for a much smaller cottage outside the city. (Mind you we should have waited. We sold it for eighteen thousand pounds in 1970, in 1984 it had been converted into six flats worth three hundred thousand each.) Being in Carlisle meant I would miss all the hassle of the move. So off I went for 35 hours in a Cherokee 140c. I should have scrounged the money for an extra five hours as that was what was needed for a Private Pilots licence in those days. However, by then I had a brochure from BRNC Dartmouth saying that free flying was available there so I decided to wait. A big mistake in some ways but not others though, as you will see. Also, while there, an itinerant naval pilot dropped in, in his Wasp helicopter for some fuel but also offered to take some of us for a quick blast around. My first trip in a naval helicopter. All I can really remember is how much it vibrated again much more on this later.