Last revised: March 08, 2008

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Mike Flack

Holiday of a lifetime
By
Michael Flack

It was 3 am. The date 18th February 1962 and the temperature just topping 15 deg C. Back in London they were in the midst of winter, two foot of snow blocking most of the main roads and the temp five degrees below freezing. Six of us had just got off flight XB 286 after a 6-hour flight from Aden. But where were we? We could smell grass, and hear crickets, which was a far cry from the saltpans of Aden, where its 50 deg plus during the day and you wear an overcoat at night. You have to take salt tablets 3 times a day to stay out of Hospital. We were told our destination was Eastleigh, but where? This was not Hampshire England, and my mum had always told me, "you've a tongue in your head," so I guess this was as good a time as any to use it. So I turned to one of the ground crew and said " Excuse me, where the Hell are we?" he turned and looked at me dumb founded, thought for a moment and replied in the broadest Welsh accent "This ain't Hell Boyo, it's heaven on earth. " I repeated my question in case he did not understand English as spoken by a London lad. By now we 6 was the centre of attention of the entire ground crew. One of them seemed to take pity on me saying, "This is Royal Air Force Station Eastleigh." "But where is it " I answered " Oh, 6 miles north of Nairobi, Kenya old boy" We were dumb founded we weren't in heaven this was going to be paradise for the next 3 years.

Twenty minuets later the crew bus stopped outside our accommodation for the night, it was called The Spread Eagle Hotel; we were shown to our rooms and slept the long sleep, well for three hours any way only to be woken by more African noises. This time it was Peacocks, I also noted I had a large number of bites on my body, I'd forgotten to use the mosquito netting. I strolled over to the open window (the mossie's doorway to my pure white body) and looked out onto the rear of the hotel. This was a sight I shall remember for always. Below me was the car park, which contained cars of all sizes and all ages every thing from Mercedes to Fiat 600 and a large number of Land Rovers. Just beyond the car park was a line of Bungalows Then the Hotel stables, and then nothing but green, green grass and trees as far as the eye could see. Until it reached Mount Kenya a hundred and twenty miles away to the north. Once again my mind started to dream, If only I could live here, this would make this posting a "Holiday of a Lifetime". I was told if you want something bad enough you'd get it. I moved in to one of the bungalows six weeks later with my wife and ten-month-old daughter.

Life overseas for married families was a good one. The Forces supplied school buses and all the wives, had to do was sit around the pool, or take the second car into town to do a spot of shopping. The House girl kept the house spotless and looked after the children, while the house boy, mowed the lawn, cleaned and pressed the Bwana's uniform and any other odd jobs around the house. The evenings were either spent visiting other families or a trip to the Drive In Cinema. The weekends were the focal point; Saturday evening a group of married's would hold a party. Single lads would of course be invited. The host would supply the venue, glasses and a small amount of food; you know the sort of thing, cheese on sticks, pineapple chunks, sausage rolls etc. Each family would bring a bottle, Whiskey (60p) Gin (50p) and a soft drink, Coke, Seven up or even Ginger ale. Single lads would bring a six-pack of the local beer. The party used to start at 7 pm And Finish with an English breakfast on the veranda sometime Sunday morning. Then off to the pool to cool the body but more so the head before starting a liquid lunch.

Holidays or as we called it leave was six weeks a year. Single lads used to save up two years worth and get a free flight home to Blighty. Or to a country of their choice providing The RAF was allowed to land there. As a great deal of aircraft used to stage through Nairobi to refuel. It was possible to get trips to South Africa, Northern and Southern Rhodesia, The Seychelles and even a trip to Iran to visit Baghdad.

I used to spend two weeks following The East African Safari, which took place over Easter. Visiting Kampala in Uganda, Dar-a-salaam in Tanganyika and Mombassa in Kenya, finishing in Nairobi. Two weeks on the coast at Mombassa and Malindi (where the rich and famous used to go Big Game fishing). The last two weeks were spent visiting Game Parks. All of this was done on the cheap. I was by now on my second car, the first, an open top Morris Minor. The engine had blown up 50 miles up country, it would appear the dip stick was not long enough to touch the oil also hitting an ant hill at 40 mph. with the sump did not help either. I had bought a DKW better known now as Auto Union. It was a three cylinder 2 stroke, front wheel drive. With a top speed of 85 mph and would cruise at 80 mph all day long with a loading of 6 adults and a roof rack piled high with my camping gear. The beauty of the Deek was it had a high ground clearance (Ideal for anthills). The engine and gearbox could be removed single handed in twenty minutes but most of all spares were readily available.

Work to me at the base was boring. I had to work from 8 am till 5 pm weekdays and 8 am till 12 noon Saturdays. Wednesday afternoon was free for sport. I used to do Egyptian PT by the pool. This is very stressful and hard work. What you have to do is find a shady spot near the bar, (so that when the going gets tough you can take on liquid.) Lie on your back; raise your knees keeping you feet flat on the ground close your eyes and think of PAY DAY. My job on the base was to keep the Ground Equipment serviceable. To do this I was given 6 Asian fitters and an African labourer also the help when required of a corporal electrician. Between us we looked after the Rolls Royce aircraft starting trolleys. Diesel Generators on the airfield (used for runway lighting) and the other odds and ends that go into making an airfield work. As I said above, totally boring. The fitters taught me a lot, Diesels for example don't have spark plugs nor do they have a set of points, but then I'd never seen a diesel before. They also taught me how to eat curry without a knife or fork but by using your fingers. That you should NEVER drink whilst eating curry, it swells the rice in your stomach, you feel full up and leave half the meal uneaten, utterly wasteful. They also taught me to have respect for other people's religion and this is something I have always tried to do. They helped me with Swahili which everyone in East Africa uses. The reason being over the past hundred odd years a number of nations had tried to rule East Africa, English, Germany and Italian, they in turn had imported labour India, Arabs and the Africans who alone spoke a dozen or more dialects, therefore there was a need for a common tongue. Swahili was chosen which is a mixture of Arabic, English and mainly Bantu.

I had been in the Ground Equipment section now for about six months, My Electrician mate had been posted into Motor Transport Sect. And I had been put in the workshop doing routine servicing on lifting tackle. So I decided it was time for a change, a vacancy had occurred in the Oxygen Plant, I applied and got it. And they say, "The Devil looks after his own". This was a job right up my street. You started the Diesel at 8 am and shut down at 4.30 pm, checked out everything once an hour and if everything was OK, went back to reading the book, writing letters back home or what ever.

At the back of the plant we had for safety reasons some spare ground, so we decided to make a 5-hole golf-putting course, where the bunkers went, we planted flowers and sweet corn. Our African labour was instructed to water and weed the bunkers each morning after the first cup of tea. In return he had the sweet corn, this being the main stay of the African diet, he was over the moon with the idea. Our Section officer was quite impressed that we had tried to brighten up our drab yard with flowerbeds. But he could not work out what the holes were for?

Two incidents that happened in the plant still stand out in my mind, the first: Every one will tell you where he was when John F. Kennedy was murdered, I was playing Scrabble doing the only night shift the plant had ever worked and we heard it at 11 pm On The Forces Broadcasting Service.

The other needs a little background. So bear with me. The Oxygen Bottle is painted black with a white neck; it's heavy when empty and Very heavy when full. It's about 15 feet long and transported about the station in blocks of six on bomb trolleys. When bottles require changing they would be brought into the safe area (the golf course) the dust top removed and the bottle fully discharged and the valve left open. For two reasons, when refilled they had to be 99.95% pure Oxygen or higher and as there was no way of telling the contents of the bottle (it could have been cross charge with Nitrogen, Argon etc.) an empty bottle was the only way of ensuring the refill was pure after all peoples lives depended on it and there is no second chance at 38,000 feet. Someone on the squadron had noted the dust cap, which was made of steel as was the body, had a small amount of rust on its internal threads and was a tight fit. So he decided to put a smear of grease on the bottles brass threads, so that the cap would come on and off with ease. Now Oxygen is a very safe gas, we breathe it mixed with Nitrogen and drink it mixed with Hydrogen. But mix it with acetylene and it will burn sheet steel, MIX it with GREASE and it EXPLODES. Our African lad removed the dust cap of a half full bottle, not knowing it had been greased nor that the heat of the sun had melted the grease and it had run over the discharge valve, he opened the valve fully and luckily turned to the next bottle. There was an almighty bang, which sent every one diving for cover, the brass valve shot out of the bottle hitting the crew room wall. Went through two courses of brickwork stopping on the table at the far end of the building missing the Kettle by a mere 6 inches. The 15 foot bottle leapt forward like a black torpedo at a great rate of knots going through a chain link fence, Tearing across the main camp road then to continue to cross the main runway. It stopped 2 miles from where it had started outside the Squadron Office; how it never hurt anyone we'll never know. Five minuets later our office phone rang and the conversation went like this: "30 Squadron duty room here, we've just received one of you're OXY bottles by express delivery but the bloody things empty".

Life by now had settled down to a routine, Work, Pool and Parties. I kept thinking to myself, I'm in Africa, there's a lot of it and I'd like to see more of it than just the local Game parks and the odd Jollies whilst on leave. But How? Travel was expensive. There was not a lot of cash to spare at the end of the month, and more so when you're bringing up a young family.

I had covered a few hundred miles Hitch Hiking but this was like being on a rubber band, you had to be back for work on Monday, so there was a limit to how far you could travel. Also to Hike Fast it was best to do so in uniform. (Who wants to be in Uniform on your time off?) The reason for this was because, the RAF was well liked by both the Whites (because we were there), and the Africans.

The Mau Mau troubles were over but not forgotten and in case of trouble the RAF with the aid of the Army Air Squadron could move people and supplies very quickly. (There were not very many good Tarmac roads at this time). The Africans loved us because we had fed the Independence fighters during the troubles. Not intentionally I may add. It went something like this: An army patrol would spot a band of freedom fighters in a valley, but because of the nature of the country would not be able to get there quick enough to catch them. So the army used to radio the RAF for help. We would fly in drop a couple of bombs. Job well done. So we thought. What really happened was that Aircraft make a lot of noise; everyone knew they were coming and the F. F used to vanish in the bush. Now you don't RTB, sorry Return to Base with bombs on board, they tend to go bang on landing. You're out there any way and it's good practice for the bomb aimer who's been out of work since WW2 (sorry again World War Two), so lets drop them anyway. Now when bombs drop; animals, deer, rhino etc. do one of two things. Run like hell, into the prepared animal traps or look up and say "Look mum, there is a bomb". Either way, they end up dead and the African has enough meat to last him a month. It tends to work even better with Rockets, as the meat gets cooked as well, “well-Done Lads, another successful mission.”

Back to my dilemma, how was I going to see more of this wonderful country with little or no cost to me? The answer was given to me in the Mess one night after doing a Guard Duty, with a 303 rifle but no bullets they like bombs tend to go bag in the wrong places. I'd had a rough duty up to this moment. Things had not gone right at all. A Vulcan Bomber had landed at Nairobi's main airport. Our runway was not long enough. A guard was needed and I got picked (wrong place at the wrong time) what made matters even worse was I had brought my Ridge Back Alsatian to work with me that day so that I could take him to the Vets on the way home. So Kali (the dog) and I made our way out to the airport in the DEEK. The RAF Police don't like taking dogs in their clean Land Rovers, and dogs are not supposed to do Stags (guard duty) anyway, well not civvie dogs. Kali and I elected to do the 10 pm Till 12 pm, so we had supper and walked out to the Vulcan, complete with empty Rifle, flask full of tea and fags. It was going to be a long two hours. At 11 pm. It had started to get cold (it does at 6,500 feet above sea level). So time for tea and a fag. Now it's a known fact that you don't smoke under or near an aircraft, they like bombs also go bang and at 10 million pounds this would be some bang and would take a long time to repay. So the solution was to prop rifle between the two leading landing wheels. Tie the dog on its long slip chain to the rear wheels, walk away from aircraft with F and F (flask and fags) turn your back to the wind and the control tower and take a NAAFI break.

This is when things started to go Very Wrong. Kali also had had a bad day and decided he also needed a break and fell asleep; I had a gale blowing in my ears and was facing away from the Vulcan drinking tea. When unknown to both of us, A Warrant Officer who was the Navigator and in my latter opinion had drunk too many Gin and Tonics after dinner had returned to the aircraft to collect his flight bag. He had also found my rifle and was pointing it at me. In a not to steadily manner I may add. I was now in deep, deep trouble and my feet would not touch the ground all the way back to the Court Marshal at Colchester. It's common sense not to argue with a senior officer more so when he was under the influence and pointing my rifle at me. So I said " Good evening Sir can I help you?" to which he replied not very clearly " I'm arresting you and charging you with" and he named everything, Leaving my post, abandoning my rifle, smoking on the airfield etc, etc.

But he did not mention the dog, which I thought a little unfair; as it was Kali's fault that I was in this unfortunate position He was asleep on duty. Well my philosophy in life is when you're deep in it the only way out is up, so I said, "Ok sir, fair cop I can not argue with the facts. But please for your own safety don't make any violent movements, there's a dog behind you and I would not like you to come to any harm?" He was getting the hump now, and the cold air was having effects on the Gins, He replied "Don't bullshit me laddie, Your not RAF Police and only they have dogs" That's all I needed "A Know all drunken Scot". I don't like being sworn at and I don't like being called a liar. I was in the wrong and had been caught out and by a Jock. Which made it even worse for as far as I was concerned, as the only good things that come out of Scotland, are the A1 Motorway to London and Johnny Walker Whiskey. Well it was my turn now I had tried to be nice so I said. "Kali cogar hupa" my dog only responded to Swahili, well he was African. I had said the command Kali come here, and he did, like a bolt of lightning, pulling his slip chain with him which some how caught round the W. O. legs. Pulling him down like a bag of what I was in. I then told Kali to sit, which he did, on the W. O's chest. In the turmoil the rifle was laying now at my feet. So I picked it up and worked the bolt action putting a make believe bullet up the spout. The Jock was making one last desperate attempt to regain control and said "Don't play with me laddie, they don't issue ammo to the likes of you". I was now getting really up set. He kept calling me his son and was therefore pushing his luck so I said "Sir, you are right I don't have any ammo and that's not a dog sitting on your chest and if you call me laddie again my dog will have your balls for breakfast. Now please carefully put your ID Card on the Tarmac and we will discuss what you were doing trying to enter a parked Aircraft on a Kenyan Airport at 23.05 hrs. Then I call the Nairobi Airport Police". Suddenly his attitude changed, well it would with a dog half the size of a pony sitting on his chest, someone pointing a 303 that might be loaded and feeling a little under the weather with an excess of Gin in the blood.

He spoke in a much softer voice now saying, "Look corporal I'm sorry for the misunderstanding it would appear you are doing your duty correctly and I was mistaken by what I saw". Well that to me seemed quite fair, so I called Kali off. Helped the W. O. to his feet and bade him a pleasant flight home. The last I saw of him was a figure tottering off towards the airport lounge feeling shaken and very stirred. When I got back to the guard hut just after mid-night, the Sergeant said "Anything for the report Cpl." "Yes Sarge." I responded "The Vulcan still there and its bloody cold, I could murder a cup of tea and a fag". "Better give that dog of yours a drink as well Cpl. He looks worse than you do".

Well as I was saying I was sitting in the mess drinking more tea Talking to an old mate from the UK. He'd been at Eastleigh six months longer than me, and it showed, he was as brown as a berry (all over I'm told). There was not much Don did not know about anything, “where was the best place to drink after hours, who would cover a Guard duty for you and how much, and which brothel was going to be raided and when?” He even knew which aircraft had space to get a car home to the UK His trick was he was born in India, his father was a Major in the Indian Army and his mother Indian. He could speak German, French, Swahili and at least three dialects of the Indian tongue, and at night he would go native. If you ever want to find out anything in the British forces you'd ask the Bosses secretary. Failing that the toilet cleaner, the second option was more likely to be more up to date and more correct. Don had contacts everywhere and was going out with most of the Bosses secretaries whatever their race. So I told him my tale of woe, I wanted to travel and fast 3 years were not long when you had to work a five and a half-day week. I bought him a pint of Tusker the local brew and the going rate for quick ideas. He came up with the solution 3 pints later. Travel in Works Time, "Thank you, is that all I get for 4 pints of Kenya's best Larger". Then he went on to explain. The Land Rescue Team want a Driver / Fitter who must be able to make TEA, The top ten go on all exercises this position was number 4, you're on call 24 hrs a day 7 days a week unless on leave and you're excused all Guard Duties, Fire Pickets, Orderly Cpl. And any section duties such as Key holder. For this privilege you must attend all call outs and give up one weekend in 6 for Training. This was becoming a good idea, so I put my name forward, and Don made sure the right person saw it, and then I was on Mount Kenya next weekend.

This first weekend was hard work but good fun. I was co driver to Jerry who was in the middle of his second tour and he could do things with Land Rovers that were unheard of. He showed me how to go through 3 feet deep puddles, To drive over the corrugated mud roads at 60 plus mph. and how to use the front wheel as a capstan and pull yourself up a hill too steep to walk up let alone drive. I was also taught how to boil water using a coke can, petrol and sand a must for making tea, also how to cool a can of beer till it had frost on it, using petrol and a hole in the ground. Both of the above are very important, the human body can live with out food for a week but only a day without water in the conditions we could expect in the Jungles / Deserts of East Africa. We had some good weekends on exercise, a lot of which was spent on Mt Kenya, which is 19,500 feet high. We used to drive up to 10,000 ft, after that it was about a 10-mile walk to the ice face. The reason we used the mountain so often was because it was only 3 hours driving time from base and also to get us used to the high altitude. And if an accident were to occur 9 times out of 10 it would be here. One rescue stands out about the Mountain.

We got the shout on a Tuesday around 12 noon, (they always happened at mealtimes.) I handed over my shift to Alan and went next door to the MT. Section to book out the Land Rover, only to find Jerry already there (He was 2 I/c). He said "The Doc's taking Rover 2, you book out the ten tonner, go via the cook house and collect enough rations for 12 men for 7 days plus a field cooker. Then shoot up to Sick Quarters, we want two stretchers, splints and 4 first aid kits, see you back at the section" and he was gone. Something big was going on, we don't use the tonner above 9 thou. The old Bedford's have not had their carb's down graded enough. The food we were taking would last us 14 to 21 days .Our trips only used to last about three days a week at the most. When you're on a shout you have a light breakfast, tea and toast. Then your evening meal, you don't even get a chance for a brew you're moving so fast. Why was the Doc going? He was an overweight Squadron Leader; he just would not be able to keep up with us? But then he was a Surgeon and the only one that we had. I arrived back at the section, and I'd even had time to pop in the NAAFI Shop to pick up three bottles of 5 star Brandy, 3 bottles of Johnny Walker Scotch and 1,000 Senior Service Cigarettes. We were not the SS, but as good as, and I had put the £7 on my House account, hoping to double it before the end of the month. Every thing was going like clock work Flight Lt. Roberts was his normal cool self, sorting out what went where, Clarke was checking out the Radios, The main set was in Rover One and unlike modern sets took up a lot of room. We could tune it into here at Eastleigh, Ground to Air. To the Kings African Rifles (the Kenyan Army before it changed it's name) Also to our hand held sets which were the size of a small suit case and weighed a ton, or so it seemed after it had been on your back for a hour. Robbie and Jerry as driver plus a WOP (wireless operator) would take Rover One. The Doc, who was a very good driver, was taking three of the team plus some kit in Rover Two. Robbie took a moment off supervision and shouted out above the din, "Bluey (my nickname but that's another story) we are leaving NOW, Follow in TINNEY ASAP, see you at 10 thou camp, and don't stop at the Rhino for a quickie." "Ok boss, tell Jerry not to break my Rovers". With that he was gone, up towards the snows of Mt. Kenya. At this point I think I should explain a little. On camp or in the mess every one had a rank Officers were saluted and called Sir, On the Parade Ground The Warrant Officer was GOD. In the workshop the Sarge said "Jump" you did, through Hoops of Fire if need be. But in the L/R Section only Christian or nicknames were used. Rank was dropped; you had been picked for what you knew or what you could do. Not for the smartness of your cap badge. People's lives depended on you. You in return depended on them. The only exception to this rule was Robbie, he was "The Bwana M'kubwa" Big Boss, and what he said was law, and the only person to question his decision was Jerry the number 2.

Fifteen minuets later I was close on their heels with a RAF police motorcycle as an escort to get me out of Nairobi. I was only half loaded weight wise, six bods plus myself. The sleeping bags, food and the other odds and ends that goes to make up a successful camp. Plus my toolbox with the added extras (5 stars, 3 Johnny's and nicotine.) None of which we could do with out. Five miles outside Nairobi the Tarmac stops and the roads become murram, this is a red earth that's very hard and dusty in the dry season and a wet sticky mess in the wet seasons. As with all things in Africa they are very different from dear old Blighty. For example there are two wet seasons and are called the Long Rains and guess what the Short Rains, but that's where logic ends. The Long rains are very heavy storms that last four or five hours and stop after only a fortnight. Where as, yes you've caught on, the Short rains are small showers but can last up to a month or more. So back to the roads, the rain beats on to the Murram washing the soft earth into the deep ditches either side of the road; this also blocks the ditches causing the road to flood. When the rains stop the roads are corrugated and it's like driving over miles and miles of railway sleepers. Now the council just like ours in the UK. Will repair the surface with the aid of a snowplough blade on the front of a lorry to level the road once more. Also like our councils they tend to leave this job as long as possible and with African logic say "Well it's going to rain soon and it's only affecting the people who want to travel anyway".

The secret of driving on murram was to get as near to 60 mph as possible. This way you jump the cracks (well most of them). Have the side windows down, in our case the side tilts up with the back tilt tied down tight. If there's a large amount of traffic be the in the lead. This way the one behind gets your dust and you can see were you are going (very handy in East Africa). If an Elephant is on the Road, He has the right of way and DON'T blow your horn he gets upset. Often coming to see what's the matter. Remember he's bigger than you. We pass the "Blue Post " at Thika a nice little pub, (remember the TV series "Flame Trees of Thika"?) At a steady 65 mph 35 miles down 95 to go. The next main town is Nyeri another 60 miles then on to the KAR. Barracks at Nanyuki to refuel, pick up a KAR soldier to act as a guard. We were not allowed to carry arms and there could be trouble with ex Mau Mau who were still hiding out in the bush. Or even the odd Buffalo, Rhino etc. The first bit of road up to 8.5 thou was good the road was wide and firm. The next thousand the road started to narrow and was overgrown; trees and grass grow quick out here. The last bit was very nasty; we had left the tree line below us. The road was bad, not many cars come up this high and a Bedford even in four-wheel drive with some of the bods pushing was making very hard work of it. Then just over the hill we were there. Four and a half-hours non-stop to cover the 125 miles I was well pleased with old Tinney. It was now 5.30 pm, too late to go up the mountain to night it gets dark at 6.30 pm and no one moves after dark. But just in time for a brew of tea and a feast of tinned Irish stew.

Holiday of a lifetime By Mike Flack (Part Two)

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Contributors stories

Saturday Flicks By Kath O'Sullivan

Holiday of a lifetime By Mike Flack

Holiday of a lifetime (part two) By Mike Flack

Anna's Child By Marc Lensly

Stranger by Miriam Capps

CHRISTMAS TREES AND ROSES By Norbert (Doc Gater) Smith

My Day Out (Sylvia Lukeman)

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