Last week would have been very mundane, if not for the fact that, it was my turn to serve the Altar at the 7 am Mass in church.
This is my tenth year as an Altar Server and it has brought a lot of spiritual peace inside myself. I have enjoyed doing this and since I have 'inherited' it, I am 'unofficially in-charge', since no one wants to do it. There are six of us, and apart from an architect and a storekeeper, are all retirees. So I am left to draw up the roster every year. Besides, I am also in charge of the Extraordinary Ministers of the Eucharists, for the daily 7 am Mass. With three teams of three Ministers working weekly, I have to step in whenever anyone is unable to serve, or simply not show up for duty.
Tuesday saw me at the Immigrations applying for my new passport. The place is like a 'big supermarket'. You go in, take your photograph, fill in the form and proceed downstairs to pay by Nets and drop off the form into one of the boxes. Very much like an automated self check out counter. They have since written to tell me to collect my passport.
Monday and Wednesday were my exercise days. Yes, I have gone back to the track for brisk walking covering six laps. Since I have to baby-sit Emma on Friday, I now consolidate into two days, doing 6 x 2 = 12 laps for the week. Previously it was 4 x 3 = 12 laps. My diet has worked and my weight on Wednesday was 66.3 kg. Getting close to my target of 65 kg. With reduced carbohydrates, I get hungry faster. Without caffeine, my decaf coffee and tea without sugar taste bland. I put half teaspoon of raw sugar to my decaf coffee to cut the bitter taste. Takes the fun out of growing old.
My grand daughter Samantha, called Wednesday night, to say that she was off to Pasir Ris for an overnight stay with her class and teachers. She was to learn how to be independent. This is the first time, she stayed out alone, without the family. She was rather apprehensive about the whole thing. So I consoled her into learning all she could, and to enjoy herself. After she got back, she told me of the cockroaches and dirty toilets.
Emma, my youngest grand daughter, livened the week, when she spent Thursday and Friday with us. I always looked forward to her visits and baby-sit her for the two days in the week. I noticed she had grown and put on weight, and her appetite getting the better of her, especially around her waistline. I compiled 114 pictures of her into a DVD, and added a lively children's song to it. She was so enthralled by it, that she asked to watch the disc many times. I miss her after she goes home on Friday evening.
Saturday morning, I had to see my GP, because I had ran out of my medications for my hypertension and cholesterol. I was happy to tell him of my diet and weight loss. He was quite chatty and asked about various things. Maybe he is as lonely as I am.
Saturday evening, I had dinner at the market with my No. 1 daughter and grand children, Samantha and Timothy, after the 6 pm Mass in church. Samantha updated me on her overnight adventure and Timothy, being hyperactive made a nuisance of himself, as usual. Nevertheless, a nice simple dinner before they left by bus for home.
Early Sunday morning, I was up as usual for the 7 am Mass in church. Being Palm Sunday, we all carried the palm for the priest's blessings. The Mass was long, due to the re-enactment of our Lord's Passion. I helped out with the collection and served as Extraordinary Minister of the Eucharist.
At 9.30 am, I was back in church for the Rosary in the Columbarium, a monthly event on the first Sunday of the month. I have been in charge of the Columbarium ever since it was planned for the new church. Earlier on I also visited the book centre, which I was supposed to manage, but withdrew due to internal problems. Since I missed out on the Penitential Service for Easter, I made my confession to the priest before leaving the church.
Back home, I read the Sunday papers in peace, and had my decaf coffee. By lunchtime, my son called after the 12 noon Mass in church, and came to collect his mother and myself for lunch. What a nice gesture! We joined up with my daughter, son-in-law and Emma at Tiong Bahru Food Centre. Table full of food, it was good and tasty. Emma had fallen asleep earlier, but got up surprised to see all of us eating at the table. She joined in happily.
My son-in-law then brought us to collect his new Mercedes Benz. He had traded-in his Jaguar. We all piled into his gleaming black Mercedes and went for a drive to Marina South where we stopped for a drink and to see the new Clifford Pier. Emma was busy exploring her father's new car. As usual, she was very happy with all of us around her and making us laugh at her many antics.
It was 'car fever' as we proceeded to Borneo Motors to see the Toyotas and Lexus, because my son had decided to change his Volvo. He test drove the Lexus RX350 and the L250, but could not test drive the Toyota Camry.
We finally sat down to a nice dinner at Tiong Bahru, blowing my diet. A very pleasant Sunday after all. If I had not gone out in the afternoon, I would have stayed at home listening to the oldies on FM 90.5. Sometimes the oldies are not that old! Growing old, I now cherish time spent with my family and always enjoyed outings with them. And so another week had gone by.
Till then....
Friday, March 30, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Gunong Tahan
While writing the last posting, I was reminded of an episode, which resulted in a frightening experience for me.
If you look at the map of West Malaysia, you will notice the main range, running almost in the centre from north to south. Near to the northern end lies, Gunong Tahan, the tallest mountain in Malaysia, at 7,000 feet high. Gunong in Malay means mountain and Tahan means tolerance. It had been my personal challenge, to fly over this mountain, and look at the summit.
Gunong Tahan is very close to Fort Tapong, overlooking the Thai/Malaysian border, which was our main operational area. I have often regarded this area as my 'playground in the sky', as I have spent many hours flying over the terrain identifying the many hills and valleys. When the weather was good, the feeling was fantastic, flying like a bird looking at every nooks and corner over primary jungles not inhabited by man. There were of course, aboriginal settlements, in certain areas.
I remember seeing this big cave at the side of a limestone hill. Every time I flew close to it, I would wonder what was inside. There was also this big waterfall, which you can now see, driving along the north south expressway between Kampar and Ipoh. Some hills here have been demolished to make way for the expressway.
During bad weather, I sometimes had to make an escape route to fly round southward, to avoid the high mountains to get to Ipoh airfield. Knowing the topography of the area was an asset.
One day, I had finished all my tasks of dropping supplies to the ground troops, and I was headed back to Taiping. The weather was superb with blue sky and little clouds. I could see Gunong Tahan in the distance. So I decided to fly over the mountain. Very often the mountain top was covered in clouds, but on that day, it was clear. With fuel to spare, I gunned the engines making a spiral climb to 8,000 feet. Even with the sun shining down, it became chilly at that altitude.
As I approached Gunong Tahan, I noticed that the colour of the mountain had changed from dark green to a rustic brown and to black at the top. I could see the sharp jagged rim of the mountain and it was an ominous sight. I found myself flying nearer to the summit and as I peeped over to look at the inside of the mountain, I saw that it was completely pitch black! With the sun shining down, it was in total darkness! No glimmer of light, no reflections, just complete darkness. It was then that I got very frightened and could not bare to look anymore. A little voice inside me was saying, "Get the hell out of there!". I could not continue and very quickly turned the aircraft away. I felt something very sinister and evil there. My hands and feet turned cold as I steered the aircraft away. I had thought that a hand was going to emerge to grab me into the mountain. Even as I am writing this now, I still have this eerie feeling of how frightened I was on that day.
After I had flown clear of the mountain and steered towards Taiping, my uneasiness left me. Flying on a little later, I turned the aircraft around and saw the mountain sitting there in the distance. I then made a vow, that never again, will I fly anywhere near the top of that mountain!
It was a relief, when I finally landed at Taiping airfield. That night, as I laid in bed trying to sleep, the thoughts of Gunong Tahan played on my mind. In retrospect, it was a very dangerous thing to do, because there could be a very heavy downdraft over the mountain, which could easily suck the aircraft in. At that altitude, my aircraft aspirated engines would not have the power to pull me out of the hole, because of the rarefied air. To crash inside the mountain, the aircraft would vanish without a trace, and search and rescue aircraft would not be able to find the wreck, leave alone even knowing what had happened. Thank the Lord, that I can now write about this, safe and sound at home. Subsequently, after I was posted to No. 4 Dart Herald Squadron, I flew over Mt. Kinabalu, which is higher at nine thousand feet, there was no such eerie feeling.
If you look at the map of West Malaysia, you will notice the main range, running almost in the centre from north to south. Near to the northern end lies, Gunong Tahan, the tallest mountain in Malaysia, at 7,000 feet high. Gunong in Malay means mountain and Tahan means tolerance. It had been my personal challenge, to fly over this mountain, and look at the summit.
Gunong Tahan is very close to Fort Tapong, overlooking the Thai/Malaysian border, which was our main operational area. I have often regarded this area as my 'playground in the sky', as I have spent many hours flying over the terrain identifying the many hills and valleys. When the weather was good, the feeling was fantastic, flying like a bird looking at every nooks and corner over primary jungles not inhabited by man. There were of course, aboriginal settlements, in certain areas.
I remember seeing this big cave at the side of a limestone hill. Every time I flew close to it, I would wonder what was inside. There was also this big waterfall, which you can now see, driving along the north south expressway between Kampar and Ipoh. Some hills here have been demolished to make way for the expressway.
During bad weather, I sometimes had to make an escape route to fly round southward, to avoid the high mountains to get to Ipoh airfield. Knowing the topography of the area was an asset.
One day, I had finished all my tasks of dropping supplies to the ground troops, and I was headed back to Taiping. The weather was superb with blue sky and little clouds. I could see Gunong Tahan in the distance. So I decided to fly over the mountain. Very often the mountain top was covered in clouds, but on that day, it was clear. With fuel to spare, I gunned the engines making a spiral climb to 8,000 feet. Even with the sun shining down, it became chilly at that altitude.
As I approached Gunong Tahan, I noticed that the colour of the mountain had changed from dark green to a rustic brown and to black at the top. I could see the sharp jagged rim of the mountain and it was an ominous sight. I found myself flying nearer to the summit and as I peeped over to look at the inside of the mountain, I saw that it was completely pitch black! With the sun shining down, it was in total darkness! No glimmer of light, no reflections, just complete darkness. It was then that I got very frightened and could not bare to look anymore. A little voice inside me was saying, "Get the hell out of there!". I could not continue and very quickly turned the aircraft away. I felt something very sinister and evil there. My hands and feet turned cold as I steered the aircraft away. I had thought that a hand was going to emerge to grab me into the mountain. Even as I am writing this now, I still have this eerie feeling of how frightened I was on that day.
After I had flown clear of the mountain and steered towards Taiping, my uneasiness left me. Flying on a little later, I turned the aircraft around and saw the mountain sitting there in the distance. I then made a vow, that never again, will I fly anywhere near the top of that mountain!
It was a relief, when I finally landed at Taiping airfield. That night, as I laid in bed trying to sleep, the thoughts of Gunong Tahan played on my mind. In retrospect, it was a very dangerous thing to do, because there could be a very heavy downdraft over the mountain, which could easily suck the aircraft in. At that altitude, my aircraft aspirated engines would not have the power to pull me out of the hole, because of the rarefied air. To crash inside the mountain, the aircraft would vanish without a trace, and search and rescue aircraft would not be able to find the wreck, leave alone even knowing what had happened. Thank the Lord, that I can now write about this, safe and sound at home. Subsequently, after I was posted to No. 4 Dart Herald Squadron, I flew over Mt. Kinabalu, which is higher at nine thousand feet, there was no such eerie feeling.
Double click the satellite picture on top to see Gunong Tahan. You will notice the cloud cover over the mountain. The terrain around the area will indicate my 'playground in the sky'. Note also the location of Ipoh and Cameron Highlands as indicated by the marked circle. Most of the jungle are primary jungle still uninhabited by man.
Till then....
Till then....
Saturday, March 24, 2007
My second air crash.
To all my dear readers out there who have been reading my blog since inception, a big thank you and hope you will continue to read 'one grandfather's stories'. Please comment if you have anything to say. Would like to read your comments.
In my last posting, you read of my first air crash. Now I would like to relate to you my second air crash.
On 27th June, 1962, I was tasked, together with Flying Officer Mohd. Ngah, under Operation Order 443/62, to carry out a troop lift of Malaysian Police Field Force personal between Grik airfield and Fort Tapong. We were flying a RMAF Twin Pioneer FM1067. (See picture above)
Both Mat Ngah and myself were in the same course, when we were doing our flying training with the RAF in England. Mat was ex-army and was trained at Sandhurst, prior to his transfer to the RMAF. We got along very well and became very good friends.
Before taking off from Kl, we tossed a coin to see who would fly the first sector. Since Mat and myself were both Junior Captains at that time, we shared the flying by alternating sectors as Captain. I had won the toss, and so I flew the aircraft from KL to Grik. A flight of 1 hour 35 minutes.
I took off at about 0800 hours for Grik. Grik is a very small town north of Ipoh. It has a grass strip which has a very steep drop at one end. While it was not a dangerous air strip, it becomes very slippery after heavy rain, and I was involved in a landing incident on another occasion. My Squadron Commander John Williams, one day, overshot the landing and ended down the steep slope! Grik had often been, one of our staging air strips, when we carried out troop lifts between police jungle forts and urban police camps. One night, I slept in the aircraft overnight, because the small government rest house was fully booked for the Mentri Besar (Chief Minister).
Fort Tapong, on the other hand, was a Class A air strip, which puts it as being dangerous. It was the size of a football field, surrounded by hills, making it like a hole in the ground. At the end of the strip was a tall limestone hill, parted at the centre, looking like two hills!
In the early days, the engineers went in and using dynamite, blasted away the thick foliage between the two hills. This made it possible for us to approach through the hills for the landing. It was very precarious, as we maneuvered down, with our wing tips barely clearing the side of the hills. As soon as the wing tips cleared, the throttles were cut, and the aircraft sank to the ground. Just before the wheels touched down, a burst of power from the engines cushioned the touch down. The first time I landed this direction, it was so scary that I thought I was going to hit the side of the hill. Nerve wrecking! After some time, the foliage grew up again and it was not possible to use this approach, and the strip became a 'one way' strip, meaning landing and take-off in one particular direction only. It was also unique in that, you could not see the air strip visually, unless you were overhead or on short final during landing. In order to make an approach for landing, the circuit was plotted such that, the aircraft must be at a certain landmark at a precise height.
Fort Tapong does not exist anymore. At the end of the emergency, the river was dynamited and the entire fort was flooded. Before this, the Police Field Force did a recce and discovered a foot trail crossing the limestone hill. At the limestone hill looking down directly at the air strip, they discovered a table and chair on which the communist terrorists were spying and recording all the aircraft movements!
When I made my approach for landing at Grik, my tachometer, which reads the revolutions per minute (RPM) of the engines, suddenly died. So I told Mat that I would use his tachometer instead. As soon as I said that, his tachometer also swung and went dead. Anyway, I landed safely as the instrument had no bearing on the landing. I had to shut down the engines and went to the rest house to call KL for assistance, as I could not operate without the instrument.
As the aircraft was now not serviceable, we waited for the relief aircraft from KL. By the time the relief aircraft came with the technical crew and spare instruments to carry out the repair, it was about three in the afternoon.
It was Mat's turn to fly the next sector. Taking on 12 troops and stores, we took-off from Grik. I was occupying the right hand seat. The 20 minute flight to Fort Tapong was very bumpy.
As we approached Fort Tapong, we noticed a RAF Sycamore helicopter parked at the overshoot end of the air strip. Mat told me that he would undershoot a little so that we could stop in time. Looking out the right side, I suddenly saw water under the tall grass. Before I could call out to Mat, he had cut the engines. The right wheel hit the water-logged ground with a loud bang. Immediately the right undercarriage got ripped off, and I saw the right engine hitting the ground. The engine stopped and the steel propeller looked like ribbons! The aircraft skidded on the right side of the belly and came to a stop. As the impact was on my side, I felt the force caving in and my right foot was caught momentarily between the rudder pedals and the side.
Immediately after the crash, it became very silent and both our hands shook, due to shock. Realising that we had crashed, I found that we were not injured. I then switched everything off and went into the cabin to evacuate all the passengers. The passengers were looking at me not realising that we had crashed! I saw that the door was twisted half open as I shouted to the passengers to leave the aircraft. Some tried to pick up the boxes, but I told them to leave immediately as I was fearful of a fire. After getting the passengers out, both Mat and myself ran off to a safe distance. The left wing tank had punctured and avgas was pouring down like a tap. Avgas is a very volatile and dangerous substance. A spark could cause the material to explode and burn.
Lying on our stomach a safe distance away, we waited to see what would happened. Luckily it did not catch fire, but the grass area where the avgas poured, turned brown. Looking at the aircraft, it was really pathetic. The nose was dug in on the ground, the left wing pointed up, and the fuselage smashed at the floorboard. The whole aircraft was a category 5 damage, which meant a total write off. Some of the passengers were not aware of the crash but thought that only the landing was heavy! Later, the engineers went in and salvaged the engines and whatever they could, and transported all the parts to Grik by raft. The journey took them three and a half days.
We spent the night at Fort Tapong. It was difficult for Mat and myself to eat and sleep that night after the crash and we consoled each other. The Fort Commander, Arnold Fernandez, a good friend of ours tried to cheer us up.
The next morning, the helicopter lifted us up to Grik. Another relief Twin Pioneer flew into Grik later that day and I flew back to KL. A Board of Inquiry was convened and though Mat was found blame-worthy for the crash, no disciplinary action was taken. He was given a pep talk by the Base Commander. One year later, I found myself in Scotland, taking delivery of a new Twin Pioneer aircraft as a replacement, and flying it all the way back to KL. But then, that is another story....
Till then....
In my last posting, you read of my first air crash. Now I would like to relate to you my second air crash.
On 27th June, 1962, I was tasked, together with Flying Officer Mohd. Ngah, under Operation Order 443/62, to carry out a troop lift of Malaysian Police Field Force personal between Grik airfield and Fort Tapong. We were flying a RMAF Twin Pioneer FM1067. (See picture above)
Both Mat Ngah and myself were in the same course, when we were doing our flying training with the RAF in England. Mat was ex-army and was trained at Sandhurst, prior to his transfer to the RMAF. We got along very well and became very good friends.
Before taking off from Kl, we tossed a coin to see who would fly the first sector. Since Mat and myself were both Junior Captains at that time, we shared the flying by alternating sectors as Captain. I had won the toss, and so I flew the aircraft from KL to Grik. A flight of 1 hour 35 minutes.
I took off at about 0800 hours for Grik. Grik is a very small town north of Ipoh. It has a grass strip which has a very steep drop at one end. While it was not a dangerous air strip, it becomes very slippery after heavy rain, and I was involved in a landing incident on another occasion. My Squadron Commander John Williams, one day, overshot the landing and ended down the steep slope! Grik had often been, one of our staging air strips, when we carried out troop lifts between police jungle forts and urban police camps. One night, I slept in the aircraft overnight, because the small government rest house was fully booked for the Mentri Besar (Chief Minister).
Fort Tapong, on the other hand, was a Class A air strip, which puts it as being dangerous. It was the size of a football field, surrounded by hills, making it like a hole in the ground. At the end of the strip was a tall limestone hill, parted at the centre, looking like two hills!
In the early days, the engineers went in and using dynamite, blasted away the thick foliage between the two hills. This made it possible for us to approach through the hills for the landing. It was very precarious, as we maneuvered down, with our wing tips barely clearing the side of the hills. As soon as the wing tips cleared, the throttles were cut, and the aircraft sank to the ground. Just before the wheels touched down, a burst of power from the engines cushioned the touch down. The first time I landed this direction, it was so scary that I thought I was going to hit the side of the hill. Nerve wrecking! After some time, the foliage grew up again and it was not possible to use this approach, and the strip became a 'one way' strip, meaning landing and take-off in one particular direction only. It was also unique in that, you could not see the air strip visually, unless you were overhead or on short final during landing. In order to make an approach for landing, the circuit was plotted such that, the aircraft must be at a certain landmark at a precise height.
Fort Tapong does not exist anymore. At the end of the emergency, the river was dynamited and the entire fort was flooded. Before this, the Police Field Force did a recce and discovered a foot trail crossing the limestone hill. At the limestone hill looking down directly at the air strip, they discovered a table and chair on which the communist terrorists were spying and recording all the aircraft movements!
When I made my approach for landing at Grik, my tachometer, which reads the revolutions per minute (RPM) of the engines, suddenly died. So I told Mat that I would use his tachometer instead. As soon as I said that, his tachometer also swung and went dead. Anyway, I landed safely as the instrument had no bearing on the landing. I had to shut down the engines and went to the rest house to call KL for assistance, as I could not operate without the instrument.
As the aircraft was now not serviceable, we waited for the relief aircraft from KL. By the time the relief aircraft came with the technical crew and spare instruments to carry out the repair, it was about three in the afternoon.
It was Mat's turn to fly the next sector. Taking on 12 troops and stores, we took-off from Grik. I was occupying the right hand seat. The 20 minute flight to Fort Tapong was very bumpy.
As we approached Fort Tapong, we noticed a RAF Sycamore helicopter parked at the overshoot end of the air strip. Mat told me that he would undershoot a little so that we could stop in time. Looking out the right side, I suddenly saw water under the tall grass. Before I could call out to Mat, he had cut the engines. The right wheel hit the water-logged ground with a loud bang. Immediately the right undercarriage got ripped off, and I saw the right engine hitting the ground. The engine stopped and the steel propeller looked like ribbons! The aircraft skidded on the right side of the belly and came to a stop. As the impact was on my side, I felt the force caving in and my right foot was caught momentarily between the rudder pedals and the side.
Immediately after the crash, it became very silent and both our hands shook, due to shock. Realising that we had crashed, I found that we were not injured. I then switched everything off and went into the cabin to evacuate all the passengers. The passengers were looking at me not realising that we had crashed! I saw that the door was twisted half open as I shouted to the passengers to leave the aircraft. Some tried to pick up the boxes, but I told them to leave immediately as I was fearful of a fire. After getting the passengers out, both Mat and myself ran off to a safe distance. The left wing tank had punctured and avgas was pouring down like a tap. Avgas is a very volatile and dangerous substance. A spark could cause the material to explode and burn.
Lying on our stomach a safe distance away, we waited to see what would happened. Luckily it did not catch fire, but the grass area where the avgas poured, turned brown. Looking at the aircraft, it was really pathetic. The nose was dug in on the ground, the left wing pointed up, and the fuselage smashed at the floorboard. The whole aircraft was a category 5 damage, which meant a total write off. Some of the passengers were not aware of the crash but thought that only the landing was heavy! Later, the engineers went in and salvaged the engines and whatever they could, and transported all the parts to Grik by raft. The journey took them three and a half days.
We spent the night at Fort Tapong. It was difficult for Mat and myself to eat and sleep that night after the crash and we consoled each other. The Fort Commander, Arnold Fernandez, a good friend of ours tried to cheer us up.
The next morning, the helicopter lifted us up to Grik. Another relief Twin Pioneer flew into Grik later that day and I flew back to KL. A Board of Inquiry was convened and though Mat was found blame-worthy for the crash, no disciplinary action was taken. He was given a pep talk by the Base Commander. One year later, I found myself in Scotland, taking delivery of a new Twin Pioneer aircraft as a replacement, and flying it all the way back to KL. But then, that is another story....
Till then....
Saturday, March 17, 2007
My first air crash.
By the age of 15, I had made up my mind that I would like to be an aeroplane pilot. I had kept this to myself, but those knowing me would have noticed my great interest in aviation. I was not academically inclined, but more pragmatic using my hands, feet and brain rather than just on
book knowledge.
Deciding to do something about it, I approached the Royal Perak Flying Club, located in Ipoh, to pursue my aspiration. I met my first flying instructor, Freddy Fisk, who worked in RIDA, a national rural development authority, and a part time flying instructor with the flying club. A British national, Freddy was impressed with my gung-ho attitude, in seeking such an early start, to achieving my flying aspiration. After all, I was still only a school boy. But Freddy Fisk, being such a noble gentleman, encouraged me very positively, and advised me that as I was too young to hold a student pilot license, he recommended me to start flying gliders. The minimum age for a student pilot license was 16, and I needed to be 17, before I could fly solo in a powered aircraft. However the minimum age to fly gliders was 15. Freddy then plotted out a special program for me to kick start my flying training. After several flights with him, Freddy spoke to my father to arrange such a training program, recognising my flying potential. However school work and financial considerations impeded the program. I was to learn much later, that Freddy was himself a Professor in psychology.
Every weekend, I was at the airfield, learning the rudiments of gliding, taught by Freddy. After a few flights in a two seater T21 glider, I was strapped in a single seat Primary glider. A Primary glider, is a rather hideous looking, steel airframe, very open with a single seat in front. It looks like someone trying to build an aircraft, but without any skin covering, except for the wings. Attaching a long steel cable to his Citreon vehicle, Freddy pulled me along at very high speed along the runway. Following his instructions, I managed to take off and flew straight and level. By the time he slowed down, I made such a hard landing that I thought I was going to fall out of my seat, and wrecking the glider. We came to a grinding halt, as Freddy got out of his car, walked up to me and with an extended hand, congratulated me on my first glider solo. I was elated! He then informed me that I had qualified for my 'A' certificate. Subsequently, we did another run and this time, I released my cable and flew unassisted without the cable, making another very bumpy landing. This time, I qualified for my 'B' certificate. This certificate was issued by the UK Royal Aero Club, of which we were affiliated. The date was 12th August, 1956, shortly after my 16th birthday. My next goal was to qualify for a 'C' certificate.
To qualify for a 'C' certificate, I had to remain airborne in a glider for a minimum of 15 minutes. Simple enough? Not so. A glider, after being launched into the air, without any engine, will start to sink until landing, a duration of only about 5 minutes. In order to remain airborne, I needed to fly into a 'thermal', a mass of up current air, which will give me the uplift to gain height. By circling over this, the glider will gain height and thus able to remain longer in flight. A winch, a modified stationary lorry, with a huge drum of steel cable, was used to launch a glider, pulling it up to a thousand feet in height, before the pilot released the cable to fly away.
By this time, I had graduated to flying the Grunau, a single seat sailplane, which looks like a small jet aircraft but without any engine. Painted in yellow, it had an open hood and visor and made a whistling noise when flying. Built in Germany, it was certified as being very safe and not prone to spinning.
I have been trying very hard to qualify for my 'C' certificate every weekend, and Freddy was encouraging me to go for it.
On the 18th November, 1956, a bright and sunny Sunday, I was launched to attempt for my 'C' certificate. After releasing the cable, I started to look for thermals. An open fire on the ground, with smoke rising, is a good indicator of a thermal. In the absence of an open fire, a bump from below, will also indicate flying over a thermal. By circling over this bump, the glider gets its uplift. Inside the instrument panel, there is a variometer. It consisted of two small liquid tubes, one with a red marker and the other green. When the green marker rose, it indicted an upift. When the red marker rose, it indicated a sink. So by turning, and feeling the bump and watching the variometer, I started to search for thermals to stay aloft. It became turbulent but I did not make much progress trying to stay airborne.
Sensing this, I decided to return to the airfield for a landing, as I was losing altitude fast. Flying downwind and parallel to the airfield, I suddenly felt a bump which sent my green marker up. Immediately, I started to circle over the spot. Noticing that the glider nose was pointing down and increasing the speed, I eased back on the stick to try and maintain the correct speed. I must have eased back too much, for the next moment, the nose pointed up and the speed dropped drastically. I managed to recover from this by pushing the nose down. I was still circling and suddenly, I felt the nose pointing straight to the ground and the glider spinning round. Tried as I could, there was no response to my stick movement. I was very frightened, when I saw the ground coming up very fast, and realised that I was very low. The next moment, I saw the glider heading straight for a building. Bracing myself for the impact, the glider suddenly swerved and hit the ground with one terrific bang. After the roar of the wind, it suddenly became very quiet, and I found myself hanging by my shoulder straps. I noticed my hands were shaking badly, a sign of shock, and the front of the glider was reduced to wood splinters. There was nothing in front of me! I had just missed a school building and a tree. (See picture above.) People were running towards me and one fat man came and carried me up. I remember telling him I was alright before he put me down. I was in a daze and noticed some blood stain on my shirt but could not ascertain my injuries. I was disoriented and then only did I realised that I had crashed. My Ray Ban sunglasses was completely ripped off my face. I started to look for it amidst the strange looks of the crowd that had since gathered. The people seemed so distant as I wandered around in a daze. Just then, my brother turned up in the car and putting me inside, drove off to the hospital. I had crashed inside Pasir Pinji Village, which was adjacent to the airfield. On the way out, an ambulance was seen heading in. Someone had alerted for the ambulance. Still in a daze inside the car, I felt some pain on my right eye and chest.
When I got to the hospital, I discovered I needed three stitches on my right eye lid. Apart from bruises and abrasions, I was alright. My father and sister had in the mean time rushed to the hospital. I was later sent home.
While I was on the way to the hospital, I was full of misgivings and feeling guilty for the crash. I anticipated some form of punishment and retribution for my rash act. How could I face Freddy and other members of the club. Surely I would be most unpopular and sacked from the club. Look at the damage I have done. How was I going to repay for the loss of one glider. It was then that I decided I was going to resign from the club and forget about my flying career.
While resting at home that afternoon, Freddy came to visit me. He was very jovial and laughed over the incident. I told him I was very sorry about the crash but he told me not to worry about it and told me that he wanted me back in the air as soon as possible. Did I hear right? My mind boggled at the turn of events.
Freddy then told me that he was flying in a Tiger Moth at the same time, and saw me in the glider. He went on to say that I had got myself into a spin earlier on but managed to recover. But the second time, I was too close to the ground and did not recover. However, he complimented me on my action of pulling my dive brakes out, just before the impact, thus reducing the angle of the dive, and minimising my injuries. This statement was also published in the newspaper. I could not remember this action in my state of confusion. I was told that the glider was not supposed to go into a spin, as certified by the manufacturer. A spin is a condition, in which one side of the wing is stalled, as the aircraft spirals down gathering speed. A stalled wing has no forward movement, and at zero speed, the other wing moving at great speed sends the aircraft into a spiral dive. To recover, the control stick must be pushed forward to increase speed, followed by kicking the opposite rudder. The aircraft would then recover from the dive. Unfortunately, due to my inexperience, and not having been into a spin myself, I was unable to cope with an actual spin. The glider cost $5,000.00!
I was visited by my friends from the club, who were very friendly and did not bear me any malice for the crash. They all urged me to return to my flying. Coupled with this, my father also advised me to return to flying, for he knew of my flying aspiration. He also decided that he would join the flying club to lend me support. All these developments caught me by surprise, contrary to my thinking, when I was on my way to the hospital. And so I did not have to give up flying after all.
The crash made it to the newspaper, with pictures of the wreck, and descriptions of the boy pilot. My right eye had swollen, and I had some difficulties reading. So I missed school for a few days. When I returned to school, I was the 'hero for the day', garnering much interest from the teachers and students. Some of my classmates even thought that I had died! It was also end of the year examination time. With my swollen eye, I could not see properly, and was excused from the examinations. The teachers aggregated my previous two terms results into three, and due to my good performance, passed my third term.
This happened a long time ago, but it remains in my memory and I still have the newspaper clippings. I have much to thank Freddy Fisk, my first flying instructor, who nurtured and encouraged me. I do not know where he is now. Also to Delmi Radcliffe 'Pedro', who has passed on now, and to all my other friends in the club, who believed in me.
book knowledge.
Deciding to do something about it, I approached the Royal Perak Flying Club, located in Ipoh, to pursue my aspiration. I met my first flying instructor, Freddy Fisk, who worked in RIDA, a national rural development authority, and a part time flying instructor with the flying club. A British national, Freddy was impressed with my gung-ho attitude, in seeking such an early start, to achieving my flying aspiration. After all, I was still only a school boy. But Freddy Fisk, being such a noble gentleman, encouraged me very positively, and advised me that as I was too young to hold a student pilot license, he recommended me to start flying gliders. The minimum age for a student pilot license was 16, and I needed to be 17, before I could fly solo in a powered aircraft. However the minimum age to fly gliders was 15. Freddy then plotted out a special program for me to kick start my flying training. After several flights with him, Freddy spoke to my father to arrange such a training program, recognising my flying potential. However school work and financial considerations impeded the program. I was to learn much later, that Freddy was himself a Professor in psychology.
Every weekend, I was at the airfield, learning the rudiments of gliding, taught by Freddy. After a few flights in a two seater T21 glider, I was strapped in a single seat Primary glider. A Primary glider, is a rather hideous looking, steel airframe, very open with a single seat in front. It looks like someone trying to build an aircraft, but without any skin covering, except for the wings. Attaching a long steel cable to his Citreon vehicle, Freddy pulled me along at very high speed along the runway. Following his instructions, I managed to take off and flew straight and level. By the time he slowed down, I made such a hard landing that I thought I was going to fall out of my seat, and wrecking the glider. We came to a grinding halt, as Freddy got out of his car, walked up to me and with an extended hand, congratulated me on my first glider solo. I was elated! He then informed me that I had qualified for my 'A' certificate. Subsequently, we did another run and this time, I released my cable and flew unassisted without the cable, making another very bumpy landing. This time, I qualified for my 'B' certificate. This certificate was issued by the UK Royal Aero Club, of which we were affiliated. The date was 12th August, 1956, shortly after my 16th birthday. My next goal was to qualify for a 'C' certificate.
To qualify for a 'C' certificate, I had to remain airborne in a glider for a minimum of 15 minutes. Simple enough? Not so. A glider, after being launched into the air, without any engine, will start to sink until landing, a duration of only about 5 minutes. In order to remain airborne, I needed to fly into a 'thermal', a mass of up current air, which will give me the uplift to gain height. By circling over this, the glider will gain height and thus able to remain longer in flight. A winch, a modified stationary lorry, with a huge drum of steel cable, was used to launch a glider, pulling it up to a thousand feet in height, before the pilot released the cable to fly away.
By this time, I had graduated to flying the Grunau, a single seat sailplane, which looks like a small jet aircraft but without any engine. Painted in yellow, it had an open hood and visor and made a whistling noise when flying. Built in Germany, it was certified as being very safe and not prone to spinning.
I have been trying very hard to qualify for my 'C' certificate every weekend, and Freddy was encouraging me to go for it.
On the 18th November, 1956, a bright and sunny Sunday, I was launched to attempt for my 'C' certificate. After releasing the cable, I started to look for thermals. An open fire on the ground, with smoke rising, is a good indicator of a thermal. In the absence of an open fire, a bump from below, will also indicate flying over a thermal. By circling over this bump, the glider gets its uplift. Inside the instrument panel, there is a variometer. It consisted of two small liquid tubes, one with a red marker and the other green. When the green marker rose, it indicted an upift. When the red marker rose, it indicated a sink. So by turning, and feeling the bump and watching the variometer, I started to search for thermals to stay aloft. It became turbulent but I did not make much progress trying to stay airborne.
Sensing this, I decided to return to the airfield for a landing, as I was losing altitude fast. Flying downwind and parallel to the airfield, I suddenly felt a bump which sent my green marker up. Immediately, I started to circle over the spot. Noticing that the glider nose was pointing down and increasing the speed, I eased back on the stick to try and maintain the correct speed. I must have eased back too much, for the next moment, the nose pointed up and the speed dropped drastically. I managed to recover from this by pushing the nose down. I was still circling and suddenly, I felt the nose pointing straight to the ground and the glider spinning round. Tried as I could, there was no response to my stick movement. I was very frightened, when I saw the ground coming up very fast, and realised that I was very low. The next moment, I saw the glider heading straight for a building. Bracing myself for the impact, the glider suddenly swerved and hit the ground with one terrific bang. After the roar of the wind, it suddenly became very quiet, and I found myself hanging by my shoulder straps. I noticed my hands were shaking badly, a sign of shock, and the front of the glider was reduced to wood splinters. There was nothing in front of me! I had just missed a school building and a tree. (See picture above.) People were running towards me and one fat man came and carried me up. I remember telling him I was alright before he put me down. I was in a daze and noticed some blood stain on my shirt but could not ascertain my injuries. I was disoriented and then only did I realised that I had crashed. My Ray Ban sunglasses was completely ripped off my face. I started to look for it amidst the strange looks of the crowd that had since gathered. The people seemed so distant as I wandered around in a daze. Just then, my brother turned up in the car and putting me inside, drove off to the hospital. I had crashed inside Pasir Pinji Village, which was adjacent to the airfield. On the way out, an ambulance was seen heading in. Someone had alerted for the ambulance. Still in a daze inside the car, I felt some pain on my right eye and chest.
When I got to the hospital, I discovered I needed three stitches on my right eye lid. Apart from bruises and abrasions, I was alright. My father and sister had in the mean time rushed to the hospital. I was later sent home.
While I was on the way to the hospital, I was full of misgivings and feeling guilty for the crash. I anticipated some form of punishment and retribution for my rash act. How could I face Freddy and other members of the club. Surely I would be most unpopular and sacked from the club. Look at the damage I have done. How was I going to repay for the loss of one glider. It was then that I decided I was going to resign from the club and forget about my flying career.
While resting at home that afternoon, Freddy came to visit me. He was very jovial and laughed over the incident. I told him I was very sorry about the crash but he told me not to worry about it and told me that he wanted me back in the air as soon as possible. Did I hear right? My mind boggled at the turn of events.
Freddy then told me that he was flying in a Tiger Moth at the same time, and saw me in the glider. He went on to say that I had got myself into a spin earlier on but managed to recover. But the second time, I was too close to the ground and did not recover. However, he complimented me on my action of pulling my dive brakes out, just before the impact, thus reducing the angle of the dive, and minimising my injuries. This statement was also published in the newspaper. I could not remember this action in my state of confusion. I was told that the glider was not supposed to go into a spin, as certified by the manufacturer. A spin is a condition, in which one side of the wing is stalled, as the aircraft spirals down gathering speed. A stalled wing has no forward movement, and at zero speed, the other wing moving at great speed sends the aircraft into a spiral dive. To recover, the control stick must be pushed forward to increase speed, followed by kicking the opposite rudder. The aircraft would then recover from the dive. Unfortunately, due to my inexperience, and not having been into a spin myself, I was unable to cope with an actual spin. The glider cost $5,000.00!
I was visited by my friends from the club, who were very friendly and did not bear me any malice for the crash. They all urged me to return to my flying. Coupled with this, my father also advised me to return to flying, for he knew of my flying aspiration. He also decided that he would join the flying club to lend me support. All these developments caught me by surprise, contrary to my thinking, when I was on my way to the hospital. And so I did not have to give up flying after all.
The crash made it to the newspaper, with pictures of the wreck, and descriptions of the boy pilot. My right eye had swollen, and I had some difficulties reading. So I missed school for a few days. When I returned to school, I was the 'hero for the day', garnering much interest from the teachers and students. Some of my classmates even thought that I had died! It was also end of the year examination time. With my swollen eye, I could not see properly, and was excused from the examinations. The teachers aggregated my previous two terms results into three, and due to my good performance, passed my third term.
This happened a long time ago, but it remains in my memory and I still have the newspaper clippings. I have much to thank Freddy Fisk, my first flying instructor, who nurtured and encouraged me. I do not know where he is now. Also to Delmi Radcliffe 'Pedro', who has passed on now, and to all my other friends in the club, who believed in me.
Double click on the picture above for an enlarged view of the wreck. Note the smashed nose and the seat I was strapped in. Also note the building and the trees behind that I had just missed!
Till then....
Till then....
Monday, March 12, 2007
"You have been shot, Sir!"
Every pilot has a log book, in which details of all his flights, are recorded. I have several of these in which all my RMAF flights were recorded, including a civilian log book, with records of my flying club and civilian flying. Reading through all the entries, in retrospect, opens up a floodgate of nostalgic memories.
It was a murky morning on 21st October, 1964, when I took off at Labuan, Sabah, in a Twin Pioneer FM 1065, with my co-pilot, Pilot Officer Tony Ngiau, on Mission 51 heading out to Bario. This was during the Indonesian Confrontation against Malaysia. Bario, located at Sarawak state, was considered a dangerous air strip operated by the RAF. It is some 3,000 ft above sea level, and is so close to the Indonesian border, that the Indonesian forces frequently launch attacks. Taking off from Bario, you must immediately make a right turn, otherwise you will be over Indonesia. It is also surrounded by hills.
Carrying some supplies and passengers on board, I flew to Brunei to pick up some more supplies and passengers. After taking off from Brunei, I headed out for Bario. What I saw in the distance was not good. There were low clouds and rain all along the Kalimantan Border. As I got closer, I noticed that the weather over in Indonesia was fair. The range of hills and high ground had blocked the rain clouds. To pin-point the approach into Bario visually, I had to fly over two sharp limestone peaks, which we all nicknamed the 'Bario Titties'. However, on this morning, the weather was so bad that I could not see the 'Titties'! Low clouds have covered them.
I knew that I was very close to Bario, but the low clouds hampered me. With the surrounding hills and high ground covered in clouds, it became very dangerous. I circled and looked for a hole to descend. Finding one, I started to spiral down cautiously. Creeping forward, I suddenly found that the cloud had closed in on me! Turning back, I found to my horror, that the cloud I flew through a moment ago had also closed in on me. I was caught in a very dangerous situation with high grounds and low clouds with visibility almost zero. I immediately opened up full throttles to climb out. In desperation, I started to turn right towards a clearer sky. Tony gave me a warning that we were very close to the Indonesian border. I realised that, but the situation was becoming very desperate, and I had to get away from the hills and low clouds. I finally emerged into a clearer sky and climbing with full throttles, made a wide sweeping turn to return to Brunei.
Levelling at 7,000 feet, I sent Tony to tell the passengers that we were returning to Brunei due to bad weather. The passengers must have been feeling very uncomfortable, but glad that I was returning to Brunei.
After landing in Brunei, I taxied to dispersal where I was met by two RAF marshallers. As soon as I had shut down the engines, I noticed that the two marshallers were inspecting my aircraft very closely. Asking them what were they looking for, they told me, "You have been shot, Sir". They were looking for bullet holes and any damages to my aircraft. They then told me that Operations would like to see me.
When I met the Operations Officer, he told me that I was fired on by the Indonesian Anti Aircraft Gun Battery. He was dismayed when I told him that I was not aware I was being shot at, as I heard nothing and saw nothing. I was too busy trying to get out of the bad weather.
He then showed me the messages sent by the British ground forces at Bario. The first message reported that an RMAF Twin Pioneer aircraft was spotted crossing into Indonesian territory. The second message a few minutes later, reported that the Indonesian anti aircraft guns had opened up to shoot the aircraft down. The message described it as 'all hell let loose', and ended the message with, 'do not expect survivors'. Five minutes later, a third message reported my aircraft as leaving Indonesian airspace and turning back.
Due to the bad weather, my Mission was cancelled. When I finally landed at Labuan, the Intelligence Office (I.O.) was waiting for me. He was also very surprised that I had got away from the anti aircraft guns. Ushering me into his office, he drew the curtains to show me a map pin-pointing the gun position, and right on it was a large pin showing where I was. It was frightening to see that, but I really did not see or hear anything amiss during the skirmish. He finally told me to be more careful the next time.
I had taken note of the grid reference of my aircraft position, and jokingly told Tony that we should have bought the 4 digit lottery. When I got back to KL, for the fun of it, I checked in the old newspaper, and discovered that the numbers had actually struck during that week. Sigh!
The important thing is that we survived it. For that I give thanks to the Lord, who protected me from this and many more dangers.
Till then....
It was a murky morning on 21st October, 1964, when I took off at Labuan, Sabah, in a Twin Pioneer FM 1065, with my co-pilot, Pilot Officer Tony Ngiau, on Mission 51 heading out to Bario. This was during the Indonesian Confrontation against Malaysia. Bario, located at Sarawak state, was considered a dangerous air strip operated by the RAF. It is some 3,000 ft above sea level, and is so close to the Indonesian border, that the Indonesian forces frequently launch attacks. Taking off from Bario, you must immediately make a right turn, otherwise you will be over Indonesia. It is also surrounded by hills.
Carrying some supplies and passengers on board, I flew to Brunei to pick up some more supplies and passengers. After taking off from Brunei, I headed out for Bario. What I saw in the distance was not good. There were low clouds and rain all along the Kalimantan Border. As I got closer, I noticed that the weather over in Indonesia was fair. The range of hills and high ground had blocked the rain clouds. To pin-point the approach into Bario visually, I had to fly over two sharp limestone peaks, which we all nicknamed the 'Bario Titties'. However, on this morning, the weather was so bad that I could not see the 'Titties'! Low clouds have covered them.
I knew that I was very close to Bario, but the low clouds hampered me. With the surrounding hills and high ground covered in clouds, it became very dangerous. I circled and looked for a hole to descend. Finding one, I started to spiral down cautiously. Creeping forward, I suddenly found that the cloud had closed in on me! Turning back, I found to my horror, that the cloud I flew through a moment ago had also closed in on me. I was caught in a very dangerous situation with high grounds and low clouds with visibility almost zero. I immediately opened up full throttles to climb out. In desperation, I started to turn right towards a clearer sky. Tony gave me a warning that we were very close to the Indonesian border. I realised that, but the situation was becoming very desperate, and I had to get away from the hills and low clouds. I finally emerged into a clearer sky and climbing with full throttles, made a wide sweeping turn to return to Brunei.
Levelling at 7,000 feet, I sent Tony to tell the passengers that we were returning to Brunei due to bad weather. The passengers must have been feeling very uncomfortable, but glad that I was returning to Brunei.
After landing in Brunei, I taxied to dispersal where I was met by two RAF marshallers. As soon as I had shut down the engines, I noticed that the two marshallers were inspecting my aircraft very closely. Asking them what were they looking for, they told me, "You have been shot, Sir". They were looking for bullet holes and any damages to my aircraft. They then told me that Operations would like to see me.
When I met the Operations Officer, he told me that I was fired on by the Indonesian Anti Aircraft Gun Battery. He was dismayed when I told him that I was not aware I was being shot at, as I heard nothing and saw nothing. I was too busy trying to get out of the bad weather.
He then showed me the messages sent by the British ground forces at Bario. The first message reported that an RMAF Twin Pioneer aircraft was spotted crossing into Indonesian territory. The second message a few minutes later, reported that the Indonesian anti aircraft guns had opened up to shoot the aircraft down. The message described it as 'all hell let loose', and ended the message with, 'do not expect survivors'. Five minutes later, a third message reported my aircraft as leaving Indonesian airspace and turning back.
Due to the bad weather, my Mission was cancelled. When I finally landed at Labuan, the Intelligence Office (I.O.) was waiting for me. He was also very surprised that I had got away from the anti aircraft guns. Ushering me into his office, he drew the curtains to show me a map pin-pointing the gun position, and right on it was a large pin showing where I was. It was frightening to see that, but I really did not see or hear anything amiss during the skirmish. He finally told me to be more careful the next time.
I had taken note of the grid reference of my aircraft position, and jokingly told Tony that we should have bought the 4 digit lottery. When I got back to KL, for the fun of it, I checked in the old newspaper, and discovered that the numbers had actually struck during that week. Sigh!
The important thing is that we survived it. For that I give thanks to the Lord, who protected me from this and many more dangers.
Till then....
Thursday, March 8, 2007
"I've been shot!"
Close on the heels of my elephant hunt, this is another real live shooting incident that happened a long time ago.
My father used to be an arms dealer since the forties. He had two specially built strong rooms to house all the fire arms and ammunition. I used to go into his office and headed straight for the strong room, where my father would show me his new and old fire arms. There was quite a collection of old pistols, rifles and shotguns from all over the world including the Soviet bloc and the western countries. The new ones would come from England, Europe and the US, with manufacturers like Colts, Smith & Wesson, Webley, Baretta, Mauser and other names which I now cannot remember. I remember having a whale of a time playing with the various weapons. This was the time when I learned a lot about fire arms, and also learned how to shoot some of the weapons.
This was also during the insurgency, when the country was in a state of emergency fighting the communist terrorists. Besides supporting the police, tin mining companies and rubber estates had to beef up their security with armed guards. It was a rather lucrative period for my father.
During the weekends and certain evenings, we used to go in a group to shoot wild boar, flying foxes, snipes and wild pigeons. We brought them home where my mother would cook them.
On one particular evening sometime in 1954, we went to shoot wild pigeons along the main trunk road south of Ipoh and quite near to a small town named Temoh. The time was about five in the evening, and we were all standing along the road, looking up at the sky for the wild pigeons to return to roost after their feeding.
Standing next to me was K.S. Leong, an effluent tin miner and race horse owner, and friend of my father. He was not a hunter but a bystander like myself, for I was still a school boy at that time. Across the road and standing on a high ground, was Dr. Chin, a gynaecologist and one of the hunters, who happened to be a former classmate of K.S. Leong. Dr. Chin was carrying a loaded double barrel shot gun on his shoulder, and was looking at the sky, when he suddenly tripped into a hole on the ground. Throwing his hands forward, his right hand slammed the shot gun on the ground discharging a round. From where I was standing, I suddenly heard a loud bang and felt a blast of hot air passing me on the right. K.S. Leong suddenly clasped his hands to his face and shouting, "I've been shot!", stumbled and fell on the ground. All this happened so fast, I was momentarily stunned. When I looked at K.S. Leong, he was writhing on the ground with blood all over his face and chest. Dr. Chin ran across the road to tend to him amidst all the commotion. The hunters were using 12 gauge, No. 8 shot gun rounds, and this discharged a spray shot of very small lead pellets.
By this time, K.S. Leong was in distress and delirious with incoherent cries of pain. I could see the black pellets all over his face and chest. We carried him into the car and rushed him to the nearest hospital, which was quite a distance away in Tapah. All this time, Dr. Chin was monitoring his pulse and pacifying him as he was becoming more delirious. At the Tapah hospital, the A & E staff took over and tended to K.S. Leong. We left him there with the doctor, and he was subsequently transferred to Ipoh by ambulance, that night.
The next day, we all went to Tapah Police Station to record our statements to the police, who investigated the incident. They had to establish that it was an accident and not a malicious act.
K.S. Leong was hospitalised for a period of time. He lived through it and remained very cheerful not blaming anyone for the shooting accident. His face carried a lot of the pellets which could not be removed, and suffered much pain. It was very lucky that none of the pellets hit his heart. It was attributed to the fact that he had carried a stack of papers in his breast pocket. The wad of papers stopped the pellets from hitting his heart and indeed, some pellets were found inside his shirt pocket. In retrospect, I was lucky not to be hit since I was standing just next to him, though I felt the hot blast of the shot.
Both Dr. Chin and K.S. Leong are no longer with us today. Nevertheless, it was a frightening experience that I cannot forget. This is to be one of the many occasions, in which the Lord has been very kind to me, in saving my life.
Till then....
My father used to be an arms dealer since the forties. He had two specially built strong rooms to house all the fire arms and ammunition. I used to go into his office and headed straight for the strong room, where my father would show me his new and old fire arms. There was quite a collection of old pistols, rifles and shotguns from all over the world including the Soviet bloc and the western countries. The new ones would come from England, Europe and the US, with manufacturers like Colts, Smith & Wesson, Webley, Baretta, Mauser and other names which I now cannot remember. I remember having a whale of a time playing with the various weapons. This was the time when I learned a lot about fire arms, and also learned how to shoot some of the weapons.
This was also during the insurgency, when the country was in a state of emergency fighting the communist terrorists. Besides supporting the police, tin mining companies and rubber estates had to beef up their security with armed guards. It was a rather lucrative period for my father.
During the weekends and certain evenings, we used to go in a group to shoot wild boar, flying foxes, snipes and wild pigeons. We brought them home where my mother would cook them.
On one particular evening sometime in 1954, we went to shoot wild pigeons along the main trunk road south of Ipoh and quite near to a small town named Temoh. The time was about five in the evening, and we were all standing along the road, looking up at the sky for the wild pigeons to return to roost after their feeding.
Standing next to me was K.S. Leong, an effluent tin miner and race horse owner, and friend of my father. He was not a hunter but a bystander like myself, for I was still a school boy at that time. Across the road and standing on a high ground, was Dr. Chin, a gynaecologist and one of the hunters, who happened to be a former classmate of K.S. Leong. Dr. Chin was carrying a loaded double barrel shot gun on his shoulder, and was looking at the sky, when he suddenly tripped into a hole on the ground. Throwing his hands forward, his right hand slammed the shot gun on the ground discharging a round. From where I was standing, I suddenly heard a loud bang and felt a blast of hot air passing me on the right. K.S. Leong suddenly clasped his hands to his face and shouting, "I've been shot!", stumbled and fell on the ground. All this happened so fast, I was momentarily stunned. When I looked at K.S. Leong, he was writhing on the ground with blood all over his face and chest. Dr. Chin ran across the road to tend to him amidst all the commotion. The hunters were using 12 gauge, No. 8 shot gun rounds, and this discharged a spray shot of very small lead pellets.
By this time, K.S. Leong was in distress and delirious with incoherent cries of pain. I could see the black pellets all over his face and chest. We carried him into the car and rushed him to the nearest hospital, which was quite a distance away in Tapah. All this time, Dr. Chin was monitoring his pulse and pacifying him as he was becoming more delirious. At the Tapah hospital, the A & E staff took over and tended to K.S. Leong. We left him there with the doctor, and he was subsequently transferred to Ipoh by ambulance, that night.
The next day, we all went to Tapah Police Station to record our statements to the police, who investigated the incident. They had to establish that it was an accident and not a malicious act.
K.S. Leong was hospitalised for a period of time. He lived through it and remained very cheerful not blaming anyone for the shooting accident. His face carried a lot of the pellets which could not be removed, and suffered much pain. It was very lucky that none of the pellets hit his heart. It was attributed to the fact that he had carried a stack of papers in his breast pocket. The wad of papers stopped the pellets from hitting his heart and indeed, some pellets were found inside his shirt pocket. In retrospect, I was lucky not to be hit since I was standing just next to him, though I felt the hot blast of the shot.
Both Dr. Chin and K.S. Leong are no longer with us today. Nevertheless, it was a frightening experience that I cannot forget. This is to be one of the many occasions, in which the Lord has been very kind to me, in saving my life.
Till then....
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Going on an elephant hunt!
Why would you want to kill an elephant? When the elephant becomes a rogue. A rogue elephant becomes dangerous as it is cast out from the herd, and in trying to fend for itself, infringes on to human settlements. Stealing from the farm and plantation, an easier option than foraging in the jungle, the rogue elephant attacks the villagers causing severe harm, injuries and even death. It is then the responsibility of the Park Ranger to put down the elephant.
Elephants live in a strong communal herd. There is a leader bull elephant with his cows and others including young baby elephants. When an elephant grows old and feeble, it cannot keep up with the herd and has to fan for itself. All alone, the elephant becomes very frustrated and in poor health, it takes to foraging in the jungle for food. If it should be near human settlements, it will choose the easy way out by rampaging into human farms and plantations. When faced with human resistance, it will attack and kill the people. When this happens, the alarm will go out to the Park Ranger, who will have to take action.
Shortly after I graduated from the UK, I was posted to the Single Pioneer Squadron of the RMAF in Kuala Lumpur. One day, an Operational Order, coded Elephant Express, was received requesting us to fly an elephant hunter to Rompin, to shoot a rogue elephant. Rompin is at the southern tip of the National Game Reserve in Pahang, and is well known as elephant country, where herds of elephants roam freely.
And so we took off in the morning, in a Single Pioneer aircraft, with the hunter Warrant Officer Ford ( no relation to Harrison Ford!), Satchi my colleague, and myself. We stayed in a very nice government house and shortly after lunch, set off to track the elephant, accompanied by an experienced beater. A beater is someone who assists the hunter by carrying his second gun and when necessary, goes forward to make noises to drive the elephant into an open field for the kill. He may be assisted by other beaters, who will fan out to drive the elephant. It is a dangerous job, as the elephant will attack when provoked. We were briefed by Ford that when a kill is imminent, we were to position ourselves at the foot of a tree, and to be prepared to climb the tree to get out of the way of a charging elephant. A dangerous situation. Ford was armed with two elephant guns, converted from double barrel shotguns, with steel insert to take the thirty-o-six caliber bullets. A mean looking pointed brass bullet measuring almost 10 cm long.
As we started to track, it also started to rain. Drenched, we found the elephant foot prints and droppings. On inspection, it was found that the elephant was indeed old and in poor health and had a digestive problem. Seeds were not digested in the elephant dung. Elephants are vegetarian and eat plants and seedlings. With digestive problems, the rumbling in an elephant's stomach can be heard quite distinctly, from a distance. As we drew nearer to the elephant, we could hear this rumbling sound. The air was almost electric as Ford signalled to us to be quiet and stealthily, we approached some tall vegetation. We could smell the elephant as we peeped through the branches, and also heard the snort and moan of the elephant. Trying to figure out the wind direction, we moved up wind so that the elephant could not catch our scent. Too late! The elephant had caught our scent and moved on. By the time we got to where the elephant was, he had already bolted. It was very surprising that the elephant could move so silently and at such speed.
We continued to pursue the elephant. Coming up to a small bridge, we noticed that a white wooden sign board was smashed to smithereens. Ford explained to us that elephants in the wild do not like the colour white and will smash any object in white. Following the elephant foot prints, we also noticed that the elephant had traversed off the wooden bridge and walked across the small drain. Elephants are intelligent enough to realise that the wooden bridge might not be strong enough to hold the elephant's weight. So whenever an elephant meets a shoddy and weak structure, it will avoid and walk round it instead.
As we continued to track the elephant, I was surprised at the speed and silence in which the elephant had evaded us. One only has to go to the zoo, to see how the elephant keepers move a string of elephants, silently and very quickly. With rain pouring down on us, we reached a rather swollen river. To our dismay, the elephant had crossed the river to the other side, as shown by the foot prints. It was then that we abandoned our quest to shoot the elephant.
As Ford explained to us, shooting an elephant is very dangerous. You cannot simply raise your gun and shoot it, because a wounded elephant is extremely dangerous. It has thick hide and the bristles are like metal wire. It is very strong and aggressive. In order to kill an elephant, the hunter must stand and face it with the gun ready. There are two shots in the gun and the beater carries the other gun also with two bullets loaded, and ready to hand the gun to the hunter, should his first two shots miss. The hunter waits in position. The elephant will start to charge and as it gets closer to the hunter, it will instinctively lower the head to pierce with the tusks. It is at this point in time, that the hunter will shoot directly into the elephant's brain, which is on top of the head. The bullet will fragment on impact smashing the brain. A second shot will then be fired for safe measure, and the elephant should drop dead. Should the two shots not hit the brain directly, the hunter will have to use the second gun to finish off the kill. By this time also, the beater would be running for his life!
Ford also explained to us that elephants can be very cunning. He was stalking an elephant once. Sensing the elephant behind some growth, he moved up close and threw his hat ahead of him. Immediately the elephant stomped on the hat. He moved very quickly and managed to kill the elephant. The elephant had waited for him behind the growth to strike at him.
Missing the elephant, we returned to Kuala Lumpur. I found out a couple of days later, that Ford went back and finally killed the elephant.
Shortly after this episode, my colleague and friend Satchi, was killed in a crash, the first air crash in the RMAF.
Till then....
Elephants live in a strong communal herd. There is a leader bull elephant with his cows and others including young baby elephants. When an elephant grows old and feeble, it cannot keep up with the herd and has to fan for itself. All alone, the elephant becomes very frustrated and in poor health, it takes to foraging in the jungle for food. If it should be near human settlements, it will choose the easy way out by rampaging into human farms and plantations. When faced with human resistance, it will attack and kill the people. When this happens, the alarm will go out to the Park Ranger, who will have to take action.
Shortly after I graduated from the UK, I was posted to the Single Pioneer Squadron of the RMAF in Kuala Lumpur. One day, an Operational Order, coded Elephant Express, was received requesting us to fly an elephant hunter to Rompin, to shoot a rogue elephant. Rompin is at the southern tip of the National Game Reserve in Pahang, and is well known as elephant country, where herds of elephants roam freely.
And so we took off in the morning, in a Single Pioneer aircraft, with the hunter Warrant Officer Ford ( no relation to Harrison Ford!), Satchi my colleague, and myself. We stayed in a very nice government house and shortly after lunch, set off to track the elephant, accompanied by an experienced beater. A beater is someone who assists the hunter by carrying his second gun and when necessary, goes forward to make noises to drive the elephant into an open field for the kill. He may be assisted by other beaters, who will fan out to drive the elephant. It is a dangerous job, as the elephant will attack when provoked. We were briefed by Ford that when a kill is imminent, we were to position ourselves at the foot of a tree, and to be prepared to climb the tree to get out of the way of a charging elephant. A dangerous situation. Ford was armed with two elephant guns, converted from double barrel shotguns, with steel insert to take the thirty-o-six caliber bullets. A mean looking pointed brass bullet measuring almost 10 cm long.
As we started to track, it also started to rain. Drenched, we found the elephant foot prints and droppings. On inspection, it was found that the elephant was indeed old and in poor health and had a digestive problem. Seeds were not digested in the elephant dung. Elephants are vegetarian and eat plants and seedlings. With digestive problems, the rumbling in an elephant's stomach can be heard quite distinctly, from a distance. As we drew nearer to the elephant, we could hear this rumbling sound. The air was almost electric as Ford signalled to us to be quiet and stealthily, we approached some tall vegetation. We could smell the elephant as we peeped through the branches, and also heard the snort and moan of the elephant. Trying to figure out the wind direction, we moved up wind so that the elephant could not catch our scent. Too late! The elephant had caught our scent and moved on. By the time we got to where the elephant was, he had already bolted. It was very surprising that the elephant could move so silently and at such speed.
We continued to pursue the elephant. Coming up to a small bridge, we noticed that a white wooden sign board was smashed to smithereens. Ford explained to us that elephants in the wild do not like the colour white and will smash any object in white. Following the elephant foot prints, we also noticed that the elephant had traversed off the wooden bridge and walked across the small drain. Elephants are intelligent enough to realise that the wooden bridge might not be strong enough to hold the elephant's weight. So whenever an elephant meets a shoddy and weak structure, it will avoid and walk round it instead.
As we continued to track the elephant, I was surprised at the speed and silence in which the elephant had evaded us. One only has to go to the zoo, to see how the elephant keepers move a string of elephants, silently and very quickly. With rain pouring down on us, we reached a rather swollen river. To our dismay, the elephant had crossed the river to the other side, as shown by the foot prints. It was then that we abandoned our quest to shoot the elephant.
As Ford explained to us, shooting an elephant is very dangerous. You cannot simply raise your gun and shoot it, because a wounded elephant is extremely dangerous. It has thick hide and the bristles are like metal wire. It is very strong and aggressive. In order to kill an elephant, the hunter must stand and face it with the gun ready. There are two shots in the gun and the beater carries the other gun also with two bullets loaded, and ready to hand the gun to the hunter, should his first two shots miss. The hunter waits in position. The elephant will start to charge and as it gets closer to the hunter, it will instinctively lower the head to pierce with the tusks. It is at this point in time, that the hunter will shoot directly into the elephant's brain, which is on top of the head. The bullet will fragment on impact smashing the brain. A second shot will then be fired for safe measure, and the elephant should drop dead. Should the two shots not hit the brain directly, the hunter will have to use the second gun to finish off the kill. By this time also, the beater would be running for his life!
Ford also explained to us that elephants can be very cunning. He was stalking an elephant once. Sensing the elephant behind some growth, he moved up close and threw his hat ahead of him. Immediately the elephant stomped on the hat. He moved very quickly and managed to kill the elephant. The elephant had waited for him behind the growth to strike at him.
Missing the elephant, we returned to Kuala Lumpur. I found out a couple of days later, that Ford went back and finally killed the elephant.
Shortly after this episode, my colleague and friend Satchi, was killed in a crash, the first air crash in the RMAF.
Till then....
Monday, March 5, 2007
"Ah Sir!"
The dictionary defines 'sir' as a noun and a salutary greeting for a man. Leave it in the hands of some Chinese students, they will change it into a pronoun, as a name for the male teacher.
Prior to joining the air force, I was a private tutor, a relief teacher and a temporary teacher. Soon after I completed my Senior Cambridge Certificate, I was in a state of limbo. I wanted to be a pilot, but could not afford the cost of going to a flying school overseas. There were no bursaries offered by Malayan Airways, at that time. My only hope was with the Royal Malayan Air Force (RMAF), which was not formed yet, but in the process of being formed. I eventually waited three years for it to materialise.
Through the recommendations of my mother's friends, I was tutor to a school boy, whose father was a butcher, more accurately, a pork seller who owns and runs his own premises. Every now and then, I would receive a package of Chinese pork sausages, as a gift. Very fat, in size and content. The boy's mother used to complain to me of her son's mischief and misdemeanour, and always asked me to cane the boy. But I did not have the heart to do so and would prefer to reason out with him instead. After one year, I was gladden to see his school results improving and his parents happy. For my effort, I was paid $20 per month. Later on, another school boy joined in, and I earned a princely sum of $40.
In addition to the school boys, I was engaged by three Chinese school students, to tutor them on the English language. They were seniors consisting of two girls and a boy. I found them serious and hard working. No problems there. I was receiving good pocket money.
One day, a friend of mine, an English teacher in a Chinese school, approached me to relief him for three months because he had to prepare and sit for some examinations. I was to receive more than a hundred dollars per month, being part of his salary. I accepted partly as a favour and also to earn some money.
The Chinese school was situated in a small town, Gopeng, about a 45 minutes bus ride away. Every morning, I had to get up at five in order to take the first bus out to the terminal to connect to the 'out-station' bus to Gopeng. By afternoon, after I had finished school and got back to give tuition to my other students, I was exhausted.
Small town folks are friendly and they form a close community, where everyone knows everyone. It was the Man Ming Primary school and most of the students were not really interested in learning English. I had to teach in Cantonese. I found the standard of English appalling and the students concocted words by simply assembling various alphabets together. Only a handful of the students, particularly the girls, were really making an attempt in learning. I found out that they were from 'better off' families who could afford private tutors. However, the innocence and antics of the children, sustained me and stole my heart during the tenure of my teaching there.
To hold their attention, I found that having a cane was an advantage. Not to cane them, but to threaten them. While trying to teach a class, it was not unusual to find half the class talking away or being distracted. So a couple of bashing on the desk with the cane used to command authority.
One day, I was teaching a class, and noticed that when I asked one of the boys at the back a question, he stood up to answer. At the same time, the boy sitting at the other end of the long bench, also stood up halfway. When I asked this boy a question, the other boy also stood up. Sensing something strange, I walked towards the back of the class. I then noticed that the long bench was resting on two legs, the centre and one side. The legs of the other side were broken and the long bench became something of a see-saw. Deciding to have some fun with the boys, I quickly asked one of the boys a question. While he was sitting down, I quickly called the other boy up. The bench crashed with the boys on the floor. The whole class started to laugh.
The children behaved differently in the classroom and outside when school was over. The meek ones would usually shy away. But there were those who could engage me in a conversation in Cantonese. It was then that I discovered that they would call me "Ah Sir" rather than to address me as 'sir'. After my three month stint with them, I found that I had enjoyed the experience and after I left, I missed them.
From a Chinese Primary School, my next venture was a private school for drop-out, a very big contrast. Chee Yan School, owned and ran by a friend who lived near me, I was faced with the stark reality of trying to cope with delinquents and the drop-out trying to catch up with lost time. Some of the students were probably older than me. There was one girl who was trying very hard to study but really had difficulties. At every sessions, I had problems controlling the class because some were interested in the lesson, but there were others who did not, and continued to disrupt the class. These were the delinquents and the bad hats. I eventually started the class by telling those who were not interested, to sit at the back of the class and to do what they wanted without making any noise or disruption. To my surprise, this worked and I taught those sitting in front of me. Once I admonished one of the boys for bad behaviour. He got angry with me and wanted to fight with me. I sent him to the back of the class and for the whole session, he gave me the evil eye.
One day while teaching, I was called to the telephone at the office. It was from the police station and the inspector asked me to call at the police station after school. I went and met the police inspector. He told me that he had arrested one of my students, for launching a rocket near a fire station. The student, in his plea, mentioned that I had taught them explosives in the science class, and he was trying out some experiment. The police wanted to know if I had given them an assignment to build a rocket. I told the police that I had not given them any assignment at all. The police agreed with me that it was just a school boy prank and asked that I counsel the student. The student was released and I counselled him not to do anything foolish. He was perhaps one of my good students who was interested in his studies.
I did several teaching stints, including non-paying classes, when I lectured to the Air Training Corp (ATC), on air navigation, airmanship and other aviation subjects, because I was already in possession of my Private Pilot License. I stopped teaching when I was finally accepted into the air force.
Till then....
Prior to joining the air force, I was a private tutor, a relief teacher and a temporary teacher. Soon after I completed my Senior Cambridge Certificate, I was in a state of limbo. I wanted to be a pilot, but could not afford the cost of going to a flying school overseas. There were no bursaries offered by Malayan Airways, at that time. My only hope was with the Royal Malayan Air Force (RMAF), which was not formed yet, but in the process of being formed. I eventually waited three years for it to materialise.
Through the recommendations of my mother's friends, I was tutor to a school boy, whose father was a butcher, more accurately, a pork seller who owns and runs his own premises. Every now and then, I would receive a package of Chinese pork sausages, as a gift. Very fat, in size and content. The boy's mother used to complain to me of her son's mischief and misdemeanour, and always asked me to cane the boy. But I did not have the heart to do so and would prefer to reason out with him instead. After one year, I was gladden to see his school results improving and his parents happy. For my effort, I was paid $20 per month. Later on, another school boy joined in, and I earned a princely sum of $40.
In addition to the school boys, I was engaged by three Chinese school students, to tutor them on the English language. They were seniors consisting of two girls and a boy. I found them serious and hard working. No problems there. I was receiving good pocket money.
One day, a friend of mine, an English teacher in a Chinese school, approached me to relief him for three months because he had to prepare and sit for some examinations. I was to receive more than a hundred dollars per month, being part of his salary. I accepted partly as a favour and also to earn some money.
The Chinese school was situated in a small town, Gopeng, about a 45 minutes bus ride away. Every morning, I had to get up at five in order to take the first bus out to the terminal to connect to the 'out-station' bus to Gopeng. By afternoon, after I had finished school and got back to give tuition to my other students, I was exhausted.
Small town folks are friendly and they form a close community, where everyone knows everyone. It was the Man Ming Primary school and most of the students were not really interested in learning English. I had to teach in Cantonese. I found the standard of English appalling and the students concocted words by simply assembling various alphabets together. Only a handful of the students, particularly the girls, were really making an attempt in learning. I found out that they were from 'better off' families who could afford private tutors. However, the innocence and antics of the children, sustained me and stole my heart during the tenure of my teaching there.
To hold their attention, I found that having a cane was an advantage. Not to cane them, but to threaten them. While trying to teach a class, it was not unusual to find half the class talking away or being distracted. So a couple of bashing on the desk with the cane used to command authority.
One day, I was teaching a class, and noticed that when I asked one of the boys at the back a question, he stood up to answer. At the same time, the boy sitting at the other end of the long bench, also stood up halfway. When I asked this boy a question, the other boy also stood up. Sensing something strange, I walked towards the back of the class. I then noticed that the long bench was resting on two legs, the centre and one side. The legs of the other side were broken and the long bench became something of a see-saw. Deciding to have some fun with the boys, I quickly asked one of the boys a question. While he was sitting down, I quickly called the other boy up. The bench crashed with the boys on the floor. The whole class started to laugh.
The children behaved differently in the classroom and outside when school was over. The meek ones would usually shy away. But there were those who could engage me in a conversation in Cantonese. It was then that I discovered that they would call me "Ah Sir" rather than to address me as 'sir'. After my three month stint with them, I found that I had enjoyed the experience and after I left, I missed them.
From a Chinese Primary School, my next venture was a private school for drop-out, a very big contrast. Chee Yan School, owned and ran by a friend who lived near me, I was faced with the stark reality of trying to cope with delinquents and the drop-out trying to catch up with lost time. Some of the students were probably older than me. There was one girl who was trying very hard to study but really had difficulties. At every sessions, I had problems controlling the class because some were interested in the lesson, but there were others who did not, and continued to disrupt the class. These were the delinquents and the bad hats. I eventually started the class by telling those who were not interested, to sit at the back of the class and to do what they wanted without making any noise or disruption. To my surprise, this worked and I taught those sitting in front of me. Once I admonished one of the boys for bad behaviour. He got angry with me and wanted to fight with me. I sent him to the back of the class and for the whole session, he gave me the evil eye.
One day while teaching, I was called to the telephone at the office. It was from the police station and the inspector asked me to call at the police station after school. I went and met the police inspector. He told me that he had arrested one of my students, for launching a rocket near a fire station. The student, in his plea, mentioned that I had taught them explosives in the science class, and he was trying out some experiment. The police wanted to know if I had given them an assignment to build a rocket. I told the police that I had not given them any assignment at all. The police agreed with me that it was just a school boy prank and asked that I counsel the student. The student was released and I counselled him not to do anything foolish. He was perhaps one of my good students who was interested in his studies.
I did several teaching stints, including non-paying classes, when I lectured to the Air Training Corp (ATC), on air navigation, airmanship and other aviation subjects, because I was already in possession of my Private Pilot License. I stopped teaching when I was finally accepted into the air force.
Till then....
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