Croydon Green Mens

The Gods who fell from the Sky

 

Moms Story

This section of the story is written by me from Dads journal entries and a story Mom wrote for a magazine in Rhodesia.

We were in Portsmouth to view a possible charter to South Africa, the mist was swirling around the sheds at the side of the docks when they located the right shed no and went inside, the MTB ( Motor Torpedo Boat ) looked huge in the shed ,and was being converted for passenger use, we were interested in chartering the vessel to take us to Durban, South Africa, my husband had decided that there would be more opportunity in a new land, he had obtained a job with Lever Bros in Durban, and had put our house and coal business on the market, sold both, now we had come to London to procure passage to South Africa.

In the year of 1946, it seemed impossible to book any sort of passage to South Africa without long delays, after spending a futile week in London we were on the verge of giving up, when we heard of the above charter, the foreman came down the ladder which was against the side of the vessel to meet us we climbed the ladder and stood on the deck.

After about an hour of viewing the facilities available, we left and caught the train back to London, George" my husband" was quiet all the way back he did not tell me at the time ,that he had an unsure feeling inside him about taking his family, on a journey of some 6000 miles across 3 oceans to South Africa in a plywood boat.

By the time he had reached London he had decided that on that boat the risk would be too great, on their arrival at the hotel there was a message for them to contact a travel agency that they had been to earlier in the week, they did so and made arrangements to be there first thing in the morning, they were up early and were offered various other passage but none of them suited my husband,

We were just about to leave the travel agency when we were called back, "where we interested in a private charter"? A small Avro Anson plane was available, the cost of which was to be shared by a prominent businessman, also having the same difficulties regarding travel, with the optimism of youth we agreed to meet the next day.

The meeting was at the offices of CL Air Surveys in Cromwell Rd, where we met with Lt Col Lloyd we immediately liked what we saw, and took up the option, we returned to Liverpool to finalise our departure, and to bid farewell to friends and family, at last we were on the move and had some direction in all our lives.

We said goodbye to Liverpool and on the train to London George bought a newspaper, a report on the second page caught his eye, a chartered MTB which had left from Portsmouth had floundered in the Bay of Biscay with the loss of all on board, he wondered if it was perhaps the same one they had looked at,

We met at the Grosvenor Hotel, Victoria, and caught a train to Croydon from there we transferred to Gatwick Airport where our little Anson was waiting on the tar, it was the25th June and we were welcomed by our pilot and navigator and we met our travelling companion a Mr Wenlock for the first time,

Our adventure that nearly ended in tragedy started on the 25th June 1946, we took off at about midday and landed at Le Bourget for lunch and on to Marseilles Mariguane Airport for the night stop.

The fuel capacity of our small plane necessitated having to make frequent stops enabling our pilot to refuel and his passengers to partake of any refreshment available, also hotel accommodation had to be arranged for the coming night stop.

We spent our first night at a comfortable little French inn in Marseille and with an early start next morning, we flew over Sardinia it was very beautiful nestled in the middle of the Mediterranean, we landed in Tunis for lunch, then on to Tripoli we were sent on by the yanks to Castle Benito, where an army barracks was our accommodation for the second night.

According to Mom my brother and I were fascinated by the Camel Trains leaving for their long journey across the Desert but we were intimidated by the size of the camels and kept our distance, to bed early for a dawn start next morning.

We stopped at Benino for lunch and on to Eli Adem near Benghazi for fuel, saw lots of burnt out planes around Benghazi in the desert, flew on to Cairo where we landed at Abmaza, we stayed at Heliopolis Palace, it was spacious and cool after our hot and dusty trip so far.

With the children bathed and asleep, we went down for dinner, it was served outside on a marble terrace, with millions of stars and a crescent moon hanging overhead, it was a magical night, as we were not leaving until the afternoon our pilot suggested a trip to Cairo.

We boarded a tram and this proved to be hair raising. The passengers swarmed aboard and hung on to every conceivable inch like flies on fly paper, the driver of the tram hurled us down the hills at break neck speed with the bell ringing constantly in our ears.

A visit to Groppis, where the ice cream was superb, cooled us down considerably, after our hair raising ride into town we decided to take a taxi back which was also an eye opener I was thankful that he had a good horn, we were eager to be on our way so we packed and left for the airport.

Unlike the big jets of today, we did not reach a very high altitude, passing over the desert we could see the camel caravan trains criss crossing below us, the burnt out wrecks of planes and tanks brought out the realities of the war which had been fought so recently on the desert below us.

We stopped for the night at Luxor, on the banks of the Nile with the Pyramids in the distance, we had arrive late and were seated at dinner with the manager of BOAC, Mr Frank Edge, who was fascinated to hear about our journey so far, I did not get a very good night's sleep as the ceiling was alive with sand lizards.

We left at 8 30 for Wadi Halfa, landed for fuel and lunch ,too hot to eat ,last good rains 150 years ago, took off for Khartoum ,stayed in the Grand Hotel, despite huge fans whirling all over the hotel the heat was intense ,our early arrival allowed us time to visit a small zoo ,a welcome change for two small boys accustomed to the tiny cabin of a small plane.

Off early the next morning arrived at Malakao for lunch, a flying boat landed just in front of us, the trip was a very bumpy one, worst part of journey so far, horrible country below, the country changed dramatically once we took off from desert to green swamp, on to juba for more fuel and a lousy sandwich.

Couldn't land at Nairobi, so put down at Kasuma, stayed at hotel and met our friends from the flying boat, very hot, saw lots of elephants as we passed over swamps by Juba, very pretty green country as we fly over Kenya and Uganda, it was very cold as we left for Tabora, and on to Mybeya Tanganyika, we had been travelling for seven days, It was the 1st July.

We were accommodated in chalets and warned not to move around outside, as leopards frequently came down from the hills. Thankfully we left the following morning without incident, not realising that by nightfall, we would be placed in a very precarious situation.

It was the intention of the pilot to refuel at Fort Jameson, then in Northern Rhodesia, it was planned that we should reach there at midday in time for lunch. Flying low we were now in thick bush country and could see many herds of elephant roaming around the scrub and wallowing in the rivers.

We had been in the air for some hours now, and lunch was nearly over, we could hear our navigator tapping out a message on the Morse key. Suddenly George griped my arm and whispered. "We are in trouble lass, I have just heard the May Day call going out".

Before I realised the implication of this remark, the door of the cockpit opened and our navigator came out and said." I have been trying to contact Fort Jameson for some time now, but no reply. We are out of fuel and have to make a forced landing", he looked around and continued talking "Strap the children in tightly within your seat belts and pad around them with clothes and blankets.

We did not have time to think about what could happen, we had done what he had suggested and as the plane was used in the war still had the sirens attached, these were blaring out as we felt the plane bank and drop, we were busy trying to comfort and secure two little boys.

Thank God! And a very good Pilot, who guided that plane to a small clearing of elephant grass, which grows to a height of 8 to 10 feet. We landed, and, as I looked out of the window, all I could see was the propeller on the left of the plane chopping the grass which was flying up and over the cabin in clouds of dust.

The plane must have hit an ant bear hole we felt it drop and the propeller folded back over the engine cowl after striking the ground. We finally came to a very jerky halt, the silence was profound for a few moments, the door to the cockpit opened and a very apprehensive crew saw that their passengers were all in one piece.

George went to the door with the navigator, firstly scratching through Richards bag, they walked along the wing and jumped down and around to the front of the aircraft, they came back after their inspection and I noticed that George had one of Richards toy guns stuck in his waistband, I burst out laughing" What were you planning to do with that?" I retorted.

Now! We were faced with a big problem. We had landed in the heart of the Lwangwa valley, in the district of Jumbe, close to the border with the Belgium Congo, a very big Game area, with a shattered plane, no food or water, and most important, no guns or ammunition in case of attack by wild animals.

The inspection of the Anson for damage had shown cracked wings and the badly damaged propeller, as we were sorting everything out inside the aircraft, we suddenly saw the tall grass waving, in a few minutes we were surrounded by natives.

Terrible thoughts of cannibals crossed my mind, George made a grab for Richards toy gun which he had returned to its bag and went to stand in the open door of the aircraft, my fears were unfounded-from the back of the crowd of milling Africans, one pushed forward and said "Me Augustin! Mission boy. I speak English".

Greatly relieved, our pilot asked him where we might get help." Yes there was a mission in the hills 40 miles away, but he would fetch the chief whose name was Nikanya", the chief must have been on his way as they arrived 5 minutes later.

We ascertained through Augustin acting as interpreter from the chief that there was a white Padre about 35 miles away at a village, he would send a message immediately, we took photographs of them all around the aircraft and this pleased them greatly.

We rigged up an outside Arial and made contact with Salisbury. Help coming, we could only give them a vague idea where we were, which was approximately 86 miles North West of Fort Jameson and the village reference given to us by Augustin was Katemo which was the small kopje just above the village.

Augustin had suggested that we trek to his village where his family would be pleased to house us I had a feeling that as far as star ratings went we would be lucky for a twinkle no 5 star ratings where we were headed, he suggested that theNkosi ( male chief Dad), Nkosikas ( female chief Mom), and the picannins ( children) follow him, a runner was sent off and a convoy of excited Africans followed carrying our luggage.

It was late afternoon and we were trekking through thick forest, the ground was littered with Mopani leaves, which is the favourite diet of the elephants and bearing in mind the number of elephant we had seen before coming down, I was very apprehensive, but I subdued my fears as nobody seemed particularly worried.

We came out into thick bush terrain and the Africans who accompanied us were carrying the children on their backs, I remember in particular the Head Man had gone on ahead and erected a small grass enclosure where food and water was provided. The inhabitants of a local village many of whom had never seen a white man before peered through every chink, to try and see the White Gods who had fallen from the sky.

It was early evening we were all quite exhausted, we had been walking for hours, the rough territory was taking its toll on our feet, the few miles to the village seemed interminable, to our great relief the lights of many small fires lit up the darkness.

We had finally arrived at Augustine's kraal, we were immediately surrounded by the inhabitants and a big indaba took place. Eventually, though, we were conducted to a native, thatched hut, the sole amenities of which were two low native-made beds, with no mattresses but a kind of interwoven leather thong. This luxury was reserved for people of note.

After our crash landing and the long trek through the jungle, we were all on the point of collapse, but some effort had to be made. A decision to bring with me three tins of Ostermilk and a small pan, also a packet of tea, proved to be a God-send, and I was able to give the children a nourishing drink. Having no blankets, we had to use whatever clothing we had with us to bed them down and eventually they slept.

We went outside where the other members of our group were discussing the best way of effecting a rescue. , This proved to be pointless, and we could only hope that the coordinates we had given them were close enough, so that help from some source would be forthcoming.

Dawn comes early to the African bush and the inhabitants, human and otherwise are up with first light. Young Richard took one look around at this latest habitation and said" Let's go home Mom. I don't like this hotel." Easier said than done, and we were only too thankful not to have provided a meal for some carnivorous animal on our recent trek to this small community.

While the men folk were debating how to get us back to civilisation, as we call it, I had domestic problems to cope with, ie. Facilities for bathing ,food, washing, to say nothing of the language, the nearby spruit was our water supply and the children splashed happily, surrounded by an admiring group of piccanins. My washing was accomplished by rubbing and battering it against the large stones in this small stream, and my blue wool Jaeger suit was never quite the same again.

We knew our distress call had been heard, and contact had been made with Salisbury but we were unsure of the coordinates given, during the late afternoon, we spotted a plane. We later heard it was piloted by Mr Jed Spencer of Southern Rhodesia but we were passed by without recognition.

The following day, R.A.F. planes were flying grid pattern to the west of us; they were flying low but also were unable to locate us. Powder compacts where then quite large, and mine was chrome- going to a clearing, I opened mine with its large mirror and flashed it in the direction of the searching planes, catching the sun's rays in the mirror. Instant response as 3 planes turned towards us and a message was dropped:" Stay where you are! I have got your location".

The next day the planes flew right to us and dropped supplies by parachute, the goods were picked up by locals from the village; they arrived back with two sack loads. We had six blankets which were more than welcome as it had been bitterly cold at night. Also in the parachute drop was a loaf of bread, bully beef, oxo, Bovril and raisins. No butter, tea or sugar which we could have done with. Also in the sack was a 303 rifle with no ammunition, George grabbed it by the barrel and said to me, "Don't worry Dot I'll club the bloody lion to death"

The runner that had been sent off to the Catholic Mission in the Hills, returned during the late afternoon with Father Robertson, we made a huge fuss of him as he was the first white man we had seen since the crash, he told us that a rescue operation was under way from Fort Jameson and that he had sent word as to our location.

Mr Bernard Hesson the chief of police for Northern Rhodesia and John Sugg District Commissioner were on their way with two trucks but because of the inaccessibility of the region, they were having to cut the road and build bridges from cut down trees and four gallon paraffin tins, the Padre tells us we found the only spot to land within a fifty mile radius.

John Sugg and Bernard Hesson arrive with a number of ascaris, they were unable to get any further with the trucks and have had to leave them about six miles away, we left at about 12 30 and walked through dense bush in intense heat, I thought we would have to give up, just as we were reaching exhaustion we were delighted to see two trucks under the shade of some trees.

There was a circle fixed with matting screens, tables and chairs and tea ready, off after tea, we left in the trucks down a track, I have never seen such places to take a truck, down steep slopes and up escarpments. One very steep place the truck slid back three times. Sugg sent to a nearby village and 100 natives arrived, they either pulled or pushed us up or down the slopes, the job took several hours.

How those chaps drove in the dark around those winding tracks still amazes me, most of the time we were in first or second gear and our top speed was 8 MPH, at about 9pm a halt was made for a meal, we were very hungry.

Eating in the bush is a fine art when properly done. The headlights of the trucks are left on and grass mats spread on the ground, this was our first introduction to the popular braai, the children were happy to run around and explore, a lovely meal finished off with Brandy, water and tea. We packed the trucks and continued on again over almost impossible tracks for many hours.

We arrived at Moores Mission at 1 30 am the next morning Sugg went to one of the bungalows and knocked up a priest he knew(a Mr Heritage).The conversation in the dark was quite amusing including "Good Gods" etc, followed by the emergence of Mr George Heritage, not very ecclesiastically garbed ,remarking that it was bloody cold.

We went with him to the bungalow of Father Williams ,where followed another most amusing dialogue in the dark ,with plenty of "Good Gods" again. Shortly the father appeared and hailed us well. He said he was sure we all needed a stiff brandy and was bloody sure that he needed one himself, we were all allocated bungalows and were all so weary, and we went straight to sleep.

After trying to sleep on a thong bed for three nights, I was beginning to feel like a zebra- so my nights rest at the Mission was sheer bliss, the next morning a good soak in a hot bath for myself and the kids, a leisurely breakfast and a walk around the Mission Station, it was soon time to say goodbye and to thank our new found friends for their hospitality.

We were still 50 miles from Fort Jameson, and we left for there in the afternoon, arriving in the early evening at Rangleys Hotel where we had arranged accommodation, a hot bath, good meal and as we were still trying to recover from our arduous trip early to bed, it was the Friday 5th July and we were looking forward to a relaxing weekend.

We were advised to stay close to the hotel at night as leopards came down from the hills at night, one had attacked a man and his dog outside Knowles Hotel, and we met with two R.A.F. officers who were holding an inquiry into the crash landing.

Our arrival had caused quite a stir among the residents who were mainly tobacco farmers, and on discussing our future plans regarding settling in South Africa, we were advised to look at Salisbury in Southern Rhodesia. Fate had taken a hand and our forced landing caused us to change our plans. After several days rest we flew to Salisbury in a Rapide piloted by Mr Jed Spencer, we were so impressed that we decided to settle in this new and rapidly growing country

My Mothers father once wrote in her diary

"There is a Destiny which shapes our end

Rough hew them as we will."

Taken from my Book  The Gods who fell from the Sky　

George Richard Mawson

2 Lauren Mews

Seafront

Hayling Island

Hampshire PO110AQ

Email

Mobile 07828746412

mawson44@hotmail.com

About the Author

 

 

 

Surviving a plane crash at four the loss of the right leg at eleven the destruction of his left hip at fifteen. This young Douglas Bader reaches the pinnacle of his dreams in life by ignoring the word cant and embracing life's challenges,he overcomes every obstacle in his path to attain the summit.

 

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