Winds of Destruction ( PDFDrive )

had brought into our lives.
One of the RAF’s Rhodesian Air Training Group (RATG) stations, Cranborne,
was just out of view from our house behind the carpet of intervening trees.
However, the Harvard Mk2 training aircraft would come into view immediately
after take-off. These noisy machines filled the air around us with their everchanging
sounds all day and night as they ploughed around the circuit.
With so many aircraft flying so many hours it was inevitable that mishaps
occurred both at and beyond the airfield. On occasions, engine failures and
student errors caused crash landings on and beyond the airfield. Some of the
crashed machines came down where Tony and I could get to inspect them.
Harvards, which still fly in many clubs around the world today and remained in
service with the South African Air Force right up until 1996, possess amazingly
strong airframes. Those that came down in the bush and farmlands around our
home had all ploughed through trees before coming to rest. Though buckled and
bent, not one machine we saw had shed wings or tail planes. The unique smell of
those crashed aircraft was too wonderful and we clambered in and out of the
cockpits at every opportunity. Sharing ultra-thick dry sandwiches and lukewarm
tea with RAF guards and salvage crews added to memories that remain clearer to
me today than yesterday’s happenings.
My mother’s three brothers all went off to the war in Europe. John Smith was
an air gunner on Halifax bombers and was posted missing after the second
1,000-bomber raid into Germany. His body, along with those of his crew, was
never found.
Eric Smith was killed in a most unfortunate accident while leading his Spitfire
squadron back to Britain at the cessation of hostilities in Italy. This was a cruel
loss considering he had survived many months of Offensive action in the Desert
and Italian campaigns.
Eric Smith.