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Pilot Officer A Reynolds crew, 99 Squadron - Aircraft Wellington 1/C.

Flying from Allahabad to a destination somewhere in Assam, unable to find the location we were seeking, (not an unusual occurrence) and getting low on fuel. We consulted a map showing where emergency supplies of high octane gas were cached.

Delighted to find a site was nearby, it was decided to land, trusting the map and navigation were correct. The dry season was in force, a reasonable level surface was spotted, and a successful landing made.

From what appeared a barren landscape, natives started arriving from all directions. We climbed out of the aircraft and invited the audience to approach. Timidly at first, but when some chocolate was offered, children came running, followed by their elders.

Our plight was explained (English was the common language then). After much shaking of heads, a spokesman apparently the Headman said, “We’ve sent for D.C.” This statement was taken up by the crowd, who chanted, “sent for D.C., sent for D.C.” To us it made no more sense than if they had said “J.C.”

Time passed, nothing tangible was happening, lots of smiling and curiosity about the plane. The children invented a kind of dare game, which involved creeping up to an aircraft tyre, patting it, then running away.

Then the Headman announced “D.C. coming” to be repeated with gusto by the throng and much clapping of hands.

Shortly after D.C. arrived to be greeted like a pop star by the natives. He rode up on a white charger. Immaculate in pith hat, spotless bush jacket, polished boots, his Bearer trotting along behind.

“Hello chaps, having a spot of bother?” At first the whole crew were speechless thinking it was a mirage or a hallucination brought on by the heat, it was about 95ºF. Allan our Captain decided to play along, saluted, gave his rank and name and introduced the rest of the crew.

Our difficulty was put before D.C. who we learned was District Commissioner, he knew of the petrol dump, but as it was fast approaching sundown said it was too late to organise things for that day.

We locked the aircraft and followed D.C. to a kind of hunting lodge. He invited our Captain to dinner and instructed his Bearer to provide sustenance for us lesser mortals. The building consisted of two rooms. We watched the Bearer prepare a chicken for the “Burrah Sahibs” and chappaties for us, (gifts from the locals).

D.C. appeared in dinner jacket ready to play host, he graciously accepted our Skippers apology for lack of proper attire. After formalities had been completed including the Loyal Toast, drunk in palm toddy, our host — he was all of 26 or 27 years old, told us in the flickering light of oil lamps about his work.
He was responsible for a vast area and because he represented the British Raj. The ritual was necessary and he admitted it was discipline that kept him sane. Often it was months before he met someone who could share his memories of home (home being the UK). The means of communication were intriguing, he had been 20 miles away when we landed but the message had got to him within an hour, how he didn’t say.

A strange thing happened during the night. Not long after we had settled in our charpoys (wooden frames covered in rough rope), we were disturbed by the howling of Pydogs, a wild species that hunt in packs. D.C.’s Bearer said “give me shoes sahib”. He took the footware, pointed the toes like an arrowhead in the direction of the pack, the row ceased, then moved to another quarter, more shoes were used until all pointes were covered. Peace then reigned. (A ploy I used many times after.

Next day D.C. organised local labour to bring the cans of fuel which were in the four gallon drums, to the aircraft. These we had to lift onto the wings, puncture at the last moment, because of the rapid evaporation, and pour into the tanks. After about 80 cans we considered we had enough to reach our goal, with the help of a more accurate grid reference from D.C.

I often used to think of D.C. and raise a glass in respect of a breed now extinct.

Ron Bowerman, Wireless Operator

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