Spitfire Singh Read online

  The tail of the Tiger came up to the flying attitude immediately as she moved down the taxiway, our runway for the day. From my point of view, the ground seemed to gently drop away from us until I held the aircraft down, a few centimetres off the tarmac. I wanted to stay below the level of the blue screen and out of sight from the parade ground. A big push on the rudder pedal and the Tiger slipped left over the grass, where we all stood just a few minutes ago, to fly closer to the blue backdrop. When abeam the centre of the parade ground up popped the yellow biplane into full view of the cheering crowd, with that gentle throb of the vintage engine’s unbridled power sounding like a distant sewing machine after the blood and guts of the jets. As requested by the Vice Chief, I carried out some tight turns directly over the parade ground itself. The thought in my mind as I looked over my shoulder at the faceless crowd below was how did this Gora, this white face, this Welshman, end up flying in an Indian Air Force Parade?

  Our final fly-by with wings waggling and ‘Kool’ waving furiously from the front seat signalled the re-birth of the IAF Vintage Flight, and a very visual link to October 1932.

  The 93-year-old Arjan Singh told me about Harjinder Singh and his link to the Tiger. As a Group Captain, in the 1950s, he had the foresight to understand the need to educate that generation about the sacrifices of the past, and to do this through the very visible medium of flying, historic, aircraft, including this very Tiger Moth; he was the Father of the Vintage Flight.

  The man who had started as a lowly Hawai Sepoy forged a life of relentless adventure, incorruptible in a time where corruption was the norm. His is a story linked through aviation but it’s far more than. It is more about the prejudice of the time, about the Indian/British relationship through war, through Independence, and how these pioneers took hold of a brand new country through its very difficult birth pains.

  What follows demanded to be written, after I came into possession of Harjinder’s own horde of diaries, letters, speeches, notes and photographs. It is a story of intensive friendships, of massive bigotry from some quarters, but enormous understanding by others. It is about great ingenuity, generally through underhand means, and always with the humour that is ever-present in the military environment. However, it is a story that does not have a happy Hollywood, or is that Bollywood, ending for Harjinder and his family. His life is best summed up in a letter from England, to Harjinder, written in 1959 by Air Vice-Marshal Sir Cecil Bouchier KBE, CB, DFC who, as a mere Flight Lieutenant, was Harjinder’s first ever Flight Commander. ‘Yours must be the most romantic careers of any man in any service, anywhere in the world.’

  That was in 1959 but life didn’t start well for Harjinder.

  One

  Rebellious Beginnings

  ‘You are not even allowed to go near those aeroplanes, leave aside fly in them. To be a pilot in the RAF you must have English blood flowing in your veins. We cannot trust Indians who follow Gandhi in their madness.’

  ‘Here is a revolver, and here is an Englishman. Now let’s see you start the revolution.’

  It’s your early years which form you into the person you turn out to be. Harjinder was a driven man, determined that India, and India alone, should own its own future. He could see that the best course of action was, first of all, for the country to be strong, and the best way to achieve this was through the development of technical skills, and these skills could best be achieved through experience in the military. He was driven, yes, but not blinkered to the cause, and he treated all as equal, no matter the colour of their skin, or the beliefs they held.

  Harjinder’s start to life was devastating, and must have helped to harden the edge of this man and produce his hallmark trait of never admitting defeat.

  When Harjinder was still very young, his idyllic existence was ripped apart. His father died. A big enough event to shape your life, however old you may be, but that was not the end of it. Shortly after his father died, the plague came tip-toeing again into the Singh household and took away his elder brother and sister. It left only the young Harjinder and his devastated mother to pick their way through their shredded life.

  Harjinder Singh Bains was born on the 4th February 1909, in the village of Sirhala-Khurad, in the Hoshiarpur District of Northern India. The Punjab had long been considered the food basket of India, and his family were Jat Sikhs; agriculturists making their living from the flat plains butting up against the Himalayas. After his father’s death, he continued to live in the village with his mother, entering the local village school with his peers for his education. Life was settling down after this hard start, and Harjinder had to grow up faster to take more family responsibility at this early age: they struggled on. He had just entered his sixth year at school when the final, thin, strand holding his life together snapped; his mother followed his father and siblings.

  Harjinder was now an orphan, the only surviving member of his family. His father’s sister took him to her home in the village of Banga, in the District of Jullundur, where his schooling was duly completed. The village was only about 10 miles South of his birth place and, in geographical terms, it was the familiar flat land of the Punjab, offering the same fantastic agricultural opportunities as his home village. The rugged mountain backdrop to China more impressive than any line drawn on a map. Queen Victoria viewed India as the Crown Jewel of her Empire and the Punjab was the diamond that shone the brightest. It was the land of sparkling rivers and golden fields of wheat, an oasis in the midst of an arid North-West India. This region had been witness to the arrival of the Persians, Darius and Cyrus. Alexander the Great had been through, as had the Scythians, and the Parthians. Islam had also brought its faith to the region before the Sikhs, with their rolled beards and multi-coloured turbans, Harjinder’s people, had taken their turn as conquerors. The Sikhs ran the Punjab but as Harjinder grew up, the British Raj were firmly in charge.

  Harjinder writes that his aunt made sure the love and affection which she gave her brother’s child was no different from that which she gave to her own children. Despite his troubled start to life, Harjinder recalled many happy memories of the years spent in his aunt’s house. He attributed many of his attitudes and values in life to those years of a simple and uncomplicated village life. Uncomplicated, yes, but not entirely cut off from the mainstream of social and political activities that began to sweep through the country after the end of the World War I. One million Indians had served in the Commonwealth forces; every man-jack of them was a volunteer, and the Indian Army was the largest all-volunteer force ever assembled. Over 70,000 gave their lives on foreign soil, but those that did return had broader horizons and many believed the pay-back for their loyalty should be a greater degree of self-rule.

  Harjinder’s uncle influenced his life greatly during his early years, helping him to form views that were to become an integral part of his core. His uncle was the head of twenty local villages, a zaildar, in those days, a position that held a staunch sceptre of authority. The British were the masters, but they ruled India through men like his uncle, who was viewed with a mixture of respect and terror in his own area.

  Some of the patriotic fervour of the time came through one of the teachers at Harjinder’s primary school in the village. The seemingly exotic Khem Singh, was an ex-Havildar (Sergeant) from the Indian Army who gave many lectures and talks beyond the normal education. Harjinder, in particular, was spellbound by this extraordinary character. His story-telling was legend in the classroom and Harjinder took one to become a part of his inner compass. He always took delight in recounting it:

  ‘Khem Singh joined the army sometime in the late eighteen hundreds and rose to the rank of Havildar. One day, an English Major insulted him during an inspection parade by dislodging his turban from his head with his swagger stick. This, of course, is a grievous insult to a Sikh; but in those days, not many would have dared to make a cause celebre out of it. Khem Singh was made of sterner stuff, and he refused to put the turban back on his head when so ordered
to do, saying that since Major Lawson had removed it, he must put it back on for him. Khem Singh also refused to leave the parade ground when his company was marched away; he kept standing guard on his turban all day and all night. The next morning the Colonel himself came to the parade ground and ordered Khem Singh to put on his turban. Khem Singh was adamant; he wanted the Major to replace it on his head and also to apologise to him in front of the whole company.

  In the end, he had his way; the whole company was fallen in, and the turban ceremoniously replaced on his head by the Major, who also offered his apology. But the “system” caught up with Khem Singh in the end; he was prematurely retired and not granted his full pension. He fought that issue also, taking his case right up to the General; and he again had his way. He was granted his full pension-no mean victory in those times.’

  Harjinder not only took this story to heart, but almost re-enacted the event early in his military career!

  There was another phrase, almost a plea, which Khem Singh used with Harjinder, ‘If only a few of our countrymen sacrifice themselves, India could become a great nation.’

  That, too, lodged itself deep within Harjinder.

  When Harjinder was in his teens, Khem Singh took him to Amritsar to watch one of the batches of 500 Akali Sikhs offering non-violent resistance at Guru-ka-Bagh, day after day. The police would stop them on their way to collect firewood and slash at them with heavy brass-bound sticks and rifle-butts. This punishment continued until the whole batch lay prostrate on the ground and none could stand up any more. The Sikhs displayed unique powers of self-control and resolution, and bore the bodily torment in a spirit of complete resignation and non-violence. The onlookers stood by in silence, watching these events unfold daily before their eyes. The sight left an indelible impression on the teenaged Harjinder, and he became, ‘forever determined to play my part, however humble, in the freedom movement, irrespective of the consequences to my own future’. Time and time again, Harjinder put a cause before himself, whether it was the grand plans for an independent India, or for the rights of an individual.

  Harjinder was a diligent student, first in his class, hungry for information, cultivating a tremendous work ethic; and also receptive to the nationalistic feelings that had begun to swell up around him.

  The young people of the day, including Harjinder, felt that a career almost inevitably meant serving the Raj. They might have to serve the British for the present, but only by staying their course, could they eventually contribute to an independent India. Engineering appealed to the young Harjinder and he clearly had a natural aptitude for it.

  The turning point in came in 1926.

  A letter from the Principal of the Maclaghan Engineering College in Lahore arrived, informing Harjinder that he had been successful in its open, highly competitive, examination for entrance. He was ‘thrilled beyond words and shouted with joy’, rushing to his uncle, a man who he looked up to with utmost respect. On translating the letter to his uncle, his response was not what the excited young man wanted to hear:

  ‘I am very happy that you have been addressed as “Mister” by an Englishman, but you are NOT going to be an engineer, because it means spending a full five years of your youth. Have you calculated that this is a good one-twelfth part of an average life?’

  This may have dampened Harjinder’s enthusiasm but he thought through the reaction from his uncle, writing:

  ‘The real issue was, of course, unstated; in those good old days, it was considered very great and honourable to be a sub-inspector of police or a tehsildar (a tax collector, how things have changed!). My uncle had designs of such a nature for me. Engineering or any kind of technical education was considered infra dig in the Punjab. I thought of these alternatives, but I was encouraged in my inner aspirations by my nephew. I decided to go to the engineering college.’

  Thus the journey down the long, long, road had begun and, that too, against the advice of his seniors!

  Harjinder left the village life and stepped into the world, the big city of Lahore, and the seat of higher education. The main building at the college was certainly built to impress the new arrivals. The double storey arches stood on bright white columns in front of every set of widows offering some shade in the stifling summer; the red brick beautifully highlighting the arches up to the roof line. Harjinder put the grandeur aside and plunged into the learning. It was not long before aviation raised its head to become part of the very fabric of Harjinder Singh.

  Soon after joining the college he saw a damaged aeroplane which had force-landed in a nearby field. The fuselage was on view outside the college whilst its engine was installed in the Heat Engine Laboratory to be poked and prodded. By his own admission he remembered spending hours, standing, gazing at the wreckage, wondering, as people would continue to ponder to the present day, just how did these machines defy gravity? With Harjinder it was more than just basic curiosity. The bent structure enthralled him and appealed to his engineer’s brain. He wanted to understand its inner workings, not just some scientific explanations of lift, thrust, drag and weight.

  Discipline was an integral part of his college experience, it laid the very foundation of the strength of character he would go on to demonstrate, and had a large part to play in his future life. He accepted discipline as a subordinate, and expected it from his own people when he was in charge. The British Principal, Captain Whittaker, a retired officer of the Royal Engineers, and a strict disciplinarian, formed Harjinder’s own outlook on the subject. A student would be suspended for a good many days if he did not polish his shoes, or did not have a proper knot in his tie.

  The students were a hand-picked lot, two hundred in all. There were two classes: Class ‘A’ provided more theoretical than practical training, whereas Class ‘B’ split its time between theory and practicals. Harjinder’s nephew, who was three years his senior at Maclaghan, recommended that he take the practical course, arguing that India was not yet a country of engineering designers, and therefore, more maintenance engineers were the need of the hour. Already, Harjinder was looking beyond merely becoming an engineer, but readily accepted his advice. Perhaps it is even these words that would spur him on in the 1950s to move India into the field of engineering design and manufacturing.

  All Class ‘B’ students were paid fifty rupees per month in the first year, progressively increasing to ninety rupees by the fifth year. A rupee in those days was worth a good deal, and coupled with the knowledge that they had been successful in a very competitive environment, gave the students, in Harjinder’s words, a ‘very distinctive feeling of superiority’ in Lahore, then the most fashionable city of Northern India. The city was growing fast, becoming known as the Paris of the East. The Nedous family had a hotel there, a popular meeting place of the British military letting their hair down. It was a destination that would soon loom large in Harjinder life, but he would have no inkling of that as he morphed from village boy into city gentleman. These were heady days, indeed, for the students, but Harjinder’s view of this ‘high life’ experienced as a student would not find agreement with some of the 21st century population, who not only want the pleasures in life, but have come to expect them as a right. He wrote:

  ‘Human nature is such that if you have enjoyed the real pleasures of life, you can settle down to austerity without regret. You can face a hard life if you have the consolation that you have had your share of the good things of life.’

  In general, college students in Lahore kept clear of politics, due to the influence of their three British professors. However, during his third year of college, Harjinder was elected Secretary of the Young Engineers Association. This changed his whole career, being indirectly responsible for his joining the Indian Air Force. As Secretary, he arranged visits to big factories and engineering installations. They visited nearly all the important factories in India during 1928-29, none leaving any great impression or inspiration on Harjinder, so a career in the Railways seemed unavoidable.

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p; Then one day, he was asked by some of the members to arrange a visit to the local Air Force Station, known as the Royal Air Force Aircraft Park.

  Low buildings lay sprawled behind the wire fence half-heartedly strung around the base, a tantalising glimpse of the large structures within the heart of the compound, where the aeroplanes were probably being worked upon. The guard at the gate waved him through and on to the main road through the camp. The order and presentation of the buildings, the grounds, the freshly white-washed stones bordering the road, and the uniformed men, left you in no doubt this was a military establishment. It was 50 per cent functional and 50 per cent designed to impress.

  However, it was not the location that burnt a mark into Harjinder’s soul, but the words of the adjutant, an officer named Flight Lieutenant Saunders. He entertained Harjinder with tea and sweet talk, but permission for the students’ visit was flatly refused. Saunders said, ‘No Indian is allowed inside. What would be the point? No Indian can join the RAF.’

  When Harjinder persisted, Saunders reiterated that there was no point in such a visit – Indians were an inferior race, and he didn’t see any possibility of Indians flying or maintaining military aeroplanes, so why worry? Forget about even visiting this Unit.

  Harjinder returned, utterly disappointed, especially when he saw the aeroplanes from a distance, their silver fabric skins shining beautifully in the sun, punctuated by the colourful bright blue and blood-red roundels. Surprisingly for him, Harjinder let the comments get under his skin, and the interview left him with a sense of racial inferiority. Would Indians not be able to cope with aircraft like their British masters? This would be the last time he felt that way. His views quickly hardened from acceptance to a determination to prove this officer, and all who would follow him, wrong.