Pakistan Air Force Academy Risalpur - Tony Cunnane's Life and Times

I was disappointed not to be appointed to a squadron which trained Pakistani students. They used the T6G Harvard aircraft as a basic trainer. For those who do not know these things, the Harvard was a piston-engined aircraft. I had done all my flying on jet aircraft. Although the PAF Academy was willing to train me to instruct on the Harvard, the RAF back in UK refused to allow it when I asked permission.

The students on my particular squadron were from Iran, Iraq, and Jordan. The aircraft we flew was the Cessna T37, a truly delightful training aircraft which was fitted with two small jet engines. The advantages of having two engines for operations in the barren mountainous area around Risalpur, could not be over-estimated. Although relatively easy to fly, the T37 did have a few vices to trap the unwary. It was unpredictable when spinning and was prone to entering potentially dangerous high rotational spins for no known aerodynamic reason. Even worse, if the controls were mishandled the aircraft would readily snap into an inverted spin, a manoeuvre that is both uncomfortable and disorientating because the occupants are subjected to continuous negative g forces trying to force them against the shoulder harness restraints and out of the top of the aircraft - that is literally hair raising (excuse the pun!)

(The two images on this page are of the town of Peshawar, which is on the Grand Trunk Road 510m (1670ft) above sea level, about 40kms west of Risalpur. The  GT Road runs from Calcutta to Kabul. I took these photos during one of my many visits in 1969.)

The Academy Commandant, Air Commodore Mick O'Brien, had been RAF-trained before the sub-continent was split into the separate states of Pakistan and India. The Air Commodore (he was promoted from group captain during my time at the Academy) was rightly feared, but highly respected, by his staff and students. He was always kind and helpful towards me, as were his family. He was an Anglo-Indian of Irish Roman Catholic stock, a very distinguished officer of the Pakistan Air Force, with a very rare A1 QFI qualification earned at the RAF's own Central Flying School many years earlier. The Commandant, who flew with staff and students whenever his schedule permitted, renewed his A1 category when an examining team from the RAF Central Flying School visited during my stay at the Academy. The A1 category denotes that the holder is an exceptional pilot with an exceptional knowledge of all the associated technical subjects. I thought it was brave of the Commandant to submit himself to this examination because failure would have been embarrassing. There was absolutely no necessity for him to take the flying and ground tests. He knew, as do all RAF flying instructors, that  CFS do not give or renew flying instructional categories unless they are thoroughly deserved.

Several of the staff instructors learned a salutary lesson about aircraft maximum performance in December 1969 as a result of an entirely innocent suggestion I made. Knowing that I was keen on photography and with Christmas approaching, the Commandant  suggested that we flew four T37s over the snow-covered mountains just a few miles to the north of Risalpur. I would fly as a passenger in a fifth T37 taking what we hoped would be spectacular pictures of the other four flying in close formation down steep valleys and over the high peaks. The idea was that the best picture would then be used to produce a traditional white Christmas card for the Commandant and me and the few other Christians at Risalpur.

The base at Risalpur, near the confluence of the Indus and Kabul Rivers, is situated on a large plateau about 1,500 feet above sea level. There is no visual sense of being that high because the nearest sea is many hundred miles distant. The aircraft altimeters  were set to read our height above the runway we had taken off from but in the absence of reliable pressure settings it was only approximate and it was unsafe to rely on them in the mountains. After take off we headed due north and maintained about 500  feet above the ground but because of the steeply rising terrain we were soon actually flying at about 20,000 feet above sea level in amongst the mountains and valleys. The scenery was quite outstanding and I concentrated hard on my artistic task. After  a few minutes, seeking new ideas, I suggested to my pilot that he should fly a large barrel roll around the outside of the formation of four so that when we were upside down overhead them I could take a photograph through the canopy of our aircraft looking  down on the diamond formation with the spectacular snowy scenery as a backdrop.

That was our mistake! We had all apparently, temporarily, forgotten that aircraft performance drops off dramatically as the height above sea level increases, for reasons that are too complicated to explain here. My pilot pulled up into the vertical to  roll around the other four but our aircraft then shuddered violently and stalled as it ran out of performance. We probably topped out at about 25,000 feet above sea level but only about 2,500 feet above the mountains. My pilot had no option but to centralise  all the controls and hope that the aircraft would recover from the incipient spin. It did recover - into a vertical dive. On the way down we passed perilously close to the other four who, seeing us coming down towards them, scattered in all directions. That was the end of the photographic session! The local photographic shop in Nowshera, the nearest town to Risalpur, told me that the film had been accidentally ruined during the processing and so, sadly, I never did see the results of my efforts. I have often wondered if Air Commodore Mick O’Brien gave instructions to have the evidence destroyed.

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