Later in the month the weather improved sufficiently for flying to recommence once ice had been cleared from the runway. My next flight involved 50 minutes of local flying and aerobatics. The day after I scored just 3% on the flag, with a second sortie aborted after 15 minutes because the tug pilot didn't show up on the range. That same evening I flew a night cross-country back to Jever and followed it with another sortie from Jever involving local flying and a QGH. Jever seemed lonely as there were few 93 Squadron pilots there. The next day with Squadron mail on board, I flew back to Sylt, initially in formation. As the flight proceeded I found that I was progressively losing aileron control and had to break formation and continue separately. There was increasing resistance to stick movement when applying port aileron. Everything was free when banking right, but not to the left. With minimum stick movements I approached Sylt, told the Tower of my problem and requested a priority landing. I could not turn port on to the runway heading and had to do a gentle right circle to line myself up, kicking the rudders to yaw the aircraft on to the runway heading so as to have minimum stick movement during a straight-in approach. The landing was entirely successful, and I taxied back to dispersal. I shut down, unstrapped myself, and went to retrieve my beret from the stowage hole which we all used at the right side of the cockpit. My hat had to be pulled out quite forcibly. Curious, I looked into the hole and found fluff on the control cable where it travelled round a pulley. On moving the stick to port, I found it was free, as it should be, and the same cable moved in the direction of the pulley. My hat had jammed the controls. Had the airborne situation worsened I could have descended to earth in a totally different fashion. The matter had properly to be reported and I was given a dressing-down for my carelessness. I was quick to point out, though, that I knew that other pilots also used that self-same hole for stowing their own berets. This was accepted, and a verbal warning was given to all aircrew flying Vampires from Sylt. I was detailed, as a sort of punishment, to write an article about my mishap for the RAF internal periodical "Accense" which was distributed to all flying units throughout the RAF. This I duly did, in longhand in the absence of a typewriter, and submitted it to the appropriate authority. I never did see it in print, and doubt that it was ever published. Almost immediately after this incident I was airborne again doing a 10 minute air test on a different aircraft. It was common for pilots who had just had a potentially dangerous flight to be sent aloft again very soon afterwards. This was such an example. On landing, I was told to report to the Station Adjutant's Office immediately. Thinking that this would be something to do with the train episode I was surprised, and caught totally off balance, when he accused me of failing, that morning, to report for Orderly Officer duties. The fact that I was in Jever at the time cut no ice with him. Also, I was absolutely certain that the relevant SROs weren't posted on notice boards before I left Sylt the previous day. (I always, of habit, checked the notice boards daily, and usually twice a day). This also cut no ice, and I was, totally unfairly in my view, given a severe dressing-down. I protested and was accused of being insubordinate, for which I had to apologise at once to this ill-tempered Adjutant who was a Flight Lieutenant New Zealander on detachment from the RNZAF. I had to do the rest of the duties for that day and, for my troubles, told that I was to be Orderly Officer for the following three days as well. I have to admit that his manner, probably grossly unfairly, has coloured my attitude to Kiwis ever since. The Squadron overall score was rising and it was thought possible that it might become high enough for it to be in contention for the Duncan Trophy, awarded to the Squadron with the highest air-to-air gunnery score in a given period. With this in
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