Bill Scarratt D324


After leaving the Army and obtaining a Commercial Helicopter Flying License I went into helicopter crop spraying.
I was based at Wellesborne Mountford Airfield in Warwickshire, near to Stratford upon Avon.
One day, whilst I was in the office the phone rang and a voice said,"Billy, it's me, Bobby Jarrett."

Christ!, I thought to myself, he's found out where I am, Is there no peace?
I then made the usual inquiries. Where are you, where are you living,
what are you doing?

"I'm in Peterborough", he says, "I'm running a nicker factory, I'm the manager over 250 women, making nickers, bras and womens underwear.

"Bloody hell, Maggot, you've dropped on your feet there."

"No, Billy, I daren't go in the factory, They've already stripped one of the lads naked, when he went onto the shop floor".
"I have to go home early in case they're waiting for me, they're worse than blokes, effing and blinding, showing their boobs through the office window and making Nescafe gestures, I'd rather be back in the Falklands".
"I don't know if they frighten their husbands and boyfriends but by Christ,they frighten me".
This is the Maggot, still at it.

JOINT SERVICES TRIALS & DEVELOPMENT TEAM. (JSTDT )

In the mid 60's,in order for The Red Devils to have some military tactical connection, certain experienced members, together with 22 SAS, were formed into the JSTDT.

It was the brain child of Major Heerey, who was the Team Commander at the time.
Our brief was to look into and develop the feasibility of High Altitude Free Fall infiltration, day and night in all weathers, mainly for the SAS, Pathfinders and Recce.

The JSTDT consisted of about 20 members and we were to be launched from RAF Abingdon, the Army Parachute School, at the time.
We were to be dropped over Salisbury Plain, day and night, from an average height of 14,000 ft, with oxygen and full equipment.
The RAF PJIs were to dispatch us, the pilots using a ground based radar system, already in place on the DZ, so that we didn't go too far adrift.

In preparation we all had to go into the pressure chamber at Farnborough, to check out our high altitude toleration. There was lots of farting even the fillings in our teeth expanded, as a result.

One of the PJI's at Abingdon, was a right Brylcream Boy, very full of himself and always combing his hair. We knicknamed him Cyril.
He really thought that he was IT and kept treating us like crows, We still had to go through the sideways, backwards, forward landings, etc plus all the ground training connected with basic para training. The RAF even wanted us to complete 8 static line jumps before Major Heerey put a stop to it.

Anyway, because we were using an RAF Argosy we had to put up with a lot of rubbish. The RAF just did not understand the tactical bit.
Like most people, who live in ivory towers, this new concept was foreign to them. Change was always resisted. All of this was prior to the RAF Falcons Parachute Team.

After completing some preliminary easy day jumps, to iron out the creases and bond all the different guys together,using standard developed systems,we progressed onto night jumps.

On the first night jump, from 14,000 ft, through cloud with full equipment. Cyril was at the back of the Argosy, off set from the tailgate which he had just opened, shouting and waving his arms about, like a demented Magnus Pike, pointing at the jump
lights, which went to red.

The team moved en masse to the tailgate to exit all together.
Unknown to Cyril I had smuggled a folding bike on to the aircraft, I was No 1 off the ramp, his face was an absolute picture as I rode past him straight off the tailgate on the bike.

I managed to smuggle the bike inside a spare weapons container. As it was so dark on the aircraft, I put it together using the cover of darkness and the lads to conceal and distract Cyril's attention away from me I constructed the bike.

I'm told that he went back to Abingdon and reported the incident however no-one would believe him.

Years later I saw him on Airborne Forces Day in Aldershot.
He had been looking for me to find out the truth about the incident which of course I denied any involvement, I used the old Maggot excuse, "It wasn't me!"

He knew it was me but he could never prove it - (innocent until proven guilty).

Anyway, we're still looking for a 2inch high bike, dug in on Salisbury Plain.

If you find it let me know.

Bill Scarratt.DFC.
D324.

In 1964 whilst training with the Golden Knights at Fort Bragg, I was a guest member of the three main sport parachute clubs. These were Main Post, 82nd Airborne and Special Forces.

I would frequently jump with their demo teams When they were doing displays.
On Armed Forces Day in 1964 I went with the Special Forces Team to Florida.
There were 15 of us and we were supplied with a C130.
We were to jump into at McDill AF Base in the morning and Patrick AF Base in the afternoon.

One base was on the Atlantic Coast and the other was on the Gulf Coast
As we took off from Pope AF Base on Fort Bragg,out came bottles of Jack Daniels.
By the time we got to Florida,the guys were all steaming.
I didn't drink spirits at all,so I had to spot. There was no way I was going to finish up in the drink.

We ran in over McDill AF Base, exited the C130 tailgate at 19,500ft, with no oxygen.
They were all legless and every one of them hit the target.
Same thing in the afternoon after more slurping, some of them were so minging they had to be pushed off the ramp.

This time I forced the pilot to decrease the drop height to 16,500ft.
Again every one of them hit the target.
After we had packed the chutes away, they were at it again.
"Come with us to Chesapeake Bay next week" said their Sgt Major,"We're jumping into a Yacht Club and we know how much you Limeys like water".


The story continued

on a previous display you may recall that I had been asked by two members of the Special Forces Parachute Club at Fort Bragg to go with them and jump into a yacht marina, on the edge of Chesapeake Bay.
Some kind of opening ceremony.

We drove up to New York, where we would be using a hired Cessna.
The two guys with me were Squeak Charette and Art Buchwald, both D licence jumpers but both as mad as hatters.
A stretched limo was sent by the yacht club to take us to the airfield, about five miles away.
As soon as we set off both of them were straight into the drinks cabinet and polished off a bottle of gin.I declined and Squeak got into the front of the Cessna Buckwald and myself were in the back.
We were jumping Para Commanders.
Charette decided to spot, as we couldn't see anything.
Trust is a marvellous thing.

We climbed to 5000 ft, Squeak dropped the streamers and we flew round in circles for about five minutes.
I knew something was wrong because Squeak was laughing and shouting all the way to altitude.
The Cessna not being an interceptor was all over the place. I think the pilot had
had a few.

Anyway, we got the cut at 5,000ft, Charette dived out shouting,"TRACK".
I knew then we were in trouble.
By the time Buchwald and I got out, I was last man, Chesapeake Bay was about 3 miles away. We'd missed the Bay.
Even though I pulled high,the canopy, told me we were down wind, there was no chance.
I looked down for a place to land. All I could see was trees.
What is it with me and trees?

As I got closer to the forest I spied a little house which had a small back garden. The family were in the garden having a barbeque. They seemed to have friends around. There were dozens of kids milling about.
In a rocking chair was Granny, knitting, you couldn't make
this up.

From the barbeque smoke I weighed up the wind direction made a perfect approach(for me) and smacked down in front of Granny, who let out a scream, dropped her knitting and nearly fell out of her chair.
All the kids ran off into the woods yelling. The guy doing the cooking, dropped his beer and everybody stood there,mouths wide open.

Afterwards, when the shock had gone away and a few beers later, they said that they thought I was either an alien or a baled out pilot. It would be 15 years before space travel.
They eventually phoned the yacht club to report my whereabouts, as half the New York Police Force was out looking for a downed pilot.
The Limo eventually turned with a police escort, Charette in the back still slurping and laughing his socks off.
The Fire Brigade had to get Buchwald down,out of a tree and guess what? Charette hit the target.

There just ain't no justice.
All was not lost, however. The Yacht Club provided a cabin cruiser for us, for the weekend, full of beer, food and fishing tackle. I didn't catch anything either.
Never again. I keep saying it but, somehow, I keep doing it.
Guess what? When the story got out I had to buy another case of beer.
I thought it was only the British who were delighted at the misfortunes of others.

Bill Scarratt.DFC
D324