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Cotton spraying in Sudan. Almost a weekend's reading here. (Written for our local flying club.)

The capital of Sudan is Khartoum, a city of some 5 plus million. It is located where the Blue Nile from the SSE and White Nile from the SSW join to form the Nile. What I remember about Khartoum was the overbearing smell of urine when the day warmed up, the magnificent London Plain Trees lining the banks of the river and General Gordons all steel boat moored there with steel shutters to block incoming lead projectiles. Gordon was in Khartoum to rescue part of the British Army and many civilians. He was killed in 1885. General Kitchener had gone to rescue him. Churchill, (the one we know from both first and second wars) fought at at Omderman (10 miles north of Khartoum). The Blue Nile supports an extensive irrigation area known locally as the Gazera. It was in this area I worked in 1977 spraying cotton. Featureless of terrain and landmarks, local navigation was difficult. Just cotton, cotton and more cotton, In 90 fedan (acre) blocks. Farming was all by hand, that is no tractors or cotton pickers. Nothing but hoes and shovels. Each farmer was allotted 10 fedans. With five fedans he was compelled to grow cotton and the remainder grew what he pleased. They mostly chose groundnuts which we call peanuts. Spraying the cotton was easy apart from the difficulty in identifying the blocks which were all laid out exactly the same. Easy except for the kids throwing stones at the aeroplane.
Housing was either adobe or straw, depending on the status and wealth of the home owner. Our quarters were adobe and our meals and conditions very basic but of a higher standard compared to that of the locals. The operator I flew for was a national company, set up by a British operator and we had 12 aeroplanes. They were crewed by New Zealanders, Dutch, a Spaniard, a Dane, English, a Lebanese and myself. The kampong (village) where we were based was about 50 minutes flying south of Khartoum and I have forgot the name. (It was 45 years ago).

I had 3 months in Sudan and went to work there because of drought (again) on the Darling Downs where I lived and worked. It was a wonderful experience. Never the less I was glad to arrive back in Australia to a land were life is mostly orderly.
Among the twelve of us was and Englishman in his mid 20’s. Very inconsiderate, poorly mannered and selfish fellow. He considered himself a bit of a photographer and sent film back to mummy in England so she could have it developed and view his job in Sudan. A Dutchman who owed him a considerable disfavour was Gerard Post. Well Gerard figured on a good way to fix up this selfish bastard. He took the poms camera to a brothel, took two very revealing photos of willing girls and replaced the camera from where he got it. I reckon Gerard got even.

Ben Buckley and another Australian, John Mckeachie from Myrtleford, worked for an English operator about a half hour flying south of Khartoum. Some years later John came to Finley (mid 80’s) and flew for Riverina Airwork- Gary. Some of you may remember him. A scallywag with a stutter that had a contagious effect on us all.

Well John was ferrying a Pawnee back to the UK from Sudan and lost a mag. He decided not to cross the Mediterranean on only one and landed at Tripoli in Libya. This is where the war graves are located. It is also the place name of the American “marines hymn- on the shores of Tripoli”

John was met by armed and serious looking soldiers who marched him off to a military camp where he was interrogated by the camp commander. During the interview the commander asked John why he was shaking. John’s answer was very clever and it seems like this turned the interrogation from confrontatious to one of helpful consultation. John said he was nervous and didn’t know if they were bad men and would shoot him or good men who would help him. Of course all people would prefer to be known as good and the commander put his arm around John’s shoulders and said he was a good man and gave John assistance.

A well-known story of John back here in Australia was of him spreading fertilizer near Euroa. He was landing in a paddock with a soft surface, loading, taxing onto the Hume highway and taking off. As he was about to takeoff a cop climbed up to the cockpit and said “I’m a policeman and you are to come with me” to which John responded with “and I’m a pilot and if you hang on you can come with me.” With that John opened the throttle. Most all ag pilots know that story with variations, however the above came from the horse’s mouth.
There were more funny or strange incidents from Sudan. Maybe for another occasion.

The whites in the picture are Gerard in front with his pet monkey, 3 agronomists and two pilots.
Centre- Gary with his friend Mohamed standing in front of my aeroplane and below a village scene. It was said some pilots were able to blow the straw roof off the huts with down wash. Camels have a curious and awkward walk. To have a donkey was a status. One day a Jack donkey mounted a Jenny and pushed her into the prop of Gerard’s plane. It got chopped into slices of course.