How I got to fire the big gun by Eric WestWe arrived at Waiouru in late July 1958 and Dad was posted to the Armament and Gun Workshop. Waiouru was a great place for a young boy to grow up, lots of open space and many children of a similar age, most of the boys being bought together to form an active Boy Scout Troop. In those days Scouts ran an annual “Bob a Job” week, where Scouts would do small jobs like chopping firewood in return for a small donation to Scout funds. Just before this was due to happen in perhaps 1960, someone came up with the bright idea that a picture of a Scout cleaning a tank gun would be a good publicity picture.As it happened, three Centurions were engaged in a live firing exercise at Paradise Valley, just north of Waiouru over a weekend and Dad was on duty to make sure any issues were dealt with. Dressed in my Scout uniform and looking every inch the well-turned-out Scout, I went with Dad up to where the firing was taking place. Dad had some minor work to do on a main gun and while this was going on the photo of me was taken with what looked like a large toilet brush on a long pole, diligently cleaning the barrel.I was then asked if I would like a ride in the tank a couple of hundred metres to the firing point, so I sat in the seat next to the gun and we trundled very noisily to a ridge looking down the valley to another hill, where the tanks were going to lay smoke. At this point, the Tank Commander said something to the effect of, ‘’Since you are in the Gunner’s seat why don’t you fire the gun’’ which I was more than happy to do, that chance does not come often, and I was a bit obsessed with guns anyway. I have to say that this was probably “Contrary to Good Order and Military Discipline” but I guess the Statute of Limitations has expired!So, the gun was duly loaded with a dirty great shell and I think I pulled a lever on the side of the gun and there was an earth-shattering ‘’BANG’’ as the gun went off. 50 tons of tank shook like a flag in the breeze. I recall being stunned and slightly deafened by the whole thing, it was quite an intense experience, but I can’t remember too much else. My father told me later that he had never fired a Centurion gun, but I think he was a bit annoyed that the commander had let me do it, probably not the safest thing I could have been allowed to do, but it was unforgettable and gave me giant bragging rights at the Scouts.
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