Introduction
to Volume 2
Written by Neil
Williams, the
following articles were originally published in
'Shell Aviation News' in the 1970s. They are reproduced by kind
permission of his son David, who owns the copyrights. Neil is
widely
acknowledged to have been one of the world's
most skilful aerobatic pilots. His aviation writings, including his
books 'Airborne' and 'Aerobatics', have likewise earned universal
acclaim.
The annotations below
show SAN issue number and year.
The
Incredible ZLIN 50
(439, 1977)
Turbine
Taxi (440, 1977)
Rothmans
Aerobatic Team
(441, 1977)
Weekend
in the Country
(442, 1977)
Visual
Navigator (443,
1977)
Spitfire
to Switzerland
(445, 1978)
A
professional test pilot, NEIL WILLIAMS last year became British
Aerobatic Champion for the 12th time and at Kiev was placed 4th in the
World Championships after Russian and Czechoslovak contestants. He has
been a noted exponent of the Zlin marque since 1965, winning the 1967
European event in a standard two seater and in the World Championship
three years later reaching the highest place achieved by any Zlin pilot.
EVER
SINCE Adolphe Pégoud astonished the crowds at Prague in the days just
before the first World War with his performance of inverted flying,
loops and tailslides in a Blériot, the imagination of the Czechoslovaks
has been captured by the elegance of aerobatic flying. A dynamic and
creative people, it was inevitable that they should turn to this art
form with all the enthusiasm that characterises their national music
and dancing.
From the early
experimenters, the Czech aircraft
industry developed rapidly in the period between the wars. During this
time participation in the various aeronautical meetings was the
prerogative of the military, and was largely devoted at first to
establishing records like the AERO factory test pilot of the early
1920s who executed more than 250 consecutive loops in less than 45
minutes. As a form of insurance, he took the chief designer along for
the ride.
The various air meetings
and rallies throughout the
world stimulated development of aerobatic aeroplanes in Czechoslovakia,
for there was great prestige to be won through skill in the sport.
During the 1936 Olympic Games in Berlin, aerobatics formed a major
event, with Czech pilots gaining second and third places behind the
Count von Hagenburg in his Bücker Jungmeister.
With the coming
of war in Europe, the Czechoslovak aviation industry was completely
disrupted and its designers dispersed. After 1945 it was reorganised on
a national basis, and turned its talents away from predominantly
military types to concentrate on light civil machines, soon reaching
second place among the world's constructors of light aircraft.
In
post-war Czechoslovakia the development of sporting aviation proceeded
to make aerobatics indispensable for everyone involved with powered
flying. All candidates for a civil pilot's licence were required to
master the basic elements. Unlike many other countries, Czechoslovakia
could afford such a requirement as her industry was able to supply
suitable aircraft in sufficient numbers. Having ceased to be the
privilege of the military, aerobatics became a popular and ardently
practised sport, and more specialised aircraft became available to the
now predominantly civil national aerobatic team.
The World
Aerobatic Championships as we know them today were developed directly
from the Czech national championships of 1958 and 1959, leading to the
first World Championship held at Bratislava in 1960. The Czechs won
that contest outright - a contest that witnessed a revolution in the
scope and artistry of aerobatic flying. This was made possible by the
Zlin 226 Trener, a two seater machine developed originally from the
celebrated German Bücker aeroplanes. It was the beginning of a ten year
domination of the sport by the series of Zlin aircraft, culminating in
the 526 Akrobat single seater.
To say that these
machines were
unbeatable was to understate the case. They eclipsed every type that
had gone before: there was nothing, apparently, that they could not do.
It became inevitable that those countries participating in serious
contests had to acquire the Zlin - it was their only hope of gaining a
place. In the United Kingdom we had at first to content ourselves with
a second hand machine, but with the 1970 World Championships due to be
held in England we bought one of the latest Zlins - the single seat
Akrobat.
Then, with victory
almost in sight, disaster struck.
During a training flight I suffered a structural failure, caused by
metal fatigue. The left wing folded up, resulting in some heart
stopping moments before I crash landed it. We didn't know it then, but
this was the end of the old Zlin's success story as a World
Championship mount. Though they strengthened the centre section,
clipped the wings by six feet to reduce the wing bending moment and
pressurised the centre section tubes with nitrogen, the days of the old
Zlin were numbered. The clipped wing version soldiered on, but never
again was it to win a major contest against the specialised designs
that were now beginning to appear from other countries.
Renaissance
For
the Czechs, with their proud record in danger, this was too much. They
must win back their position as constructors of the world's best
aerobatic aeroplane. In 1973 the decision was taken to evolve a
radically new design - not, as previously, a development of a trainer,
but a specialised contest machine, capable of overshadowing its
opponents just as the old Zlin had done when it first appeared. What
was more, the aircraft had to be ready in time to participate in the
1976 World Championships.
And, in just 18 months,
the prototype
was designed and flown. With any aerobatic aircraft development
practically never ends; it was to stimulate this that the manufacturers
took the practical step of seeking outside opinions. Accordingly, in
conjunction with the Czech aeronautical journal Letectvi and
Kosmonautica,
they arranged an international test programme in May last year, before
the new machine, designated Zlin 50 L, made its debut in international
competition. Pilots from six countries with varying levels of
experience were invited to take part, ranging from unknowns with no
experience of the Zlin to those with wide contest experience on Zlins
of different marks. Besides Czechoslovakia, the countries selected were
Russia, Poland, East Germany, Canada, and the U.K.
To my great
surprise and delight I was asked to represent the United Kingdom, even
though I had been at the controls during the accident that spelt
'finis' to the old Zlin. During this visit to Czechoslovakia - my first
- it subsequently occurred to me that it was, in part, because
of the accident that I had been invited, for my standing in the Czech
aviation industry was obviously increased by the fact that I had
managed to get the machine down in more or less one piece.
So it
was that I found myself in the arrival lounge at Prague airport,
shaking hands with fellow members of the delegation, and greeting
friends from industry and the national teams. Some of the other pilots
I already knew from competing against them in World Championships, and
if I felt at all sensitive about my accident, this was overshadowed
completely by the horrifying story of the Polish test pilot. He had
been flying a 'mirror loop', back to back, when the two aircraft
collided. His propeller had amputated his colleague's left arm and
severed the tail unit. The Zlin spun into the ground, inverted, at full
power, but the fact that his colleague couldn't throttle back had saved
his life: the power had kept the spin flat and reduced the rate of
descent. He himself had crash landed successfully.
From Prague
we flew in a L.410 twin turboprop light transport to Holesov airport,
home of the Moravan Sport Flying Club, which caters for members of the
Zlin factory and their families. During the period of the test the
airfield was closed to all traffic to allow us unrestricted airspace
for our flying. We were accommodated some forty minutes' drive from the
airport, high in the mountains, at the chalet reserved for the Moravan
employees, a haven of wild and scenic beauty. The stillness and silence
were wonderfully relaxing, but as if to herald the start of an
unbelievably hectic week, we were blasted out of our beds at 5 a.m. by
a sonic bang which shook the entire building, reminding us that our
hosts took military training, as well as aerobatics, very seriously.
Soon
we were aboard the coach winding its tortuous way back down the
mountain road to the airfield at Holesov. Lots were drawn for the order
of flying, just as if it had been an aerobatic competition; in fact, I
was struck by the similarity between the week's test programme and a
competition in terms of the tight time schedule and the morning
briefings. I came to the conclusion that it was less to make us feel at
home than simply the way all their flying operations are controlled and
regulated.
Almost as if to mark the
end of the briefing, with a
roar that rattled the windows, a pair of shadows flashed past the
window: it was the Zlin 50 with its escort aircraft, arriving from the
factory airfield at Otrokovice. In fact the noise had come from the
Zlin 726, but all eyes were on the early production model Zlin 50,
almost silent by comparison - a small aeroplane of only 8.58 metres
wingspan, riding smoothly on its titanium spring undercarriage. Our
first impression was that it closely resembled the Swiss-German
Akrostar, but with a huge sail-like fin and rudder which unbalanced the
otherwise racy appearance.
ABOVE
LEFT: Author discusses a handling point
ABOVE
RIGHT:
Soviet team trainer Kasum Nazhmudinov's exceptionally smooth flying of
the Zlin 50 was later reflected by the Russian pilots at Kiev in their
new Yak 50 aircraft
The propeller had
scarcely stopped
turning when we surrounded it: with the design requirements I had laid
down for our own Cranfield aerobatic aircraft firmly in mind, I was
very much taken with the similarities. The wing is built in one piece,
having spanwise stringers (identical with those on the L.29 jet
trainer), and is stressed to + 9 and - 6 g with
an ultimate loading of + 14 g, although this
particular machine was restricted to - 5 g
pending completion of tests. The ailerons are almost full span, and of
generous chord, each fitted with a large booster tab. In the case of
the left aileron this is a standard geared tab. However the tab fitted
to the right aileron is more complicated. The drive shaft for the tab
runs in a guide and follows a cam profile, so that for the first 5
degrees or so of aileron movement the tab is anti-balance: thereafter
it becomes a conventional geared tab again. In addition, this tab is
fitted with a small, anti-flutter, mass balance weight.
The
complexity of this arrangement intrigued me. Both the chief designer
and the chief test pilot went to great pains to describe the problems
they had encountered. Initially, without the tabs, the control forces
had been far too high: then with the tabs acting as standard geared
tabs, they encountered an over-balance problem, which led them to
experiment with the cam gearing. This cured the initial overbalance at
small deflections, but the problem still occurred at high aileron
deflection at low speed. Also the forces were too high at high IAS. A
further modification to the shape of the cam produced an effective
compromise. My immediate reaction was that the sheer size of the
ailerons would produce problems in the tailslide case, but subsequent
tests showed no tendency for the ailerons to snatch over.
The
wing profile is symmetric, having a fineness ratio of 18% at the root
and 12% at the tip with no built-in twist. This gives aerodynamic
washout both erect and inverted, thus eliminating the risk of
inadvertent tip stall in any attitude. Furthermore the flattened curve
of the aileron nose extends very slightly above and below the wing, so
that adverse aileron yaw is totally eliminated at any angle of attack -
erect or inverted. The aileron gap remains materially constant
regardless of deflection.
Limitations
We
were each allowed five flights of not more than 30 minutes apiece, and
we were very closely controlled, even to having to file a flight plan
for a flight over the airfield. Our hosts were adamant that we should
not fly any longer than 30 minutes due to the very high strain on the
body. They believe that + 9 and - 6 g is the limit of
human
endurance. We were also required to wear headsets so that we should be
in radio contact, but after my headset disintegrated during an outside
flick roll I was allowed to continue without one.
When climbing
aboard, care is necessary to avoid damaging the full-span ailerons. The
seat is adjustable for fore and aft movement and rake, and the pedals
are also adjustable. We each of us set up seat and pedals to our
individual requirements, then the engineers noted these positions and
re-set them every time we were due to fly. The seating position was
very comfortable, my eyes being in line with the trailing edge of the
wing - a most important feature for aerobatics.
The five point
harness gives perfect restraint in the wildest manoeuvres. Any
combination of stick and rudder can be achieved without having the
travel of the stick restricted by one's legs.
The 260 hp Lycoming
AEIO 540 started easily and felt very smooth and well balanced, partly
owing no doubt to the three blade Hoffman composite propeller.
Although a 28 volt external power socket is provided, the two aerobatic
batteries proved capable of dozens of starts per day without any
problem. These are located forward of the cockpit and aft of the seat,
to distribute their weight about the cg.
The
inverted oil system has been modified by the Czechs on the basis of
their wide experience with Walter engines, which never gave any oil
pressure problems on the earlier Zlins. The result is an almost perfect
system with very little oil loss; indeed I never found as much as one
drop of oil on the aeroplane throughout the entire week, when it was
flown hard by six pilots.
ABOVE:
Zlin mechanic checks oil level between flights
ABOVE:
Ronald Uloth (at
right),
Canadian
representative at the trials, is checked out on the Zlin 50 cockpit.
Interpreter in cap, Russian team in background
We had been warned about
the rapid
acceleration on take-off, but being accustomed to the Pitts I found it
no problem to open the throttle fully and to lift the tail normally.
The engine thrust line is depressed slightly, and angled to the right,
so that there are no significant pitch trim changes, nor any swing, on
take-off. In fact, were it not for the fact that one is pinned against
the seat-back by the acceleration, the take-off is child's play. The
undercarriage makes a rough grass field feel smooth. Even the least
experienced among us, a Chipmunk pilot from Canada, considered the
Zlin 50 easy to fly. We began to see the publicity value of inviting an
inexperienced pilot to fly such an advanced machine.
Like the
Pitts Special, the aircraft needed to be pulled off the ground. I
reduced rpm to 2500 from the fully fine setting of 2700, and left the
throttle wide open. At an IAS of 160 km/hr, the steady rate of climb
was 9.7
metres/second, compared with the 12 to 13 metres/second quoted in the
flight manual using 2700 rpm. My first impression was that the ailerons
and elevators felt like powered flying controls over small deflections
- in fact for the first few seconds I was reminded of early
flights on the Hawker Hunter, whose student pilots would wobble off
into the distance. However I soon became accustomed to this razor edge
of control. When shortly afterwards I flew one of the old Zlins it felt
slow and sluggish by comparison.
The function of the tabs
could
only be detected in a slight stickiness about neutral at low speed,
which was a very small price to pay for the incredible rolling power.
At high speed the elevator was over-sensitive and extremely powerful,
and took some getting used to. The elevator trimmer was highly geared
and very powerful: this was an area where one could get into trouble if
it was accidentally moved at high speed. Owing to the friction needed
to hold the lever in the locked position, even a deliberate movement
caused an excessive reaction in pitch.
During discussions with
the
chief designer I was told that this system will probably be modified,
since the trimmer is only necessary to compensate for changes in pilot
weight. The trim curve was very flat and it was possible to conduct the
entire flight from take-off to landing, including aerobatics, without
the aircraft getting out of trim. When the trimmer is set to give a
slightly nose-heavy condition, the pull force in normal flight is equal
to the push force in inverted flight, which is correct in an aerobatic
aeroplane.
It also seems likely
that a shielded horn balance may be incorporated
to reduce pitch sensitivity about small deflections.
Stability
assessment
The rudder was heavy and
deadbeat throughout the flight envelope, while
the keel area aft of the cg seemed too
large, resulting in a mediocre yaw capability. It is likely that wheel
spats or wingtip plates may be used to reduce this excessive
directional stability.
At full power the rate
of acceleration was
very high. It was easy to reach the Vne of 328
km/hr in a shallow dive.
Clearly there would be no difficulty in achieving the desired speed for
any manoeuvre. During the dive it was noticeable that left rudder
pressure built up quickly as a result of keeping the slip ball centred,
giving another indication of the very high directional stability.
Longitudinal
stability was generally satisfactory throughout the speed range, stick
fixed and free. Although the aircraft showed signs of dynamic
instability above 260 km/hr in the nose down sense only, this departure
was very slow and was not significant. In the short period mode, the
damping was excellent. The only feature of the behaviour in pitch I did
not like was the excessive sensitivity and response for a small
movement about neutral. There was no pitch-up in tight turns, but the
sensitive elevator was again troublesome in a fast controlled rollout.
Lateral
and directional stabilities were assessed in steady sideslips. The
aircraft was found to be neutrally stable laterally, and excessively
stable directionally. At speeds of between 120 and 160 km/hr, once the
sideslip was established with wings level, it was not possible to carry
out a flat turn in either direction using rudder alone. This meant that
the rolling circle - turning and rolling in opposite
directions -
could not be carried out without losing points in a championship.
Especially at the inverted point, the
rate of turn dropped momentarily to zero.
This
was the most adverse problem area on the aeroplane, and armed with my
foreknowledge of it I selected the rolling circle during the unknown
programme in the World Championships at Kiev, knowing the Pitts could
fly it. The as yet unmodified Zlin 50 aircraft were in trouble here,
and the United Kingdom made up valuable points. Another result of this
feature was that the slip ball remained centred even during fast roll
reversals with feet off the rudder, and this facilitated investigation
of adverse aileron yaw, which was totally absent at all speeds in both
erect and inverted flight.
ABOVE:
Zlin 50 controls include the 'keeper' containing the rpm level, to
reduce the danger of propeller overspeed. The unusual magneto switches (to
left of stick grip)
feature
push-button control, with override buttons for individual mag testing
ABOVE:
Enormously strong seat, recessed for a back-type parachute, is
adjustable fore/aft and for rake. Note round head rivets in monocoque
fuselage skin for extra strength
ABOVE:
Clean and efficient Lycoming AEIO 540 installation is remarkably free
from oil leaks, even during the most violent manoeuvres. Original stub
exhausts have been replaced by manifolds to reduce noise
During sideslips the
ailerons were barely
deflected at all, even when full rudder was used. While principally
demonstrating the excessive directional stability, it also served to
highlight the remarkable aileron power and neutral lateral stability at
low speed. Although the aileron inertia is very high, owing to the mass
of the aileron together with its mass balance, tabs and associated
mechanism, the circuit friction (as on all Zlins) is remarkably low.
Thus, when attempting to stop a maximum rate roll in the vertical with
any degree of precision, one tends to overshoot because of the sheer
amount of metal that has to be moved, aggravated by the very high roll
rate. However, for most rolling manoeuvres it is not necessary to use
full aileron.
At very low airspeeds
the ailerons retain their high
rolling power. This is a most useful feature in competition flying. In
addition this permits prolonged vertical rolling manoeuvres in
descending flight. Even so, there may be a little more aileron power
than is really necessary - the highest instantaneous roll rate appeared
to be in the order of 300 degrees per second, which is at least as fast
as a
maximum rate flick roll, while the flight manual quoted as much as 345
degrees per second.
The rolling capability
of the aeroplane is such that I
was able to achieve a triple vertical roll from an 8.5 g pull-up
from Vne at the first attempt. The
control harmonization was very good
during manoeuvres, both aileron and elevator forces increasing
steadily with deflection. It was so good that a conscious effort had to
be made to assess it. However, for small corrections and especially in
the recovery from certain negative figures such as negative flick
rolls,
the elevator response was much too high near neutral. During high speed
inverted flight any power changes produced a sharp pitch input, owing
partly to the offset thrust line, but aggravated by the sensitive
elevator. Furthermore during accelerated negative flight there was an
intermittent tendency for the aircraft to try to snatch into the loop,
which caused an irregular flightpath, this feature occurring
between - 3 and - 4
g.
Stall
characteristics
During
manoeuvres the aircraft was deliberately pulled into the stalling
region, which resulted in slight stick-lightening with buffet, followed
by a very mild rolling tendency.
This behaviour was very
encouraging, both from the standpoint of the manoeuvre capability with
the symmetric wing and from that of safety for the inexperienced
pilot. The straight stall from normal unaccelerated flight produced a
slight flow breakdown at 118 km/hr, with a further breakdown with
buffet at 103 km/hr, the stall occurring at 100 km/hr in a g break with
the left wing lowering. Recovery was immediate. The inverted stall was
also reached at 100 km/hr with the stick almost fully forward. Snatch
pulls were made at speeds down to 110 km/hr and in all cases the
aircraft responded normally, only reaching slight buffet at the lowest
speed tested.
Spins were made during
acrobatic sequences, both
positive and negative, and the recovery was straightforward with no
complications. The general behaviour in stalling and spinning was very
mild, the aircraft being reluctant to respond to inept handling at low
speed, making it a very safe machine to fly. It could be sideslipped
almost into the stall without any adverse behaviour.
In level flight
it accelerated quickly, reaching 260 km/hr at full power using 2500 rpm
in a very short time, while the acceleration in a dive was much greater
than that of other aerobatic machines. Yet the pilot has the option of
controlling speed, looping radius, and size of manoeuvre to a greater
extent than with most other types, and this was one of the Zlin 50's
strong points. Also speed could be retained if power was maintained
during high g
manoeuvres - once again a very useful feature.
The
principal 'airbrake' effect was achieved by means of the throttle, and
not, as is usual, by induced drag. The symmetric wing allows cleaner
corners to be flown, especially in negative flight, though this results
in greater stress on the pilot.
Knife flight was
satisfactory for
short periods at moderate speeds. However it could not be held as long
as with some other machines, owing to the high directional stability.
The
engine performed well in all attitudes. There is a restriction of two
seconds from idle to full power to prevent over-speeding, and the pitch
control is operated over a small range by a 'keeper' on the throttle to
further reduce the possibility of an overspeed. Even with this device
one had to be very careful not to reach excessively high rpm if the
throttle was opened too quickly. The pitch lever could be left entirely
to the care of the 'keeper', resulting in 2500 rpm being automatically
applied when the throttle was opened.
This setting was
satisfactory
for all flying, including the approach and landing, using a final
approach speed of 120 km/hr. If the final turn was pulled too tight
there was adequate warning for this type of aircraft in terms of sink
and light buffet, which could be instantly corrected by a touch of
power.
The flare was initiated
at 115 km/hr, and at this point the
view over the nose was lost. The touchdown was very easy to achieve
smoothly with no tendency to swing or bounce. There was no comparison
in handling with a Pitts Special, which is not particularly pleasant to
take off or land. Brakes could then be steadily applied. With the stick
hard back, moderate braking gave no indication of the tail
lifting. From the standpoint of circuit and general flying this
aircraft could be safely managed by a newly qualified pilot.
Versatility
During
my stay in Czechoslovakia I was asked many times whether the Zlin 50
compared well with a Pitts Special. So, with the test programme
complete, I devoted my last two flights to pure aerobatics, starting
with my Pitts routines for the World Championships. I had no
difficulty in flying all the required figures, and I gained the
impression that the inherent grace of the aeroplane more than made up
for my lack of time on it. Although the g was imposed for
long periods,
because of the high speeds I used, I found that the excellent seat and
harness allowed me to accept this with greater comfort than usual.
Multiple
negative flick rolls on a descending flightpath were quite violent, as
in previous marks of Zlin. Yet one of the highlights of this aeroplane
is that it can be flown to suit the style of any individual pilot. I
tended to fly it like a Pitts, and it accepted this as well as it did
the Russian pilots' style which was obviously dictated by the new Yak
50.
Perhaps the most
interesting style was a combination of the
two. I tried this on my last flight, alternating multiple snap rolls
with lazy cap lomcevaks: the possibilities were endless. All the
manoeuvres I could dream up were well within the capabilities of the
machine, and there is no g cutoff at Vne,
positive or negative.
With
a very high power to weight ratio and featherlight powerful controls,
the Zlin 50's vertical performance surpassed anything I have seen,
while the high drag of the Hoffman propeller in fine pitch meant that
the speed could be kept firmly under control in downward figures.
This
aeroplane meets the three primary requirements I had laid down for our
own prototype aerobatic aeroplane which is now undergoing its test
programme at Cranfield in England: a high power to weight ratio,
excellent control at low speed, and high structural integrity.
Ten
years ago the Czechs astounded the world with their complex tumbling
and gyroscopic manoeuvres in the graceful long-winged Zlin 226 and 526
aircraft. With the advent of the Zlin 50, combined with the
inventiveness of Czech pilots, a new chapter is about to be written in
the evolution of aerobatic flying.
CAPTAIN
NEIL WILLIAMS of
Falcon Jet Centre, Ltd., London, reviews some
finer points of executive jet operation. Photos by MICHAEL ST. MAUR
SHEIL.
THE PRINCIPAL raison
d'être of
executive jet companies is similar to that of
the private taxi operators who back up bus and rail transport. The
public carriers follow established routes and schedules, but very often
people need to travel outside these fixed limits - which means that
executive jet crews must be prepared to go anywhere, any time.
So much for the
definitions. In practice this is a field with many
challenges. The integration of successive trips can often tax the
powers of our operations manager, and when all is planned to the last
detail, a change of mind by one client may throw the whole programme
into disarray. It is then that the flexibility of ground staff and
flight crews becomes indispensable.
For the latter, the job
doesn't stop with flying the aeroplane. We must
become involved on a much more personal basis with our clients than do
the airlines - we do not refer to them as 'passengers' until
they are actually on board - and it is not uncommon for some smart
customer relations work by one of the staff to result in a contract for
future business. Executive jet companies are small, and rely on
teamwork and co-operation with other similar organisations; there is
friendly rivalry, to be sure, but any company that becomes overloaded
with work will be prepared to pass it on to another one. Next week the
boot may be on the other foot. This type of operation is sometimes hard
and frustrating, though compensated for by variety and interest, and
the need for individuality within the tight confines of the 'rule
book'. It is no accident that executive jets are largely crewed by
ex-military pilots.
Planning
Generally, the
telephoned scramble at midnight is becoming a thing of
the past - except perhaps in the case of an ambulance flight - for most
businessmen know they will want to travel some days before the
appointed time. Thus the crews can be scheduled well ahead. With
knowledge of the forthcoming flight, the captain has time to sort out
what currency he will need, and whether he has to make up a navigation
log, or whether one already exists in the fast growing company file.
Unlike the major airlines, the crews have to do all their own planning,
which includes fuel planning and deciding how much fuel to carry. The
computer may do the job very well on the public routes, but there are
too many variables in the executive jet field, where sometimes plain
old fashioned experience is the better guide. Overflight and landing
clearances are usually arranged by the operations manager, though if
something needs doing, the nearest person usually gets on with it.
On the day of the
flight, the crew checks in at the office just over an
hour before take-off, to receive the briefing form which gives details
of the client, the route, the catering requirements, and other relevant
details. At this stage the stewardess is supervising the caterers, who
are in attendance at the aeroplane. The pilots are given any last
minute information and complete the load sheets and flight plans,
before being driven to the central area at London Airport Heathrow,
where they collect the weather and AIS information, and proceed to the
aircraft.
ABOVE:
Pre-flight check
BELOW: Author
Neil Williams taxies out to Runway 28R for
take-off
The bustle of activity
soon gives way to calm, as the handling vehicles
disappear and external power is disconnected. Our aircraft is a Fanjet
Falcon, elegant and sleek, and we are very proud of her. This is the E
model, with increased fuel capacity, but otherwise much the same in
external appearance as the previous marks. Although fitted with an APU,
the machine is quite capable of carrying out a start on internal
batteries, which saves the time loss involved with an external power
unit, and avoids the noise of the APU. The latter would, however, be
used in very hot or cold climates to produce a comfortable cabin
environment.
As the vehicle with the
clients' baggage appears, we make a final note
of the airfield departure information, before loading the baggage
ourselves in the rear compartment. With normal baggage we have no CG
problem, and although we are required by law to make out a loadsheet,
the only figures we need are the take-off weight and the zero fuel
weight, to compute take-off and landing speeds respectively. The
French, flying the same aeroplane, don't even need a loadsheet. It is
not possible to misload the aeroplane, whatever the combination of
passengers and baggage, so people can sit where they please.
With the baggage on
board, we are ready to meet our clients. Although
all our pilots are captains, obviously there must be one person in
command, so we take it in turns, with the man in the right hand seat
acting as co-pilot. While he obtains start-up clearance, the other
pilot is meeting the passengers and introducing them to the stewardess.
He is last on board, and personally makes sure the door is closed
properly. Quite often we find that we do not have the planned number of
passengers, or the originally planned baggage, and this is where
flexibility comes in. The pilot in the right hand seat takes over the
duties of both crewmen and carries out all the checks and starts the
engines, while his colleague reworks the loadsheet and computes the new
speeds. We are used to each others' patterns of operation: indeed, on
getting into the aeroplane we can hazard a pretty good guess as to who
flew it last, even before we look at the technical logbook, just by the
position of the seat, rudder pedals, and how and where the check list
is stowed!
ABOVE:
Passing through
700 ft during the climb-out
BELOW:
Cabin
service for the client, whose anonymity is
always preserved
During the winter
months, one has to keep an eye on the air temperature
and humidity during take-off and climb. It may be necessary to think
ahead to icing conditions in the first cloud layer to be encountered.
If icing conditions seem likely, engine anti-icing is selected before
take-off, the correct functioning of which is indicated by two green
lights in the roof panel. The slight reduction in thrust is no
embarrassment at Heathrow, and with the knowledge that the engines are
protected we are ready to go. Full power is stabilised against the
brakes, then both pilots stopwatch the acceleration. Airspeed is
cross-checked at 60 kt - the nosewheel steering is released at 80 kt,
at which point the co-pilot confirms all trim settings still 'in the
green'.
Acceleration time is
checked at 100 kt, and the co-pilot calls 'V1'
and
'rotate'. VR and V2 are
coincident on the British registered aeroplane;
although originally V2
was less than VR owing to a
static vent error
during rotation the real speed did not drop. This means that we are
actually some 4 kt better off when we indicate V2
nowadays. Twin engine
aircraft are required to produce a climb gradient on one engine of
2.4%, while the Falcon, at gross weight on one engine, produces 3.5%
gradient - a comforting thought.
Radar
techniques
Although we carry
weather radar, we rely more on the airfield radar if
conditions ahead look dirty, especially during the few minutes just
after take-off when ground returns can be a problem. As well as
enabling us to avoid weather, the aircraft's radar has the obvious use
of picking up coastlines, lakes and towns for navigational purposes,
and a less obvious application during over-water flights, when a ship
or an ice floe may be used to give a groundspeed check. One handy (and
possibly little known) technique is to deflect the radar scanner fully
downwards, and turn up the gain control to its maximum. The screen then
becomes saturated with excessive returns, which take the form of a
closely spaced group of arcs. An imaginary line or, for that matter, a
line drawn in chinagraph on the scope exactly bisecting this group is
the track of the aeroplane, and comparing it with the scope centre line
shows the drift: very useful on long sea crossings.
During the climb, we
monitor the cabin rate of climb, and adjust it if
necessary for optimum passenger comfort. The pressurization control is
set 1000 ft higher than our cruising altitude so that the blow-off
valve will not cause uncomfortable fluctuations. During any descent
from high altitude, we increase the cabin rate of descent when the
density is still low, slowing this rate when we reach denser air: a
little more for us to think about, but it gives the passengers a
smoother ride. Our cruising Mach number is around 0.8. The Falcon is
such a solid and stable aeroplane that it can take quite moderate
turbulence without needing to slow down, as many aircraft have to do.
ABOVE:
'A more formal atmosphere exists . . . during the approach and
landing.' On this February afternoon in Northern Europe the cloud base
was 300 ft
BELOW:
Raw weather on
the ground. Falcon's crew will
now prepare for the next sector of the flight and await the client,
whose departure from the airport is being assisted by Pat Graham
On trips of more than
800 miles or so, we keep a 'how goes it' graph of
fuel consumption, normally from top of climb to top of descent, drawing
a line from the actual fuel at the first point to the required fuel at
the second point. This allows us to see if we can make the trip with
the required reserves, but does not give an indication of correct
performance. Accordingly we read off the air nautical miles per pound
of fuel from the chart showing height, weight and temperature, and plot
this line on our graph as well. During our planning, sector fuel
required does not take tailwinds into account: here we use still air
figures, and anything extra is therefore a bonus. For a headwind, we
use 1% extra fuel in our calculations for every 5 kt of wind, which
is a good rule of thumb until we hit winds of 80 or 100 kt.
On a long trip into
wind, we have to decide whether to fly high speed
cruise, or long range cruise, or something in between. Since we are
restricted by performance to 37,000 ft in a straight climb from
take-off at maximum gross weight, we might have to accept 35,000 ft on
occasions when ideally we might want 39,000 ft to get above the core of
a jet stream.
To reach 37,000 ft
without undue delay, one can either take chart
readings every 5000 ft and set up EPR accordingly, or more simply, set
695 degrees EGT above 25,000 ft. Either of these methods will result in
the
free running fans becoming desynchronised, which produces a distinctive
rhythmic beat, especially in the passenger cabin. Owing to the noise
made by the radio blower fans, any desynchronised note can only be
detected from the right hand cockpit seat, and so it is left to the
co-pilot to make the necessary adjustment. The Falcon
is such a quiet aircraft that the slightest beat becomes intrusive, but
for a maximum performance climb we hope the passengers will be
sympathetic.
Once at our cruising
level the height lock is selected at 160 ft above
the required height - indicated. As the speed increases to cruise, the
height settles down at the correct figure, and we can then adjust the
engine settings in accordance with the charts. If the outside air
temperature alters, it can produce a noticeable alteration in speed;
for example a decrease in temperature will produce a drop in gas
generator rpm, a drop in EGT, and a reduction of Mach number: one must
then recalculate the new value of EPR at the new temperature to restore
the cruising speed. The Falcon is sensitive to the treatment it
receives from its pilots, but when the performance charts are
thoroughly understood and complied with, it is surprising what the
aeroplane will do. It remains at all times a real pilot's aeroplane,
and
demands to be flown with precision.
The role of the nominal
co-pilot is primarily that of navigator and
radio operator, as well as keeping the fuel log and monitoring the
aircraft systems. During the entire flight he sets up the navigation
system and advises the captain of what he is doing, while the captain
lets the autopilot fly the aeroplane, and monitors it to follow the
prescribed route. In practice there is quite a bit of give and take,
both pilots operating together in an efficient manner. With such a
small team, standardisation is easy, such that the operation of the
flight deck would appear to an observer as a routine that had been
carefully rehearsed many times.
Top
of descent briefing
Before the descent, even
though we are familiar with it, the captain
carries out a briefing to cover all aspects of the approach and
landing. This is especially important when we operate into a strange
field, perhaps at night and in poor weather. Very often the situation
is compounded by a late descent clearance from ATC with the result that
we may have to use the airbrakes. These have only two positions, in or
out, and when they are selected out they give a nose-down trim change
as well as deceleration and buffet. For these reasons we try not to use
the airbrakes if we can avoid it; but when their use becomes necessary,
we can minimise their effects either by selecting them at a low IAS
before starting the descent, or by easing back on the stick when they
are selected at higher speeds. An increment of about 0.25 g is sufficient
to eliminate any sensation of 'floating' with deceleration that might
worry a sensitive passenger: in fact, this method presses the
passengers comfortably into their seats during airbrake extension. Once
they are fully extended, very high rates of descent are possible, and
the cabin pressure is monitored to make sure that the aircraft does not
'catch it up'.
When descending from
height into medium cloud layers, one has to
anticipate the results of speed and height changes on ram air
temperature. One of the most awkward cases results from a descent at
high airspeed, and then levelling out following an ATC request to
decelerate. If this occurs in cloud, it is quite common for the ram air
temperature to fall with decaying airspeed until the aircraft is in the
icing range. Yet selecting anti-icing will do no good unless rpm are
increased! So if one does not wish to be faced with using the airbrakes
against power, the answer is to anticipate, and to pre-heat the engines
just before descent begins. It is often better to use the airbrakes
early if icing
in the lower layers is suspected. At 200 kt one can substitute 15
degrees of
flap for airbrakes to reduce buffet; and should a further descent be
required, it is often best to select the undercarriage down - rather
than
select more flap, and consequently increase the buffet - thus providing
the drag to allow sufficient rpm to heat the intakes.
From a relaxed and easy
atmosphere at altitude, there is a slightly
more formal attitude during the approach and landing. It is a measure
of the mutual respect of the pilots that the roles of the captain and
co-pilot are so easily interchangeable. Both pilots are responsible for
identifying the aids to be used, and it is here that the co-pilot uses
his skill and experience to back up the captain. A big advantage with
this kind of operation is that if there is any doubt about anything,
the question is voiced immediately - there is no rank consciousness in
this cockpit. The captain flies the aircraft and handles the throttles,
while the co-pilot reads out the checks and actively monitors the
approach. When an approach involves limited aids the co-pilot may
literally 'talk down' the captain, keeping up a running commentary on
position and altitude.
On finals, the Falcon is
reminiscent of a jet fighter, which is not
surprising when we learn that it is directly descended from the
Dassault range of fighters. At 1.3 VS it is
speed stable, and in no
wind, at medium weights, one can set 79% rpm (N1),
when the speed will
stabilize very close to VREF. On the earlier
model Falcons, one had to
be
careful to start the flare before reducing power, as the elevator
authority was limited, but on the E model one can cut the power at 50
ft and flare normally. The Falcon has a rather hard undercarriage,
similar in feel to the Hunter, and like that aeroplane the touchdown is
positive. A real greaser can be achieved, usually by means of a higher
threshold speed and by throttling back slowly: however, this technique
is not recommended because it can use up a lot of runway. To achieve
the certification landing distances one must naturally adhere to the
correct speeds.
Continuation
With the aeroplane on
the ground one might suppose that the day's work
is done. Far from it. During the approach, the stewardess has been
completing the customs documents for the bar, as well as the crew
declaration. She also has to determine the client's requirements, not
only for the immediate future, such as transport, hotels, and contact
telephone numbers, but also to ask where they might want to go next,
and when. In the event of a night stop we must contact our clients when
we have located our own hotel.
ABOVE:
End of the day's
mission. Richard Campbell-Jones loads bar box
into Pat Graham's minivan for return to the office
BELOW:
Author fits
Falcon's engine blanks
The aircraft is shut
down quickly. Our primary task is to see that the
clients get away through the airport buildings with the least delay,
generally escorted by the stewardess. Customs have to seal the bar, and
then we are left in relative peace to complete all the necessary
paperwork and to supervise fuelling, just in case the clients want to
depart ahead of schedule. Finally we fit all the necessary covers and
pins and secure the aircraft, before going through customs and
immigration ourselves and settling up our payments at the landing
office. Where a major airline would rely on a vast ground organisation
to back up the flight operation, we have to do it all. Sometimes, when
we're cold, wet and tired, and struggling to fit engine blanks that
are trying hard to get airborne in the wind, we might envy the airline
crews. But not for long.
ABOVE:
Presently
averaging 800 revenue hours per year, the Falcon
is available round the clock with a crew on stand-by. Aircraft's
compliance with all noise requirements greatly facilitates night
operation
ABOVE:
With Leader and No. 3 in line astern, Nos. 2 and 4 fly a
sustained knife edge
'BLUE SECTION, rolling
out, descending.'
Sunlight
and shadow swing across my cockpit as I ease the trimmer slightly
forward and clamp the propeller pitch lever in fully fine. All my
attention is on the belly of the leader's aeroplane, its gleaming blue
finish marred by streaks of black oil, for this is the Rothmans
Aerobatic Team, now entering its final season of formation display
flying. Though facing disbandment the team's professionalism is still
as high as ever, as it begins a last period of training before setting
off for a two month tour of the Middle East.
At the end of the
1976 season the Rothmans Team was in real danger of being closed down
after six years of operation. It had come a long way since 1970 when
the late Manx Kelly invited me to take the No. 4 slot. With the
possibility of disbandment two of the pilots left the company, so that
when the Middle East tour was confirmed two more had to be found, and
quickly. Time for training was very short. Happily, both the pilots
selected had flown with the team before, and we were both available.
Mike Findlay had led the formation for a season, so he was now the
natural choice for leader, which left my old No. 4 position open for me
- with the added advantage that the box man does the solo
display.
The
routine had changed somewhat during the time that Mike and I had been
away. One of the first jobs was to take a new look at all the
manoeuvres, discard the ones we didn't like, and invent new ones to
keep the interest going. Inevitably the sequence changed from day to
day, sometimes even during the same day as we encountered problems or
thought up improved ways of doing things.
As always, the team
was run on relaxed yet disciplined lines. Our ex-Service backgrounds
resulted in a tendency to operate according to RAF procedure,
and an
early decision was to allocate secondary duties. Graham Rutson, the No.
2 pilot, was put in charge of tour administration and navigation, while
Dave Perrin - whose place in the box I had usurped - became responsible
for safety equipment. I was charged with day-to-day engineering.
Fast
pace
I
was about to give my aeroplane an airing after its annual C of A when
Mike announced a briefing for a four aircraft practice - and this on
the first morning! The pace he had set for the training programme began
to come home to us, and I felt very conscious that I had not flown
advanced formation aerobatics for three years. The scratch flying kit I
had contrasted sharply with the resplendent suits of the other team
members, but I consoled myself with the thought that my leather jacket
was probably more suitable to an open cockpit in January.
In
true fighter-pilot style my colleagues were strapped in and started up
before I had even settled into the cockpit, but I refused to be rushed.
I wanted to make sure that I was comfortable and secure before I gave
the thumbs up. As we rolled onto the runway it was all becoming
familiar again, just as if I had never been away, except for a slight
tendency at first to overcontrol. To be on the safe side, as we formed
up, I eased out a bit. Although each pilot is cocooned in steel tubes
and bracing wires, isolated from his colleagues yet almost near enough
to reach out and touch them, he experiences a sense of unity and trust
that is perhaps unique in aviation. Each man flies steadily and
unwaveringly, knowing full well that his life is in the hands of the
others. One is more conscious of responsibility to one's fellows than
of the element of personal danger.
As we headed for the
practice area we opened out into battle formation, like the spread
ringers of a hand. This was the time for each individual to invert his
aeroplane and make sure all was well before the formation work proper
began. Ignoring the gyrations going on around me I contented myself
with one roll, then settled down to see how my new aeroplane behaved. A
trained test pilot can learn quite a lot about his aeroplane just by
flying straight and level. I started to make notes of stick position
and forces, engine power, airspeed, directional trim, the position of
each aileron stick-fixed and free, and the amount of buzz in the
bracing wires. The upshot was that the aeroplane spent the next two
days in the hangar being re-rigged.
When rigging a biplane
laterally there is the obvious temptation to do it all on the ailerons
by means of the fixed tabs. However, if the mainplane rigging itself is
out of true, one may finish up with an aeroplane that flies hands-off
laterally but whose rate of roll for aerobatics will be dramatically
reduced. As the solo display pilot I needed all the roll rate I could
get. One has to rig in a trace of droop on the ground, which disappears
as the ailerons float up under the flight loads. Also to emerge from my
straight-and-level exercise was the fact that the aircraft was slightly
down on power - which was not going to help me at the rear of the
formation.
Box
loop
But now these
reflections had to be
put on one side as, with the tips of my propeller no more than a couple
of feet behind and below the leader's tailwheel, the whole formation
seemed suspended motionless in space, only the gentle swaying of the
wingmen giving movement to a curiously unreal tableau. Now the nose was
well down and I caught a glimpse of a disused runway framed by the
leader's wires. Again the radio came alive - 'Blue Section, descending
for box loop, smoke, smoke, go!' As I flicked a switch near the
throttle the whole suspended tableau was suddenly transformed, thick
white smoke erupting beneath the leader. It seemed that I looked back
through time and was once again in the cockpit of a fighter, following
hard on the tail of the machine ahead, the condensation trail flicking
past my canopy like a jet of high pressure steam. Yet here the
impression of speed was even stronger - the smoke just clearing my top
wing, and out of the corners of my eyes the wingmen trailing smoke too,
with all the while the blast of the open slipstream. Fumes stung the
eyes, choked the throat as unburnt smoke oil vapour penetrated the
cockpit; it was running down the underside of the aeroplane, coating
everything with an evil smelling slippery film.
BELOW:
Display smoke oil is injected into the exhaust tail pipes and
emitted between the gear legs
'Pulling up -
Now', and the four biplanes zoomed upwards as one. In the box No. 4
position I handled the power carefully, for if I lost distance at the
top I would never regain it. Then we were over, and below us in the
dive I could see the smoke trail of our pull-up lash towards us and
disintegrate in our propellers. At full power I was barely keeping
station on the way down, but as the nose came up again I deliberately
began to drop back for the next manoeuvre. At this point the other
three pull up to 45 degrees, then push around a downward outside
half-loop. I
must be very careful to maintain nose-to-tail clearance here. Years ago
I frightened myself by getting caught beneath the formation during an
unplanned box outside loop, which is potentially disastrous because to
reduce speed on the inside the box man would have to throttle back
fully and he cannot then fly the same small radius as the others. One
near miss like that is enough. This time I have positioned correctly,
and pull up rapidly through the back of the formation with a jolt and a
shudder as I go through the leader's slipstream.
Zero g
trajectory
The
sequence now calls for me to fly a loop passing beneath the inverted
formation head-on at the bottom of their outside loop. Any wingtip
vortices that I left could throw a wingman out of position, so I must
describe a zero g
trajectory, letting the aeroplane fall vertically in
a dive: no angle of attack, therefore no appreciable slipstream effect.
Once I have visual contact with the V formation I have to wait until I
am outside their intended track, then pull hard to the horizontal. The
smoke trails help us besides making the manoeuvre look attractive -
Mike Findlay and I need to be able to locate each other instantly.
As
we pass I pull up quickly. This is where the really difficult join-up
occurs: I must wait, inverted at slow speed, for Mike to start his next
manoeuvre, which is really a climbing cloverleaf. The instant he comes
over the top I pull the nose down, at full power, and set up a
collision course. To achieve this join-up cleanly requires a great deal
of anticipation, for Mike is accelerating, diving and still rolling, as
indeed I am, but in different planes. At the last moment I can drop
down and bank to nearly 90 degrees, sometimes pulling 6 g as I curve hard
round
into the box position again. An error of a fraction of a second can
extend the join-up by anything up to twenty seconds - and I have to be
in position ready for the upward burst which follows immediately off a
continuous turn.
Engineering
At first this join-up
gave
me a considerable amount of trouble, so I was relieved to let the
maintenance staff take my underpowered machine into the hangar while I
flew the spare aircraft. This was also the opportunity for a minute
inspection of the airframe. In the Rothmans Team, each pilot is
required to clean his own aeroplane, so that he can satisfy himself
that all is well down to the smallest detail.
Specific areas
that call for inspection after every flight are common to both the
Pitts S-2A two seater used by the team, and its single seat competition
relative, the Pitts Special. Because pilots tend to take advantage of
the great flick-rolling capability of these aeroplanes, one is
primarily looking for signs of high g in a pitching,
rolling and yawing
case. One naturally thinks of the engine and its attachments, owing to
the high gyroscopic twisting effects: visual evidence of this may be
chafing between the spinner and the front cowling, despite more than an
inch of normal clearance. Inside the cowling one is specifically
looking for signs of stress at the engine and bearer attachment points,
distortion of rubber mounts, cracking of exhaust and smoke systems, and
oil leaks.
Bending or deformation
of the top wing support
brackets is an indication that the aeroplane has been working hard.
There are now modification kits available which beef up this area. The
long streamlined wheel spats suffer mainly from chatter in straight and
level flight, causing crazing, while their proximity to the ground
gives rise to impact damage at the aft ends on rough surfaces. At the
rear of the fuselage one finds the weakest point on the S-2A, the
tailwheel attachment. Several failures have resulted from the tail
bouncing on hard rutted ground caused by last summer's drought, and we
now operate exclusively from the asphalt runway when at our home base.
The
only known failure of a Pitts in the air was top wing separation, the
result of an extreme overstress during a previous flight. It transpired
during the enquiry that the wing had been seen to be deformed before
the final flight, which the pilot nevertheless carried out regardless.
It is likely that any future failure would follow this pattern, and we
therefore pay particular attention to the inboard rib of the top
mainplane where it attaches to the 'box' centre section. The slightest
deformation in this area would cause the aeroplane to be grounded.
A
recurrent concern is the loose article hazard. Although we empty our
pockets and secure our clothing it is still only too easy for small
objects to drop into the cockpit and find their way into control runs.
This is why we discourage people from leaning into the cockpit during
airshows. Not only do their cameras make dents in the fuselage but
there is the danger of pencils, pens or worse falling out of their
pockets. Just because the pilots are 'clean', it doesn't mean that they
can ignore the loose article check, and to facilitate this the rear
inspection panel over the elevator bell crank has been removed and
replaced by a clear view perspex panel. A jammed elevator during
formation aerobatics can be a short cut to disaster.
Finally,
most of us punch small holes in the fabric at the lowest point of the
belly curvature. It may be unsightly, but it allows the inevitable
smoke oil spillage to drain to atmosphere rather than give the pilot a
shower bath during slow rolls!
Complexities
In the hangar
things were not going well with my machine, which was still down on
power. I was beginning to appreciate the disadvantages of being the
last recruit to the team - everyone else had already had their choice
of aircraft. Of course the spare, which was going like a veritable
rocket, was the wrong colour. After changing the injector once and the
propeller three times, and renewing the engine bearer rubbers to reduce
vibration, we reluctantly had to accept that my aeroplane was just a
shade slower than the others. At least I was learning by this time how
to cut corners to best advantage.
Even with the initial
part of
the sequence practised, an easy life was not to be our lot. We briefed
for two new manoeuvres, both of which involved aircraft rolling over or
around the rest of the formation. However one of these had to be
abandoned simply because it consumed too much sky, while the other
produced a marked concertina effect with three aircraft rolling
simultaneously around the leader, and therefore a risk of collision.
This latter problem was overcome by having both the leader and No. 2
flying steadily in line abreast while No. 3 and I rolled around them,
always keeping on opposite sides of the circle.
It also had the
advantage of increasing the diameter of the circle, and when smoke was
used the trails gave a very pretty intertwining effect.
Without
the commentator to explain what is happening, the public probably
don't realise that the three formating aircraft change position several
times during the show for specific manoeuvres, so that I find myself
flying in the No. 2 and 3 slots at various points as well as in the
box. These changes occur during the reform after a break-up, with the
singleton aircraft moving into the vacant space, and the formation
resumes its original identity as it 'unwinds' in a given manoeuvre.
BELOW:
At the celebrations to mark the accession of Prince Rainier of Monaco,
the Rothmans team were honoured by a visit from Princess Grace. Seen
here at Nice Airport, the Princess had just returned from a flight in
one of the team's aircraft, when she was shown a formation loop by the
then Rothman's leader lain Weston in company with author Neil Williams.
Her daughter Princess Caroline (bottom photo) also flew in a Pitts
Gradually
the team settled down as we all got used to each other. There was a
handful of new manoeuvres, such as the half-roll and outside loop
upwards with a V of three aircraft - one figure I cordially detested,
because flying in the No. 3 slot I was on the inside of both the
initiating turn to the left and the half roll. This was quite bad
enough during practice at height, but when we started coming down to
below 200 ft at the bottom, self-preservation became dominant and for
once I was glad of the lack of performance as it allowed me to drop
back a foot or so and gain a peripheral impression of where we were
going and at what height!
While our routine was
still in
malleable form we were required to attend a press day at the
Silverstone racing circuit, for the launching of a new race car, so we
'froze' the sequence although it was still not entirely satisfactory.
It also gave us the opportunity for a dress rehearsal at low altitude
in front of informed critics. This was quite smooth and uneventful from
the formation standpoint; however, when I was in the middle of my solo
display my main smoke oil delivery pipe fractured., and at 200 ft
inverted I suddenly went IFR. The whole of the inside of the aeroplane
was awash with the stuff, and the windscreen was covered inside and
out. I flew the rest of the formation display with neck craned and head
out in the breeze, and far from getting any sympathy all I received was
a remark from the commentator that the smoke 'had got a bit thin'!
The
trouble with smoke oil is that it gets everywhere. For a week
afterwards every seam leaked oil on every flight, no matter how many
times we wiped them down.
Impressions
In general the
manoeuvres are designed to have an artistic or exciting visual effect.
Strangely enough it is not always the dramatic figures that contain the
greatest element of hazard. From the team's point of view the aim is to
present a high apparent hazard level while in reality keeping it as
safe as possible, although some degree of built-in excitement may
occasionally rear its head despite efforts to the contrary.
Probably
the manoeuvre with the greatest adrenalin factor is the opposition loop
which follows the synchronised pairs stall turn, with a pair of
aircraft at each end of the arena travelling head-on at a closing speed
of more than 300 mph. The leader of each pair aims initially at his
opposite number, and when the team leader has steadied, it is up to the
deputy leader (No. 2) to ensure there is no collision while keeping
minimum separation laterally. In the meantime No.3 is flying line
abreast on No. 2, just leaving enough room for the leader to pass
between them, while I am tucked in tight astern behind the leader,
trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. One is treated to a
sight akin to driving the wrong way up a freeway as machines hurtle
past one's ears, literally in a cloud of smoke. Both sections then loop
so that one has the same situation again at the top, only this time
upside down!
Yet for a continuous
spectacle from within the
formation the most dramatic is the double mirror, with four aircraft
stacked up vertically, the top two inverted and the lower two erect.
This unique formation is achieved from the box position where the
leader and No. 4 roll inverted together, and where No. 2 slides out far
enough to let me through before he and No. 3 drop underneath. The
manoeuvre takes place at 200 ft or below. From my position at the top I
can look upwards at the leader's wheels a few feet away, and actually
hear the crackle of his engine exhaust as it spews thick white smoke
almost into my cockpit. Below him, very close, I can see the other two
aircraft, their gentle movements as we jockey for position adding to
the disorientation produced by the flowing smoke trails and the ground
streaming past close beneath. I don't know which feels worse, to be on
the top and see how close together we are, and how low, or to be
underneath and to sit there in blissful ignorance of the proximity of
the ground.
But then, after one
short month, it is all over.
Suddenly we realise that this is the final practice. The leader gives
his penultimate order: 'Blue, rolling out descending for bomb burst,
smoke, smoke - go'. As we float gently over the top of the loop,
everybody is tucked in tight: the box is perfect. 'Blue, burst - NOW.'
And we split apart, leaving an inverted fountain of white smoke over
the green fields of England. Next time it will be the sands of Arabia.
ABOVE:
Echelon port, contre-jour
DURING
MAY the Queen's Silver Jubilee Air Pageant was held at White Waltham,
in Berkshire. I had been asked by the Shuttleworth Collection to
demonstrate their 1912 Blackburn Monoplane at this two-day event; the
Rothmans Aerobatic Team, too, wanted me to take my old Number 4
position for their last displays before final disbandment. I had been
in at the beginning of the team, when in 1970 the late Manx Kelly
formed it with Stampe biplanes. Now I was to be in at the finish, but
this time flying the high performance Pitts S2A.
With only two
items each day I began to look forward to a quiet weekend at a pleasant
grass airfield in the country. Certainly it would be a holiday compared
to a normal summertime weekend. I might actually be able to watch most
of the display, something I am rarely able to do. There would have to
be an early morning's air test on the Blackburn, which was to be
transported to White Waltham by road and assembled for the show; since
rotary engine time is measured in minutes rather than hours this meant
just a quick circuit to prove all systems. True, there was still some
administrative work to look after, as I had arranged for a Spitfire IX
to take part in the Biggin Hill Air Fair - held at the same time as the
Jubilee Pageant - but all I had to do was brief the pilot when he
arrived from overseas. I should have known that things were going too
well. At the last moment he sent a message to say he couldn't come!
I
studied the programmes for the Pageant and the Air Fair. If I based the
Spitfire at White Waltham, could I fly over to Biggin, display the
aircraft and return in time for my other commitments? I decided that it
was possible, but only if the Biggin Hill organiser agreed to bring my
slot time forward. I rang him up. Yes, he said, that would be OK. By
now it was beginning to turn into a standard flying-season weekend,
though with careful planning there shouldn't be any rush between
appearances. One big advantage of displaying high performance machines
is that one can cover a lot of ground quickly and thus take part in
airshows a considerable distance apart. However, this does call for
really accurate navigation - usually in an aircraft with no aids - and
getting off track can ruin the afternoon for a lot of people. Even a
slippage of a couple of minutes can make it impossible to reach the
next site in time.
White Waltham also had a
Spitfire on their
programme, a Mark I flown by a colleague. With two Spitfires to be
positioned from their home base to White Waltham, we naturally decided
to go in formation, for such an opportunity arises all too rarely.
Early
start
The
first day of the Jubilee Air Pageant dawned fair and clear. Crouched in
my small cockpit I could scarcely tear my eyes away from the trim,
beautiful lines of the Mark I, as it gently rose and fell just beyond
my wing tip. I pressed the R/T button: 'Spitfires, turning port - go!'
and the horizon slanted as we swung onto the heading for White Waltham.
For those who came early to the display, the sight and sounds that
greeted them must have made it worthwhile as we broke into the circuit
and landed, the Rolls Merlins crackling and popping as they were
throttled back.
ABOVE
LEFT: Author Neil
Williams straps in to Spitfire
ABOVE
RIGHT: New look at
Biggin Hill
BELOW:
Vintage look at
White Waltham. Author floats overhead in the
1912 Blackburn Monoplane
But
now there was business to attend to, for as we taxied in I could see
the Blackburn Monoplane being prepared for flight. We had decided to
air test this early, before the daytime turbulence built up and the
circuit became congested with visiting aeroplanes. From 1750 hp to 50
hp, I thought, as I used the brawny back of our engineer to climb into
the cockpit.
The Gnome rotary burst
into life on the first
swing, but I had difficulty in establishing the correct positions of
the control levers to achieve full power. There are three of these
levers: an air slide, a petrol needle valve, and a throttle, the latter
control being used only when the engine is running properly and the
mixture has been set using the other two. One cannot simply open
everything wide on a rotary or the whole thing will flood and stop.
Eventually I persuaded the engine to give its revs, but for some reason
the levers were not in their accustomed places on the quadrant.
At
last I was ready. Chocks were removed and willing hands clung to the
tail while I stabilised at full power. I raised and lowered my arm, and
with a strong push from the mechanics the Blackburn rolled across the
grass and drifted into the air. I leaned off the petrol slightly to
compensate for the richness due to centrifugal force with rising rpm,
noting that she was slightly right wing heavy, but nothing to worry
about. The engine note still did not sound right - I adjusted the
levers to try and improve things.
I had just reached the
end of
the airfield at about 300 ft, when the engine died! With no ASI or
altimeter in this 65 year old original one has to rely on feel and
instinct. The ground ahead was no good, but the wind was light, so I
started to turn. I could not get back onto the duty runway and there
were tents and barriers across the airfield. Gliding silently downwards
I pulled the petrol lever fully closed: if it had been a rich cut, this
would cure it. At about 100 ft I opened up - the Gnome coughed and
restarted. It still wasn't right, but it gave enough power to climb, so
I continued my circuit and landed on the runway. Evidently some new
sparking plugs had been the problem. They were immediately removed and
replaced by the older type which we knew to be satisfactory.
Complications
By
this time the crowds were pouring in. We pilots assembled for our
display briefing, during which I confirmed with Biggin Hill my arrival
and departure slots in their Air Fair programme. There was time to get
a bite to eat and a cup of tea, and then I had to prepare the Spitfire
IX. It appeared that the ground crew were also away to lunch, so there
was no starter trolley available. Not to worry, I still had an ace up
my sleeve in the shape of two batteries in the rear fuselage instead of
the usual one.
Again the airfield
echoed to the well-known
crackle, and soon the machine was bounding across the grass. In the
cockpit the thunder of the Merlin was muted as I held hard right rudder
to keep her straight against the enormous turning effect of the engine
and propeller. The ground fell away, I quickly changed hands on the
stick to select gear up, and pulled the power back to cruise as I
turned on course for Biggin Hill. I trimmed out and changed frequency
to London Radar: I would need a special VFR clearance, about which I
had briefed Air Traffic. Everything was going like clockwork - London
knew my details and confirmed radar identification, the weather was
near perfect.
And then, almost
imperceptibly, the note of the
Merlin changed. It was so subtle that one could have been forgiven for
missing it, but I knew this Spitfire well. I checked the engine
instruments and saw the oil pressure was dropping!
There was not
a second to lose. I was flying a precious and historic aeroplane: one
mistake could be catastrophic. I turned back and told London I was
experiencing difficulties. I asked them to alert Biggin and Wycombe Air
Park, where the aircraft was based; already I was thinking of how I
could get to a suitable repair base. The oil temperature was rising, so
I reduced power to the minimum and opened the radiator shutters to
increase airflow through the oil cooler under the port wing.
White
Waltham was now on the nose, but beyond, no more than ten miles away,
was base. The pressure had stabilised at a low but safe reading though
the temperature continued to rise slowly. I asked London to get through
to Wycombe on the land line and find out the wind and runway in use.
Clearing the Zone I changed frequency, called the tower, pulled back
the power, dropped the undercarriage and glided in to the grass runway,
cutting the switches as I touched down. It was another week before we
found the cause, a broken oil cooler bypass valve, but the engine had
been shut down in time to save it.
With that emergency out
of
the way, I could now start thinking about displays again. How could I
get back to White Waltham? I looked around the hangar and found a CAP
10 belonging to one of the aerobatic organisations, which I flew from
time to time. Well, this was going to be one of those times! Then I had
another thought. What if I could borrow the Spitfire I? I studied my
watch: my Biggin Hill display was only forty minutes away - it couldn't
be done. But supposing I tried for a later slot time?
Taking
a chance on being able to use the Mk I, I telephoned Biggin, asking at
the same time if they would accept a change of aircraft. They were
surprised, but agreed. So, borrowing a headset, I leapt into the CAP 10
and was soon retracing my path towards White Waltham. I called the
tower and asked them to broadcast for the Spitfire pilot to meet me
when I landed. He too was a bit surprised, but agreed to my using the
aeroplane after his own display was over. As he took off I was busy
rushing about finding a fuelling truck, starter trolley and mechanics
to turn the aircraft round. Even by Battle of Britain standards it was
a record! From the Spitfire's touchdown to my getting airborne in it
with a full tank of fuel was just five minutes.
London Radar
were as helpful as ever, and I reached Biggin with two minutes to
spare. The display itself was relaxing by comparison with what had gone
before. Soon I was cruising westward again across the Zone, leaving
behind a commentator whose notes referred to a Spitfire IX and who was
later heard muttering 'I could have sworn it was an
earlier Mark . . .'
Back
on the ground at White Waltham I was just in time for the Rothmans
aerobatic team briefing. We had flown this routine many times during
our recent two-month tour in the Middle East, and my only concern was
that there might be a temptation to try that little bit too hard - the
team had never had an accident in formation. Had I but known it,
everyone else was thinking the same thing. The show was tight, clean,
and above all safe. As our four Pitts S2As split in the final bomb
burst, I thought, 'we shall only be doing this once more.' Then we were
down and taxying in, waving back to the crowd.
ABOVE:
Last ever display
of the Rothmans Aerobatic Team
Walking
down the line of aircraft towards the Blackburn, I saw that we had
picked our time well. The wind had dropped and conditions were almost
perfect. Seated precariously in the canoe-like fuselage, I scarcely
dared breathe until we had reached a safe height from which I could
make a glide landing. But the change of spark plugs had restored the
engine performance, and I could confidently achieve full rpm. With the
rev counter the one and only instrument in the aeroplane, it was
reasonable to ask that it should present a decent reading! This time
she was going so well that I had to throttle back to lose height, a
most unusual situation.
So ended the Saturday
display. But as I
got into the CAP 10 to take it back to Wycombe, I found myself with a
few more things to think about. It appeared that my colleague with the
Spitfire Mk I, who had also been demonstrating a ferociously
camouflaged Fiat G.46 fighter trainer of the same vintage, was going
motor racing the next day and had left both his aeroplanes for me to
fly on the second day of the Air Pageant. My one experience of the Fiat
dated from several years previously, when I had collided with a seagull
which removed the leading edge of the wing all the way back to the main
spar; that flight had been confined to a wide circuit and a fast,
straight approach to a wheel landing. Sunday was further complicated by
a commitment I had made after the airshow to move a Spitfire Vc
belonging to the Shuttleworth Collection from Duxford to Old Warden.
Some assistance was clearly in order, so I co-opted my wife to do some
ferry flying in our Jodel light aircraft.
The
plot thickens
The
Spitfire Mk I having been returned to its base overnight, our first job
on Sunday morning was to get over to Wycombe to collect it. Fortunately
the weather remained fair, and after seeing my wife safely airborne
again, I climbed into the Spitfire and pressed the starter button. Day
Two had begun.
At White Waltham I
taxied in and parked alongside
the Fiat G.46. Rather unwillingly I strapped in to the front cockpit of
this strange looking machine, running over the briefing I had been
given and identifying the unusual layout. I had been specially warned
not to touch a cable that ran along the floor, whose function was to
disconnect the front cockpit controls . . . Apparently this was to
allow the instructor in the rear seat to save the day if the student
panicked!
The engine, with its six
stub exhausts, seemed to make
up in noise for what it lacked in thrust, though the aeroplane went
quite well on only 215 hp. After fifteen minutes, during which I
managed to avoid any seagulls, I decided that I wouldn't attempt
anything clever but merely fly low and make a lot of noise, keeping the
manoeuvres to basic figures like loops, Cuban 8s and barrel rolls.
Then
it was time for pilot briefing. My flying programme was now so full
that I gave my lunch ticket to one of the Shuttleworth team in exchange
for a home packed sandwich, and started up the still-warm Fiat for the
first display of the day. The technique of 'low and noisy' seemed to go
down well, and it also allowed me to assess the wind before my Spitfire
I event.
For me, flying a
Spitfire is a never-ending delight.
All too soon my display was over, but I could look forward to a second
run as I set course for Biggin Hill once more. Biggin sounded surprised
to hear me, for I had been unable to telephone them before take-off and
was adhering to my programmed time. What I didn't know was that they
had misunderstood the previous day's message and therefore assumed I
wasn't coming on the Sunday. 'You're cleared to land,' they said. 'We
can fit you in at 1700 hours.'
'Negative,' I called,
mindful of
my fuel state and the fact that I had a two-minute gap allotted for my
landing back at White Waltham.
ATC then queried: 'Can
you display at 1515?'
'Negative, my landing
slot is 1506 at Waltham.'
'Stand by,' replied ATC
. . . then after a pause, 'How about 1435?'
'Affirmative,'
I said, clinching the deal. A camouflaged shape rocketed up past me,
waggling its wings: it was the Royal Naval Sea Fury, at the end of his
show, bound for the Air Pageant at Waltham. I rocked my wings in reply,
opened the radiator shutter and eased the rpm up to 2650 as I lowered
the nose. My watch showed 1435. Nine minutes later I completed a
climbing roll and levelled out on course for the west.
In a
shallow orbit over White Waltham I watched the Sea Fury display, then
it was my turn to join the circuit and land. More out of habit than the
expectation of finding anything wrong, I walked around my aeroplane,
and was horrified to discover a large dent in the bottom cowling with
blood and feathers everywhere. A bird had gone clean through the
propeller, missing both the oil tank and the carburettor intake by
inches. And the owner of the Spitfire was also the owner of the Fiat!
Finale
Happily
there was no real damage - only a panel that could easily be
straightened. I put it out of my mind as I climbed into the Pitts, for
now I had to concentrate and fly steadily. For the final bow-out of the
Rothmans Aerobatic Team we all wanted a safe, polished performance.
Despite
my inner misgivings the team acquitted themselves with honour. 'This
really is the last time,' I reflected, as we burst downwards and I cut
the smoke in the pullout. Perhaps the old Blackburn was getting jealous
of the way I was consorting with these modern machines; at any rate, I
had just stabilised on the chocks at full power when there was a loud
'twing' and everything went quiet. The large crowd, primed by the
commentator, waited, hushed and expectant. No problem, three of the
ignition wires had come adrift and tied themselves in a knot: this
could soon be sorted out. We reconnected the wires, but still the Gnome
showed no signs of life, whereupon it was discovered that the carbon
brush had fallen out. After a futile ten minutes on our hands and knees
in the oil soaked grass under the aeroplane we were forced to call it a
day.
All that now remained
was to set course in the Jodel for
Duxford, and the Spitfire Vc. Even after two consecutive days of
Spitfire displays I could not resist a loop and a couple of rolls en
route to Old Warden, especially as the clipped wings of the Mk Vc
positively demanded that they be rolled! We pushed her into the hangar
and took off for the last leg of the weekend, making it with 30 seconds
to spare before Wycombe airfield closed.
It was wonderful to
relax at last in the hotel, where the rest of the Rothmans group were
assembling for the team's farewell party. Some few minutes late one of
the executives arrived, looking a little flustered. 'The traffic,' he
explained apologetically. 'You've no idea . . .'
ABOVE:
HRH the Prince of Wales arrives at Biggin Hill in an Andover of the
Queen's Flight: His Royal Highness, a qualified Service pilot and a
keen aviator, had just opened the Silver Jubilee Air Pageant at White
Waltham
Last month I was invited
to visit Jutland in the
northern part of Denmark to give an aerobatic display in my Bücker
Jungmann, in company with a colleague flying an even older biplane, a
single-seat Arrow Active. We planned our route across the English
Channel, then eastwards over France, Belgium and Holland, and finally
across Northern Germany into Denmark.
After a hard day's
flying,
we arrived just as dusk was falling to be greeted by the pilots
assembled for the navigation rally, which was a part of the event. The
air show next day was hampered by low cloud, wind and rain. We fuelled
the aeroplanes and prepared to set off on our homeward journey. This
very much surprised the rally contestants, who were incredulous that we
could navigate without the benefit of VOR, ADF or even VHF, for our
biplanes were strictly non-radio; and I began to realise the difference
in mental approach to this kind of problem when one has been brought up
strictly in accordance with the modern methods of radio navigation and
airways flying.
This is certainly not
meant to decry the use of
radio as a method of navigation. Yet the best equipment is only as good
as a pilot's ability to interpret it, and on rare occasions systems
have been known to fail, which could leave the pilot of a well-equipped
aircraft no better off than we were in our totally unequipped biplanes.
In fact he would be worse off, because we had begun the trip knowing
that there could be no outside assistance, and that we were entirely
the masters of our own destiny.
Then again, there is the
case of
today's totally radio-orientated pilot - accustomed to and dependent
upon a full set of navaids - who finds himself being asked to
ferry a
friend's priceless, unequipped vintage machine across country. How will
he cope with an 80 kt slipstream and no form of radio guidance whatever?
Ability
to revert
To
be deprived of modern navigational assistance is largely a
psychological problem when it occurs suddenly, as for example in the
case of complete electrical failure. It takes a strong effort of will
to be able to revert instantly to dead reckoning navigation.
Admittedly, with modern aids usually duplicated there is no need to
place full reliance on dead reckoning methods. Yet they are the
foundation of all navigation. Since weather deterioration is the
fundamental cause of most navigational incidents, clearly this is the
area where the pilot should concentrate his attention: if he can do it
in foul weather, then fair weather should present no problem.
About
the worst situation to encounter is when a pilot is making a
half-hearted attempt to fly visually in deteriorating weather, when the
visibility is falling and he finds himself going in and out of cloud.
He should have decided before this to (a) turn back into better
weather, (b) climb on top and operate on dead reckoning or (c) get
properly visual beneath the cloud, and remain visual. But a flight on
top of cloud has its dangers: if the engine fails, what then? And how
can one be sure that the destination weather will be clear?
If
the pilot decides to carry on in visual contact with the ground there
are other problems. On the more recent maps, there is a tendency for
cartographers to overprint with radio navigational symbols and
frequencies, and while these naturally have a function they can also
cause great confusion. In conditions of poor light and turbulence the
circles surrounding a VOR station can look exactly like railway lines,
so if one belongs to the IFRRR brigade (I fly roads, rivers and
railways) one must make sure that one is not simply going round in
circles and getting nowhere!
ABOVE:
Today's
General Aviation pilot has become accustomed to airline-standard
radios, navaids, autopilots and couplers, and enjoys full operational
flexibility in the IFR environment. But how will he cope when faced
with a cross-country flight in a non-radio, totally VFR aircraft ?
Apart
from the map, the needs for visual navigation are basic - an
ASI,
compass and stopwatch. Once airborne, the primary requirement is to fly
accurately, because if the pilot weaves about all over the sky, he will
have nothing on which to base his calculations. From a positive fix, he
can relax and fly on a steady compass course, knowing that the next
check-point will appear on time. In turbulence there is a temptation to
chase the needle, as the basic compass is not gyro stabilised: in this
case a mean heading will usually suffice. Here one flies from map to
ground - that is, one selects a feature on the map, and expects to see
it at the appropriate time.
Should things go wrong
and one
becomes unsure of one's position, the best procedure is to visualise a
circle of uncertainty centred upon the estimated position, and then fly
from ground to map, waiting until a good navigational feature appears
below. This is then identified on the map. At this stage it is only too
easy for the pilot to convince himself that the feature he is looking
at is the correct one. It is essential to think clearly and
dispassionately, and not give way to panic. If he has been tracking
steadily for half an hour with no problems, he cannot be very far off
track, even if the next check-point has not appeared. Sometimes one
tends to keep looking for such a point for several minutes after common
sense dictates that it must by now be twenty miles astern. Just because
one didn't see it, that doesn't mean it wasn't there!
What about
sea crossings? In many ways I would rather navigate over the sea,
because with no distractions one usually flies more accurately. In the
lower levels I tend to follow the advice of a former RAF Coastal
Command navigator: his technique was to measure drift by sighting along
a Douglas protractor. Alternatively, one can mark 5 and 10 degree drift
lines on the windscreen. Although there is no ground speed indication -
here one has to rely on dead reckoning - the track can be held with
surprising accuracy.
Aim
for the minimum
A large
navigational log, amply equipped with pencils, rulers, clipboards and
computers, seems to have become a status symbol of the present-day
aviator. It is much more pleasant, and practical in an open cockpit, to
go flying unencumbered by these trappings. All the pilot really needs
is a map with the tracks drawn on it, drift lines, distances, and
either time or distance ground speed markers. I favour distance
markers, which I can use in any wind.
Navigation is based on
the
1 in 60 rule, so that a couple of formulae in the mind can replace the
computer in the cockpit. One can soon become very proficient at mental
dead reckoning, and in many cases the answer will be produced faster
than would have been possible with a computer, bearing in mind that the
aeroplane has to be flown at the same time. There may be small errors
in approximation, but these are generally disguised by normal handling
errors.
The measurement of
distance, too, is easy - a spread
hand span equals 60 n miles on a 1 : 500,000 map, each finger's width
representing 5 n miles. Drift, ground speed, and conversion of RAS to
TAS can be calculated quickly with practice, while still maintaining a
proper look-out. Nobody has immunity from collision risk. The golden
rule for visual flying is nine seconds with one's head out of the
cockpit for every one second in.
Statistics show that a
great
many weather-related accidents occur during the approach phase. Pilots
sometimes tend to forget navigational principles as they approach their
destination, and to start searching for familiar landmarks. To be
successful they would, of necessity, have to be as familiar with the
approaches to the airfield as they are with their own living room,
where they would have a mental picture of all features and
obstructions, even in the dark. Should it become necessary to make an
approach to a strange field in poor weather conditions, a large scale
map can be of great assistance, but one should convert to it while
still some distance away, in order to get used to the change of scale.
ABOVE:
Neil Williams,
seen here
with
his Bücker Jungmann
sporting biplane, refocuses
attention on an increasingly neglected side of airmanship
Basically
all this is just training, practice and common sense. Cultivating some
independence of radio aids in less than perfect weather can literally
extend the general aviation pilot's horizons. As our wheels sloshed
through the sodden grass of the airfield in Jutland, we could
contemplate two hours of rain and low cloud ahead before our first stop
in Germany. For the first hour I watched the check-points appear out of
the murk, almost monotonously. I forced myself to concentrate, because
when things are going well, even in bad weather, one can be lulled into
a dangerous state of complacency. Soon we were coasting out over the
North Sea towards Cuxhaven, and I was glad of the time spent over land
to firmly establish the drift.
We dropped lower towards
the oily
grey surface of the sea, the silver of our machines making them hard to
detect in the lowering visibility. Gradually the drift was altering:
now the wind was swinging round onto the tail. I altered course and
brought our ETA forward by five minutes. The light was going,
aggravated by the cloud and rain, when, exactly on time, the airfield
at Wilhelmshaven appeared dead ahead. Soon we were taxying in,
unstrapping, and climbing stiffly out of our machines - yet it was
worth the discomfort when the controller told us that we were the only
international movements that day.
Despite our minimum
navigational equipment, we had known exactly where
we were at all times. I could
have done the same trip in a modern light aircraft; but I don't think I
would have relied entirely on the radio aids unless they were
certificated for full IFR flying on airways. There is nothing quite
like being in charge of one's own destiny - especially in aviation.
THE SPITFIRE swept over
the hedge bounding the
airfield, its narrow undercarriage seeming to reach out towards the
grass. In the cockpit, the roar of the slipstream died to a whisper,
punctuated only by the harsh crackle of the exhausts. Now the nose was
well up, obliterating all forward view, and I peered out sideways to
judge my height as she sank towards the runway. She touched on three
points, the tailwheel clattering in protest as I concentrated on
keeping straight, for a Spitfire seems able to sense a moment's
inattention by the pilot and is ready to swing either way, as if to
remind one that this is a thoroughbred aeroplane, rewarding but also
demanding.
There was quite a small
crowd waiting outside the
hangar. I switched off and climbed out, to find that our visitors were
a group of enthusiasts from the Chablais Flying Club in Switzerland,
anxious to see the Spitfire and wanting to know if they could have it
for their local air show later in the Summer. They had, it seemed,
searched all over Britain to find one.
Despite their keenness,
it was hard to believe that such a small organisation could afford to
finance the trip, since the whole idea of the air show was to make a
profit for the club. We asked them to write and confirm, and then said
our good-byes, not really expecting to hear any more.
Within a
week we received a reply accepting our quote, and providing details of
the location of the club's base at Bex, and time of the display,
together with a plan of the airfield. With a sinking heart I stared at
the runway length - 700 metres of grass! We began to have grave doubts
as to the chances of making a profit, and therefore covering the not
inconsiderable cost of taking a World War 2 fighter halfway across
Europe. I delayed making any real preparations until a couple of weeks
before the display, by which time we were receiving letters, telegrams
and telephone calls almost daily. It was quite evident that they were
taking the whole project extremely seriously; indeed, they wanted us
out there well ahead of time to attend their press event.
Outbound
The
departure day was fine and clear. Doug Bianchi, Managing Director of
Personal Plane Services and his wife Edna, who constituted the ground
party, had already left to cross the Channel by car ferry. In the
Spitfire I spent less than ten minutes over the sea, my thoughts
alternating between the possibility of engine trouble and a sense of
history as the aeroplane's shadow leapt from the grass above the chalk
cliffs, to reappear in miniature, racing across the turgid Channel
waves. This is how it must have looked, nearly forty years ago: the
hurtling water beneath, the blue sky above, and over all the steady
snarl of the Merlin. Only the windshield mirror was empty - no
Me.109s
about today! It was an eerie experience, and as the French coast loomed
out of the haze, I pulled up and headed inland.
ABOVE:
Author taxies out at Bex for a display. Sheer mountains, high tension
cables and haze compounded an already difficult airshow environment
Now
I was back in the present, navigating across France in a single engined
aeroplane: something I had done many times. But somehow this time it
was easier. Perhaps it was the near perfect weather, or the high
cruising speed with its rapid succession of checkpoints. Even though I
could spend a large part of the time in sheer contentment, admiring the
lines of this beautiful machine and listening to the steady beat of the
engine, my fuelling stop, the military airfield at Reims, came up on
the nose and on ETA. Air Traffic asked me to orbit to let in jet
traffic on a practice GCA, then I was cleared to land on an enormous
paved runway, which made me think with foreboding of my eventual
destination.
A snag now arose.
Although I produced a fistful of
francs, they could accept nothing but a fuel carnet. French initiative
was not to be defeated, however. Telephone calls were promptly made and
the customs officer was diverted to the small airfield at Reims-Prunay,
where they would take cash for fuel. I had 15 gallons left, just enough
to make it provided I didn't get lost. No starter trolley was
available, but happily this particular Spitfire was fitted with double
the normal battery capacity, and soon I was taxying in at Reims-Prunay
and noticing the airfield grass cutting equipment - a flock of sheep
busy between the runway and perimeter track, supervised by an ancient
shepherd complete with crook.
The enthusiasm here for
the
aircraft was terrific. Even by Spitfire standards it was unusual. I
discovered that this was the home base of Pierre Clostermann, the
French wartime ace. Trading shamelessly on the fact, I arranged for the
airfield to stay open and provide customs facilities for my return
flight on the Sunday, as I would be in a hurry, with a deadline to meet
at an air display in England to which the Spitfire was committed.
Soon
I was on my way again, towards the rising ground forming the foothills
of the Jura mountains. Today the mountains were open, and before long I
was descending low over Lake Leman, peering into the haze, searching
for the mouth of the valley where my destination lay. As I approached
the southern shore of the lake, above me rose a wall of solid rock,
seemingly supported by the clouds that gathered at the water's edge.
There must be no mistakes here! The haze seemed to clear a little, and
there was the valley, dead ahead. Throttling back I started to weave
slightly, following the path of the river . . . and then, suddenly, I
was there. It was hard to see; a tiny grass strip, a hangar with the
name of the field painted on it in bold letters - BEX.
Hazards
I
circled and took stock of the situation. No wind, a downhill slope with
a good over-run towards the lake, but a bad approach - trees and high
tension wires. The ground was undulating, and the mountain towering
over it gave the whole field a claustrophobic air. Doug and Edna
Bianchi, already there, sounded anything but happy over the radio. From
where they stood it looked even worse than from the air.
Well, I
had enough fuel for a couple of attempts before diverting to the
alternate airfield further up the valley. Wheels and flaps down, I
slithered in, side-slipping over the trees, holding the descent steady
with a trickle of power. As the wheels brushed over the hedge I kicked
her straight and closed the throttle. With no float she dropped on -
quickly I slid open the hood and retracted the flaps. I needed brakes
more than flaps at this stage, and the flaps were depleting my precious
supply of air, which also fed the brakes. The tail kicked slightly as I
held the brakes hard on: these were never the Spitfire's strong point,
but finally she stopped, just inside the marked runway. Doug looked
nearly as relieved as I felt! The duty customs officer arrived, but in
the presence of a Spitfire formalities were swept aside. All he wanted
was to sit in the cockpit.
The tension was over,
the 'Spit' was
here, and everyone on the airfield was jubilant. So many people were
fussing around the aeroplane that I was extremely relieved to see her
finally locked away for the night in the hangar. Now we could start
attending to our own arrangements. It transpired however that our hosts
wouldn't hear of us booking into a hotel: one of the club members was
the director of a girls' finishing school, and we were to be billeted
there. What was more, the students were still in residence. Many of
these were from Eastern countries and were observing Ramadan, which
meant that all was peaceful until about midnight, when bedlam was let
loose as the period of fasting ended and there was an instant and
impromptu banquet. Thinking that the place was on fire, we peered
nervously out of our rooms, only to beat a rapid retreat at the sight
of a horde of multi-national young ladies embarking upon a giant
celebration. Spitfires and short runways I could take, but this was too
much!
ABOVE:
Take-off checks in
a sylvan
setting. Each landing approach over the trees, 6 kt above the power-off
stall, had to be virtually perfect
ABOVE:
Bex airshow
organising team, with the Author third from right
When
I ventured out to breakfast next morning I met a reflective Doug, who
told me that while he was standing in his room, clad in nothing but a
pair of spectacles, a young lady had burst in. Doug was the first to
recover from the confrontation. 'Good morning,' he said pleasantly.
'I'm the new sports master.' At this the maiden departed with alacrity
and fled shrieking down the corridor.
The club's display was
focussed around the Spitfire, so it was inevitable that I should be
asked to fly several times for the Press and TV. Take-off was no
problem at all, even though the airfield was over 1300 ft above sea
level; the two speed, two stage supercharger would provide more power
than I could hold with the rudder. Landing was different - the higher
TAS and the poor energy absorption of the brakes meant that every
approach had to be virtually perfect. Also I had to delay lowering the
flaps as long as possible, because of a slight air leak in the flap
'down' line which would take too long to rectify.
In the end I
found the best compromise to be a speed 6 kt above the power-off stall,
with judicious use of engine to control the speed instability: I was
well on the wrong side of the drag curve. Visibility on the approach
was a problem, over that long elegant nose, but a mild sideslip helped.
Not too much however, for more drag meant more power, and a Merlin
loses its residual thrust very slowly. During every landing I slackened
my left shoulder strap enough to let me reach the magneto switches -
just in case! Of course, on the only landing the TV people filmed, I
was too fast and had to go round again. 'Never mind,' they said, 'it
made an exciting shot.'
An ordeal in a different
form presented
itself at the local supermarket, where we had to sit in full view of
the public signing posters advertising the air display. During this
performance there was a continuous running programme of old aviation
movies including the original 'Battle of Britain' film, made in black
and white in 1941 and full of the most outrageous clichés. I co-opted
Doug and Edna's help in signing posters, but Doug soon tired of this,
and we were treated to the sight of a puzzled eight year old, staring
at Doug with round eyes and clutching a poster which displayed in bold
and prominent script the signature 'Adolf Hitler'. This line of thought
had probably been suggested during our admission to the rear of the
supermarket, where a metallic voice had demanded identification.
'Equipe Spitfire,' I replied, at which the door automatically
and
silently opened before us. Doug motioned us inside, but stayed where he
was. When the door closed, he pressed the bell again. To the request
for identification Doug replied 'Equipe Messerschmitt' . . . and the
door swung silently and immediately open!
ABOVE:
Neil Williams
autographs the hangar wall, as a tribute to pilots
who flew the Spitfire in action 37 years ago
ABOVE:
Preparing the Spitfire for return to England on the last morning. Doug
Bianchi, on the wing walk, checks engine cowling security
At
length we all got fed up with signing posters and downed tools,
demanding tea and cakes. These were produced instantly by no less a
personage than the assistant manager, so we were morally committed to
taking tea in public, much like chimpanzees in the zoo, which evidently
proved a much greater attraction than the films. Our sense of humour
was by now wearing a trifle thin, so our hosts decided to take us to a
restaurant in the mountains for dinner. It was bad enough going up:
narrow mountain roads, hairpin bends, and a strong sensation that this
was a training route for Monaco. But coming back was worse. Fortified
with a litre of wine, the locals obviously work on the principle that
at midnight nobody is going up. They were right, as it happened, which
was just as well for everyone concerned.
By the time I had taken
part in a live radio interview, in French, of which I understood little
or nothing, I felt that life could offer me few more surprises even
when I was sandwiched between a folk singer and a local comedian in the
programme. Meanwhile the Spitfire was doing rather well for itself. It
was housed in the hangar with strategically placed spotlights, Union
Jacks, and tape recordings of Merlin engines, and was on view to the
public at two francs a head. In two days they took enough cash to buy
another light aircraft for the club fleet.
Against
the clock
The
displays by contrast were uneventful, which is just the way I like
them. On Sunday I had to display at 10 am, and then depart without
landing back for the event in England. As the Spitfire disappeared down
the valley towards the lake the crowds started to disperse! The
organisers, in panic, broadcast over the public address system that the
rest of the programme was yet to come, but in vain. They were happy to
have seen the Spitfire - some of them had travelled from
France and
Germany. Meanwhile I levelled out over the Jura mountains. There was
more cloud today, but it was still too early for the big cumulus
build-ups that were forecast.
Time was of the essence
now:
everything had to go like clockwork if I was to meet the afternoon
schedule. As I turned finals and touched down at Reims-Prunay I thought
things looked rather quiet. The fuel pumps were locked and there was
hardly anyone about but the customs officer, munching a sandwich; at
least he had kept his word. Then I found out what was wrong. One of the
students had crashed, and everybody had gone to the funeral. However
the customs officer cleared me to fly to Epernay, fuel, and depart from
there.
Again the Merlin started
on internal power: what a
blessing that extra battery was. Throttled well back to conserve fuel,
I cruised south, well behind schedule. Epernay was not easy to find, as
it looked just like any big field until one was almost on top of it.
But soon the 'essence' was gurgling into the tanks, litres clicking up
on the asthmatic fuel bowser at a painfully slow rate. Francs changed
hands and a receipt was laboriously made out. 'How much is the landing
fee?' I asked. 'Just give us a low pass,' was the reply. The wheels
thumped into their wells, the Merlin's scream dropping to a steady roar
as I pulled the revs back to 2650 and slanted in towards the clubhouse.
The Spitfire flashed low across the field and I checked the time:
despite the delays I had only lost five minutes overall. I inched the
boost up to +4 lb - that would take care of those few minutes over the
next leg to Shoreham.
A thin dark line on the
distant horizon
materialised into the French coast. Then once again I was over the sea.
It was only for a few minutes, yet out of sight of land I had to remind
myself that navigation is an exact science and not a black art: of
course the coast of England would appear ahead. Those minutes dragged,
and even the note of the incomparable Merlin seemed to change. But it
was all in the mind, for there was the coast exactly on time, and the
engine as smooth as ever.
Ben Gunn, Shoreham's
irrepressible
manager, knew all about my tight schedule. I was fuelled, through
customs and immigration, booked out and ready to go in ten minutes from
touchdown. Now my track took me north, through the Gatwick and London
control zones, where the word 'Spitfire' was enough to give me every
possible assistance. Pete Woods, the controller at Elstree, was waiting
for my call - 'Spitfire, on time.' He would pass this message to the
display controller at Old Warden, where I was to open the show at 1430.
North
of Luton the haze was thickening, but I knew this area well. I eased
wide of Henlow, with its gliding activity, and soon picked up a glint
of water ahead: the small lake near Old Warden. I opened the radiator
shutters and eased the revs up to 2650. The roar of the Merlin swelled
as I advanced the throttle to +6 boost. Now with the nose down I could
see the airfield, the runways, the crowd. Now I had to forget the
adventures, the problems, the worries of the last few days and
concentrate on giving a clean, safe display. The planning and the
effort to co-ordinate these events had paid off: as the aeroplane
passed 1000 ft in the dive I took a last glance at my watch -
the time
was 1429½.
In peace, as in war, the
Spitfire's mission was again successful.
We
must record with deep regret the loss, on 11 December 1977, of Neil
Williams and his wife Lynn while flying a Heinkel III from Spain to
England. He had lately delivered two of these vintage military aircraft
from the UK to the Confederate Air Force in Texas, subsequently writing
for Shell Aviation News what must be one of the most remarkable
accounts of a North Atlantic ferry flight in winter. This article has
yet to appear.
Neil
Williams was one of the most versatile and
accomplished aviators Britain has ever known. Many times UK Aerobatic
Champion, he was once European Champion and came close to winning the
World title in 1976. Six years previously he had been decorated for an
unprecedented feat of airmanship when, one wing of his aerobatic
aircraft folding upwards after recovery from a vertical dive, he flew
the machine home inverted and rolled it erect just before touchdown,
thereby preserving it for the accident investigators. RAF and industry
test pilot, film & TV, demonstration and transport pilot, he
was
also an acknowledged expert on the operation of historic aircraft. His
Spitfire displays, in particular, will be long remembered.
Neil
took a keen interest in Shell Aviation News, contributing over the
years no less than twenty specialist articles and advising on many
areas of the magazine's work. A prolific author, his book 'Aerobatics'
must ever remain a classic work upon the subject.
steemrok
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