Fleet Air Arm Boys Volume Two: Volume Two: Strike, Anti-Submarine, Early Warning and Support Aircraft since 1945 True Tales from Royal Navy Men and Women Air and Ground Crew: 2 9781911667179, 1911667173

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FLEET AIR ARM BOYS VOLUME TWO

FLEET AIR ARM BOYS VOLUME TWO: STRIKE, ANTI-SUBMARINE, EARLY WARNING AND SUPPORT AIRCRAFT SINCE 1945 TRUE TALES FROM ROYAL NAVY MEN AND WOMEN AIR AND GROUND CREW

STEVE BOND

GRUB STREET • LONDON

Published by Grub Street 4 Rainham Close London SW11 6SS Copyright © Grub Street 2021 Copyright text © Steve Bond 2021

A CIP record for this title is available from the British Library

ISBN-13: 978-1-911667-17-9

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

Printed and bound by Finidr, Czech Republic

DEDICATION Members of the Women’s Royal Naval Service and those officers and ratings who have served since integration into the Royal Navy in 1993.

CONTENTS Preface – Vice Admiral Sir Jonathan Tod KCB CBE

6

Introduction and Acknowledgements

8

Chapter One – Twilight of the Piston Engine

14

Chapter Two – Turboprop Strikers

38

Chapter Three – Sea Hawk, Sea Venom and Suez

53

Chapter Four – Other Aspects of Navy Life or ‘All Work And No Play Makes Jack a Dull Boy’

72

Chapter Five – Land-Based Miscellany

98

Chapter Six – Jets Ashore

125

Chapter Seven – Eyes Of The Fleet – Gannet AEW

151

Chapter Eight – Twin-Boom Finale – Sea Vixen

177

Chapter Nine – Pushing The Limits – Scimitar and Phantom

201

Chapter Ten – Blackburn’s Masterpiece – The Buccaneer

222

Chapter Eleven – The Ski-Jump Era

256

Appendix – FAA Nicknames

276

Abbreviations 278 Select Bibliography

279

Volume One Errata

280

Index 281

PREFACE  VICE ADMIRAL SIR JONATHAN TOD KCB CBE

If there is a story that needs telling it is usually best told by those who were there or witnessed it. But if the story is of the history of the Fleet Air Arm (FAA) stretching from the end of World War 2 to the present day there is a multitude of people involved and an astonishing number of aircraft of many different types. The task of assembling them is daunting but Steve Bond, the author, has travelled miles, recorded hundreds of voices and collected and authenticated thousands of photographs. The result is an enthralling record that is both accurate and very readable. It has been a remarkable period for the FAA developing from the age of the propeller to jet engines, from biplanes to supersonic aircraft with vertical landing and take-off capabilities. Weapons have moved from dumb bombs, guns and rockets to missiles, as advanced electronics have added potency to every facet of carrier operations. Old aircraft carriers designed in the 1930s were belatedly replaced by the Invincible-class refitted to take the Sea Harrier and now the Queen Elizabeth-class capable of worldwide power projection. We read the words of those who experienced these developments in combat in Suez, the Falklands, Iraq, Afghanistan and many other places where the FAA played a unique and leading part. New skills had to be learned. The indomitable engineers working day and night in steaming hot hangars, often far removed from spares support, used their initiative and ingenuity to keep the aircraft flying. The aircrew revelled in the ever-increasing capability of the aircraft, gaining satisfaction from successfully overcoming the daunting task of flying from a pitching deck on a dark night. Their new roles added spice to life and gave rise to many of the stories in this book. But there are many others involved, aircraft handlers, meteorologists, fighter and air traffic controllers and the entire ship’s company who were all essential to keep the show on the road. Steve Bond has successfully managed to compile the individual stories of the people who were there to give a real feel to the lives, challenges and fun of those in the FAA and put on record their achievements over 75 years.

6

PREFACE  7

Born in India, Jonathan Tod joined the Royal Navy in 1957 and served on HMS Houghton (ton-class minesweeper). Took the first all-jet pilot course on Jet Provost/Vampire winning three trophies, then moved on to the Sea Hawk. He went to 800 Squadron flying the Scimitar and embarked Ark Royal, then went to 750 Squadron based in Malta. This was followed by an air warfare instructor (AWI) course. Undertook Buccaneer tours as 736 Squadron AWI, then on Hermes and Eagle. He was the senior pilot on 803, 801 and 800 Squadrons. Won the Sanderson trophy for best embarked strike crew. Served as aviation officer at Britannia Royal Naval College, Dartmouth. He commanded the following ships: Devonshire, Fife, Brighton and aircraft carrier Illustrious. Joined Naval Staff in 1976 and was seconded to the Cabinet Office in 1980. He was awarded the CBE for his work at the Cabinet Office during the Falklands War. After his secondment he went to the Royal College of Defence Studies.This was followed by a move to Central Staff at director level with responsibility for tri-service resource allocations. Then he became rear admiral in charge of HMNB Portsmouth. He spent four years in the MoD with responsibilities for reorientating defence policy and nuclear arms reductions. Became vice admiral deputy C-in-C NATO and tri-service headquarters Northwood. Knighted in 1997 after 40 years’ service. He is chairman of the Sea Cadets Association and helped with the formation of the Marine Society and Sea Cadets. As well as being a charities trustee, Jonathan’s hobbies include designing and building a solar-powered electric boat and gardening.

INTRODUCTION AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The US Navy carried out the first ever launch of an aircraft from a ship, the USS Birmingham, on 14 November 1910, and the first landing aboard, on the Pennsylvania, on 18 January 1911. Initially, ambitions for the use of ship-borne aircraft were limited to observation and reconnaissance. For over a century naval aviation has depended on steady technological evolution and expansion of its operational concepts in order for it to assume the wide variety of capabilities it now possesses. For example, the aircraft carrier displaced the battleship as the capital ship of the fleet during World War 2 because of the capacity of its aircraft to deliver a higher concentration of destructive force, prime examples being the Taranto raid in 1940, the sinking of the Bismarck in 1941 and the Battle of Midway in 1942. Indeed, one of the primary functions of an aircraft carrier today is ‘power projection’, which is manifested in its ability to employ its aircraft to take the fight to the enemy. The roles currently undertaken by the FAA have evolved over decades primarily including air defence (along with airborne early warning [AEW]), attacking surface targets on land or sea and anti-submarine operations. To these can be added reconnaissance, air-to-air refuelling, search and rescue and ferrying of troops, such as commandos, and their equipment. The two new Queen Elizabeth-class carriers have added to their repertoire joint force operations involving the army and RAF. Due to the comparatively small number of aircraft which can be operated from even a large carrier, aircraft have, with few exceptions, been required to perform multiple roles. The cost of producing and operating modern combat aircraft dictates a multi-role design from the outset, with engineering and technology upgrades throughout its service life providing it with additional capabilities. Where Fleet Air Arm Boys Volume One covered air-defence fighters post-World War 2, Volume Two focuses on attack, anti-submarine warfare (ASW) and AEW, also revisiting those fighters with a significant strike role. Land-based aircraft are not forgotten, with coverage of the many training and support types. The aircraft all have a brief overview of their development and service but, as in Volume One, the bulk of the content comprises detailed personal accounts and anecdotes by ex-aircrew and support personnel of operations, training and FAA life in general.

attack role

For political reasons even friendly governments sometimes deny the use of their airfields, or overflights of their territories, to allied aircraft employed to take action against hostile nations. However, an aircraft carrier is a self-sufficient piece 8



INTRODUCTION AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS9

of sovereign real estate and, in international waters, does not require such permissions to operate. As a carrier can position itself comparatively close to a war zone only a relatively short distance to target areas, it can generate a high sortie rate. It is ‘ready on arrival’ with her aircraft able to strike at targets on land and sea, employing a variety of weapons including free-fall precision-guided bombs or air-to-surface missiles. After World War 2, but before the advent of jets, the FAA continued to operate piston-engined strike aircraft. These included the Firefly and the Firebrand; the latter had issues and was replaced by the Wyvern. However, Sea Hawk and Sea Venom jets had re-equipped many squadrons by the time of the 1956 Suez campaign, providing a leap forward in strike capability over their predecessors. By 1960 the Scimitar and Sea Vixen had entered service, soon followed by the Buccaneer and Phantom, each further enhancing a carrier’s striking power. Following the demise of the conventional carriers, under the notorious 1966 Defence White Paper, the Royal Navy (RN) employed the Sea Harrier FRS.1/ Invincible-class V/STOL carrier combination which proved itself unequivocally during the 1982 Falklands War. Upgraded to FA.2 standard the Sea Harriers continued as a prime strike asset during the Balkan conflict (1992-95). They were withdrawn prematurely in 2006 as an economy measure, their place being taken by Harrier GR variants shared with the RAF under Joint Force Harrier (JFH). Unfortunately, as a result of poor decisions taken by the UK government during the 2010 Strategic Defence and Security Review, JFH was similarly withdrawn ‘overnight’ that same year, leaving the FAA with no fixed-wing combat capability. Thankfully, British fixed-wing carrier air power is enjoying a renaissance following the introduction of the stealthy F-35B Lightning II strike fighter operating from the new V/STOL carriers Queen Elizabeth and Prince of Wales. These ships and aircraft provide a quantum leap in capability over their predecessors, with the F-35B able to perform both strike and air-defence missions as well as employing its range of sensors for intelligence data gathering.

anti - submarine warfare role

ASW assets include airborne, surface and sub-surface platforms, each with their own advantages. For example, an ASW aircraft, whether fixed or rotary-wing, can generally remain undetected by a submerged submarine until it uses active sonar (sonobuoys or dipping sonar) or launches a weapon. Submarines can be detected by aircraft equipped with surface search radars optimised to detect periscopes and, in the case of diesel submarines, snorkels. Also, an aircraft’s speed allows it to maintain a fast search pattern around any suspected contact and deploy a wide variety of weapons such as rockets, bombs (including nuclear), depth charges and torpedoes. The FAA has used various types of fixed-wing aircraft to perform ASW duties.

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FLEET AIR ARM BOYS VOLUME TWO

For several years, after the end of the war in 1945, these included the Barracuda and Firefly. The Avenger had been used to attack surface/land targets during the war, and in 1953 the AS.4 version was introduced in the ASW role, serving for only a short period, being replaced from 1954 by the Gannet, a huge improvement. The Gannet was in turn replaced by the Whirlwind helicopter by the mid-1960s since when the FAA has only employed helicopters in the role.

airborne early warning role

The genesis of AEW came with the wartime Japanese kamikaze threat, which generated the need for a longer warning period to help allied ships protect themselves. Radar picket ships such as destroyers were deployed on the outermost fringes of a task force and thus the maximum distance away from the higher value targets such as carriers in the centre. The US developed the airborne AEW concept using Avengers re-configured with radar systems. These could patrol at a much greater distance than picket ships to enable a task force to ‘see over the horizon’. In 1951, the FAA acquired the AEW version of the Skyraider carrying the APS-20 radar operated by 849 Squadron. The AEW.3 version of the Gannet began replacing the Skyraider in 1960, using an upgraded radar. It continued in service until the final decommissioning of Ark Royal (R-09), a Gannet of 849 B Flight being the last fixed-wing aircraft to be recovered by the ship on 18 November 1978. The wartime APS-20 radar had significant limitations in that it had short range and difficulty differentiating between sea clutter and actual targets. Furthermore, it only displayed the motion of targets relative to the aircraft itself. The radar system in the Gannet AEW.3 was the AN/APS-20F. It had the major advantage of being ground-stabilised which presented a picture as if the radar was stationary and therefore provided the true path of a radar contact relative to the earth. The primary role of the Gannet AEW.3 was to detect and control fighters in order to intercept incoming ‘bogies’. A secondary role was ship strike, where an attacking aircraft such as a Buccaneer would be vectored onto a surface target, thus obviating the need for it to use its own radar and therefore increasing the level of surprise. The withdrawal of Ark Royal meant that there was no longer a platform available from which to operate the Gannet, leaving the service without embedded AEW. Sadly, the experience of the Falklands War in which the RN lost four ships to air attack, having had to rely on shipborne air search, again proved that an organic AEW capability was essential. As a consequence, some Sea Kings were retro-fitted with the Searchwater radar system to enable them to perform the role. Today these have been replaced by Merlin helicopters fitted with the new Crowsnest AEW system as part of the Queen Elizabeth and Prince of Wales air groups.



INTRODUCTION AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS11 land - based training and support roles

In addition to front-line aircraft the FAA has operated a wide variety of fixed-wing shore-based aircraft. Those flown in the pilot and observer training roles were introduced in Volume One, and in these pages can be found a selection of the many roles and aircraft types employed. Transport/Communications In addition to being used as a trainer the Sea Prince was used to ferry passengers and cargo between RN air stations and as ‘Admirals’ Barges’, alongside the Sea Devon and Heron. From the mid-1980s, the Jetstream T.3 was employed on similar duties as well as serving as radar observer trainers. Fleet Requirements Among the FAA’s many long-standing ‘fleet requirements’ is airborne target-towing and simulated attacks against ships during exercises, carried out by both service and civilian-manned units. Principal among these was the Fleet Requirements Unit (FRU), formed in 1950 (initially under Airwork’s management) to take over the role from navy units. During its life, the FRU operated a variety of ex-FAA and RAF front-line aircraft, initially including the Mosquito, Sea Fury and Sea Hawk. Later, it acquired the Meteor TT.20, Scimitar, Canberra and Hunter. The Air Direction School was established to train RN personnel in the control of fighter aircraft. Again civilian-operated and principally flying Sea Hornets and Mosquitos, Attackers and Meteors, it later received Sea Venoms, moving to Yeovilton in 1961 before acquiring Hunters and Sea Vixens. In 1972, the FRU and Air Direction Unit merged to become the Fleet Requirements Air Direction Unit (FRADU). It expanded the RN’s training regime by participating in AEW and electronic countermeasures (ECM) exercises and providing helicopter fighter affiliation training in addition to conducting simulated ship attacks and training fighter controllers. By mid-1977, FRADU operated a mix of various marks of Canberras and Hunters. The former had all been replaced by civilian Dassault Falcon 20s by late 1992 and then by Hawks. In late 1995, FRADU moved to Culdrose, and in mid2013 the unit was stood down, its roles being taken over by the newly reformed and Hawk-equipped 736 Squadron, a military unit with civilian maintenance personnel. Electronic Countermeasures RN personnel served with the joint service 360 Squadron from the mid-1960s to the mid-1990s, when it disbanded. The squadron provided ECM training for airborne and ground/surface units. Initially known as the Joint Electronic Warfare Trials and Training Force it was given squadron status in September 1966, and operated the Canberra T.17/17a. There were plans to form a sister 361 Squadron to be based in Singapore, but the withdrawal of British forces east of Suez put a stop to that.

12

FLEET AIR ARM BOYS VOLUME TWO conclusion

Today, the FAA remains an intrinsic part of our sea-borne capability, manifested in both front-line and shore-based air assets. Aircraft carriers and their aircraft will be prime naval components for the foreseeable future and will continue to perform a wide variety of roles. Carriers are said to be vulnerable to attack, but how vulnerable is a static air base? A carrier can be here today and 600 miles away tomorrow – the sea is a big place! Certainly, carriers carry a hefty price tag, but the use of sea-borne air power is sometimes the only option available to the UK when it needs to participate in a conflict, help resolve a crisis or to answer humanitarian needs. Britain’s economy, and that of the world as a whole, very largely relies on international trade and the great majority of that trade takes place via the oceans. Sea Lines of Communication – the primary maritime routes between ports – must be kept open, as was proven many times during both world wars and would have been again had the Cold War turned ‘hot’. These lines need to be protected by both ships and aircraft, but the latter must include sea-borne air power since shore-based aircraft alone cannot fulfil the task. An aircraft carrier is the optimum platform for that essential sea-borne power projection. With its air group it offers a unique and critical capability, including an inherent flexibility to be able to change roles in order to meet the full range of threats and requirements. In the past, the RN operated conventional carriers, pioneering innovations such as the angled deck, mirror sight and steam catapult which greatly aided flying operations by making them safer and much more efficient. The phasing-out of the conventional ships in RN service led to the era of V/ STOL (vertical take-off short landing) carrier operations. The highly successful employment of the Sea Harrier/Harrier GR team aboard the Invincible-class has now been superseded by that of the F-35B/Queen Elizabeth-class combination, which makes it difficult to see the RN ever operating conventional ‘cat and trap’ carriers again. Furthermore, for the foreseeable future, much of RN carrier flying operations will continue to be conducted on a ‘joint’ basis. This is characterised by the cross-service operation and support of some aircraft types. F-35B squadrons have a mix of both FAA and RAF air and ground crew, whether operating onboard ship or from a shore base. The ships also operate Merlin and Wildcat helicopters plus other types of the army and RAF during joint force operations and Volume Three of this series will focus solely on helicopters. Appeals for contributors have yielded over 200 including increasing numbers of Wrens. I endeavour to use as many contributions as possible and other than minor editing they are as I received them. Contributors to this volume are: Keith Abnett, David Allan, Brian Allen, Nigel Anderdon, Maurice Atkins, Bob Barrett, Martin Bartholomew, Paul Bennett, Mike Bickley, Chris Bolton, George Brewes, David Brown, Pierre Cadoret, the late Peter Carmichael, John Champion,



INTRODUCTION AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS13

Paul Chaplin, Keith Childs, Ron Chitty, Michael Clapp, Mike Cole-Hamilton, Andy Copeland, Keith Cotton, Bill Covington, John Coward, Bryan Craggs, Bob Crane, Catherine Davies van Zoen, John de Winton, John Dixon, John Eacott, Dave Eagles, Bob Edward, Brian Elphick, John Ford, Mike Garlick, Tim Gedge, Tim Goetz, Dick Goodenough, Brian Grant, Jimmy Greening, the late Tony Hayward, the late Peter Hiles, Chris James, Mervyn Jones, John Keenan, Lou Kemp, Ken Lambert, Michael Layard, Stuart Leeming, Douglas MacDonald, Mike Maddox, Beverley McDermott, Terry McDonald, Roger Meecham, Jim Milne, Dave Morgan, Colin Morris, Derek Morter, Ian Mortimer, Pat Mountain, Basil Nash, Mike Norman, Brent Owen, Henry Parker, David Parry, the late Sydney Pearson, Graham Peck, Don Perman, Noel Pinder, Rod Player, Chris Pugsley, Jim Rae, Peter Randall, Duncan Reid, Robbie Roberts, Peter Rose, Martin Rotheram, Rosemary Saunders, Sandy Saunders, Robert Scott, Dick Searles, the late Donald Sellers, Kim Sharman, Nick Smith, Tony Smith, Jim Speirs, Anthony Stephens, Digby Stephenson, John Stevens, John Sturgeon, Allan Tarver, Tony Tayler, Mark Thomson, Tim Thorley, Jonathan Tod, Brian Toomey, Robin Trewinnard-Boyle, Adrian Tuite, Mike Turner, Godfrey Underwood, Colin Walkinshaw, the late Paul Waterhouse, Jonathon Whaley, Robin Winter. Ladies and gentlemen, I thank and salute you all. Thanks also to: Richard Andrews, Adrian Balch, David Barras, Tony Buttler, Tom Cunningham, Kieran Edwin, Martin Grant, John Hughes, Alistair Jones, Chris Lofting, Pat Martin, Dr Ray Neve, Jeff Peck, Paul Richards, David Rye, Nick Sellers, Robbie Shaw, Tim Lewin, Erik van Garderen, Stephen Wolf. I am hugely grateful to Grub Street’s John Davies, Natalie Parker and Francesca Mangiaracina and my darling wife Heather, without whose advice and encouragement these books could not happen. I have strived to correctly credit all photographs and other material but the true provenance is not always identifiable with certainty. If I have omitted anyone, please accept my apologies and grateful thanks. Dr Steve Bond February 2021

CHAPTER ONE

TWILIGHT OF THE PISTON ENGINE The FAA was exclusively equipped with piston-engined aircraft at the end of World War 2. However, with the coming of the jet age the surviving types were steadily replaced in front-line service from the early 1950s. In the interim, as far as carrier operations were concerned the need to carry supplies of both AVGAS (aviation gasoline) and AVTAG (jet fuel) was in itself an issue. The Skyraider, the final carrier-borne fixed-wing type, lingered on until 1960.

FAIREY FULMAR No Fulmar fleet defence fighters survived in service into the post-war period. However, in 1959 the navy was gifted the sole survivor N1854 by Fairey Aviation who had retained it in airworthy condition as a company ‘hack’. It was kept at Lossiemouth from where it made occasional air show appearances until being grounded on 18 December 1962. It is now in the Fleet Air Arm Museum. Andy Copeland – pilot

Andy Copeland.

14

“It was in July 1962 when I saw a Fulmar in front of a hangar on the far side of Lossiemouth with its engine running. It was kept in flying condition and had been for years – what an opportunity! “The Pilot’s Notes were pretty basic and the ’plane was far less complex than the Sea Balliol, which was also powered by a Rolls-Royce Merlin. I got permission to fly the Fulmar which proved to be a very docile, well-behaved but dreadfully slow machine, pretty heavy on the controls. The only difficulty was learning to zig-zag when taxiing as, with about eight feet of nose sticking up in the air, there was no forward visibility. The most fun in flying this tail-wheel aircraft was landing and I spent most of my first flight doing circuits and bumps, perfecting my ‘three-point’ landing skills.”



Twilight of the Piston Engine15

Fulmar I N1854 flying from Lossiemouth on 12 December 1961. (Andy Copeland)

FAIREY BARRACUDA Post-war the Barracuda served in its Mks.II, III and TR.5. It had been a highly effective torpedo and dive bomber, but was quickly relegated to second-line duties as a training aircraft, also with some Ships’ Flights, fading away in the early 1950s. Post-war operating units: 700, 703, 706, 707, 710, 711, 713, 714, 717, 719, 731, 735, 737, 744, 747, 750, 753, 756, 767, 768, 769, 777, 778, 783, 785, 786, 796, 798, 799, 812, 814, 815, 821, 822, 824, 827, 837 Naval Air Squadrons, RN Test Squadron (‘C’ Squadron A&AEE). Squadrons numbered in the 700s are second-line units, 800s are front-line operational units. Embarked: Activity, Colossus, Illustrious, Implacable, Indomitable, Pretoria Castle, Smiter, Theseus, Venerable and Vengeance.

Barracuda TR.5 RK571 C-800 Implacable Ship’s Flight, Culdrose 1948. Ken Lambert cleaning canopy. (Lt J Sumerlee via Ken Lambert)

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FLEET AIR ARM BOYS VOLUME TWO

Jimmy Greening – pilot “I was sent to 758(B) Squadron, the Advanced Instrument Flying School at Hinstock, in mid-July 1945 as a prelude to what I hoped would be twin conversion (having my eye on the incoming Sea Hornet). A shortage of Barracuda crews intervened and I was recalled to 822 Squadron at Woodvale early in September to work alongside teams carrying out ASV (air-to-surface vessel) radar development trials. 822 was the first unit to be equipped with the new radar. The unit moved to Burscough late in September and I commenced Firefly conversion, still interspersed with the odd Barracuda trip including ferrying one to Abbotsinch for scrapping.” Sydney Pearson – pilot “I thought the Barracuda was very nice when you got used to it. One thing I didn’t like was the undercarriage lever being so close to the flaps lever – you could get the two confused. We learnt dive-bombing with torpedoes, starting at 6,000 feet. In a steep dive we pulled out at about 200 feet, we had to be straight and level to drop the torpedo. Deck landings were all right so long as you looked at the batsman who told you what to do. Some of the trips were ASV homing, the radar was looked after by the wireless operator. “There was one incident where I was nearly killed. We were on an exercise over the sea and had to fly low at 200 feet, but I climbed because I couldn’t see anything, eventually I was at 5,000 feet. On the home leg I asked Sydney Pearson. whether we were still over the sea and the navigator said ‘yes’. I asked if we could descend and we came back down to 200 feet, but were getting close to land. My ears were telling me I was flying straight and level – but I wasn’t! Flying on instruments I finally got back to 5,000 feet east of the range, saw a gap in the cloud, came down and was not too far from base. But you were in danger every time you flew that aircraft.”

BLACKBURN FIREBRAND First entering service as a torpedo-carrying strike aircraft in September 1945 the Firebrand only served with two carrier-based squadrons, and had been replaced by the end of 1952. It is not remembered fondly by anyone who flew it – by no means Blackburn’s finest hour. Squadrons: 700, 703, 708, 717, 736, 738, 759, 778, 787, 799, 813, 827. Embarked: Eagle, Illustrious, Implacable and Indomitable.



Twilight of the Piston Engine17

Firebrand TF.5 EK765 C-123 813 Squadron HMS Nuthatch Carlisle 1948. (George Brewes)

Peter Hiles – pilot

Peter Hiles.

“The Firebrand is the last on my list of favourite aircraft. It flew like a Sea Fury as long as you were up and doing things but it had a big wing span and was a bit more sluggish in the turns. When it got anywhere near the stall it was incredibly sluggish. To land on a carrier you had to have not more than five knots above the stalling speed, if you had 30 degrees of bank on when you got yourself back to level it was dangerously horrible. There were a number of accidents with people who side-slipped into the sea before they got to the carrier. Eric Brown, the test pilot who had to pass it fit for naval duties, recommended that it was not suitable but the navy simply said ‘carry on’.”

Peter Carmichael – pilot “I was moved to 813 Squadron at Ford to fly the awful Firebrand and we went aboard Implacable in October 1947. I crashed into the island on landing; the aircraft caught fire but I manged to get out relatively unharmed. We disembarked to Culdrose in December 1947 and while there I did a rocket-assisted take-off, which was quite exciting. We moved to Anthorn and I did some display flying at Gosport and Bramcote. Thankfully that was the end of the Firebrand for me.” Peter Carmichael.

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FLEET AIR ARM BOYS VOLUME TWO

George Brewes – airframe mechanic “The Firebrand squadron was at Anthorn, a healthy place – bracing air and all that. We had the best mess which we thought was wonderful because it overlooked the WRNS (Women’s Royal Naval Service) netball court. The Firebrands were being taken off us and stored. The CO brought in a brand-new Firefly with power folding wings which we thought was wonderful – it lasted one day. Someone at the George Brewes. Admiralty had thought ‘hey we can’t do this’ so it was flown back. We were back to square one! The Firebrands came out of storage and we ran them all up. A week later I was drafted down to HMS Theseus.”

GRUMMAN AVENGER Having already seen widespread wartime service post-war the Avenger continued in its torpedo-bombing role, mainly as the AS.4 and AS.5 until replaced by the Gannet in 1954; although a few served on with Royal Navy Volunteer Reserve (RNVR) squadrons until 1957. The last operator was 831 Squadron who flew the ECM.6 electronic countermeasures variant, retiring its last example in October 1962 (see Pat Mountain’s account).

Avenger AS.4 XB303 386 814 Squadron, Eglinton, 1954. (John Coward)

Post-war operating units: 700, 706, 707, 711, 733, 744, 745, 751, 767, 777, 778, 783, 785, 814, 815, 820, 824, 828, 831, 845, 846, 848, 851, 854, 857, 885, 1700, 1830, 1841, 1844 Squadrons. Units numbered 1700s and 1800s were RNVR units. Embarked: Albion, Bulwark, Centaur, Eagle, Illustrious, Pretoria Castle, Victorious and Warrior.



Twilight of the Piston Engine19

John Coward – pilot

John Coward.

“I joined 814 Squadron flying Avengers for anti-submarine, plus some torpedoing and bombing. We embarked Centaur, and spent most of the time in the Med then near the Arctic Circle. At the end of the year the squadron disbanded and I asked for shore duty. I was drafted to 744, a trials unit at RAF St Mawgan, comprising a boss, three pilots including me, and a couple of observers. There were two or three Avengers and a couple of early version Gannets. I loved the Avenger; it was like a lovely big bus.”

Brian Allen – pilot “It was 2 May 1957, a sunny day in the mid Pacific. The carrier Warrior lay quietly off Malden Island. There was no flying scheduled so the ship went about a relaxed daily routine, whilst the scientific team ashore put the finishing touches to the instruments that would record the data at the expected explosion when, in a few days’ time the island was to be the target for the first airburst of a UK hydrogen bomb, one of three to be tested during Operation Grapple. I was one of the two pilots tasked to fly the recorded results as quickly as possible, back to the main base Brian Allen. airfield at Christmas Island, 400 miles to the north. My faithful steed for the flight would be an elderly Avenger, whose ancestor first flew when I was eight years old. Like most American aircraft powered by radial engines, she was comfortable, reliable and sturdy. The performance was unexceptional but her type had served the FAA well. “This fateful morning, the ship’s broadcast system suddenly informed the world at large that, ‘Lt Allen and crew are requested to attend the flight crew room’. Wondering what it was all about, we made our way up to the crew room. We were informed that a mysterious sail had been spotted by an RAF transport aircraft, in the prohibited area of sea close to the target island. A protest group of anti-nuclear protesters had threatened to disrupt the tests, and it was thought that the ‘sail’ might be a forerunner of such a demonstration. “This sort of action had been anticipated, and suitable bundles of warning leaflets were available for an Avenger and its crew to discharge over the offender – my crew had been selected for the task. An Avenger was already being prepared on deck for an urgent launch. Enough paper warnings to paper the hangar walls were already being stuffed into the telegraphist’s little compartment in the rear of the aircraft; to be discharged through the chute once used for dropping anti-submarine equipment. “We manned the Avenger, waiting at the stern, the telegraphist crammed himself in amongst the bundles, whilst my observer, Derrick, and I clambered up the

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wing and settled down to start the flight. With the engine running sweetly and all checks completed, I signalled that we were ready for take-off`. By this time the ship had turned into what little wind was available and was charging through the sea, very close to the area of Malden used by the scientists inhabiting that barren spot. Without much in the way of entertainment, they naturally thronged the beach to watch the drama of a carrier, 500 yards offshore, at speed, launching an aircraft. I should perhaps, mention that their interest and excitement was heightened by the plan that after every bomb detonation, a scientist was to accompany the data to be carried by Avenger from Malden to Christmas Island, and the only accommodation available was in the back, where the telegraphist and the leaflets were now crammed. “The Avenger trundled down the deck, gathering flying speed under full power, and lifted off at the bow. I started a climbing turn to the course Derrick had plotted. To my alarm the engine failed to respond and checking the instruments, to my horror I saw that the engine revs were falling away despite the throttle still being at maximum power! As the aircraft slowly began to lose the little height available, I quickly raised wheels and flaps and informed the ship Avenger AS.5 XB386 J-997 HMCS Warrior that I had a problem and would probably being disposed of by ditching from Warrior ditch before I reached the island. I had no off Pitcairn Island, 27 May 1957. knowledge of the terrain but from the carrier (Brian Allen) it appeared to be pretty flat, and I thought it a better option than a reputedly shark-infested sea. Luckily, as it turned out, ditching won, as Malden had a surface of large dunes and a forced-landing full of fuel, would have been a disaster. “I was concerned as we dropped closer, that the huge surf beneath me, rolling into the shore would be a problem; but again I was lucky. When I finally hit the sea, braced for impact – there was nothing, just a few drops of water on the windscreen and we were floating! I realised that one of the huge waves had come up to meet the aircraft and given me one of the softest landings I ever had. I unbuckled my seat harness, glanced sideways and there was Derrick, standing on the dry wing, inflating his dinghy. He didn’t get wet until, sitting in the dinghy, he pushed off from the wing, and drifted slowly off into the Pacific. I quickly vacated the cockpit and stood where my observer had been seconds ago, and inflated my one-man dinghy. The Avenger, thankfully, showed little inclination to sink. I looked aft to the rear where the telegraphist lived, the door was open and awash, with a stream of sheets of what looked remarkably like toilet paper floating away, but no telegraphist! I started down the wing root to see if he needed help, when he emerged, with a slight gash to his head. Confused, he had forgotten his dinghy pack so I pulled him in to share mine, a very cosy arrangement but the best I could offer. I could see the



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helicopter, already hovering over Derrick, about to lift him in. It then came over to us and lifted the injured telegraphist. It then returned to Warrior, fully loaded with the two waterlogged aviators. “As I waited for rescue, the Avenger sank alongside me. At depth the radome attached to the wing broke free and raced through the depths toward the surface – to me, looking very like a shark. I frantically pulled open the pack of shark repellent powder on my life jacket. The radome surfaced a few yards from me, turned over and sank for good. By then I was covered in evil-tasting black dye, and thoroughly soaked, but the ‘chopper’ was back and hoisted me to safety. Back on the beach, the shocked scientists held some impromptu sort of union meeting and unanimously voted that there was no way any of them would ever travel ‘Air Navy’. “A few days later, the same crew safely flew the samples from the first test across 400, prohibited, empty miles to Christmas Island. As for the ‘intruders’, further consideration, by experts, decided that the ‘sail’ had probably been the wing of a giant fish, a Manta Ray; apparently they frequently cruise in this fashion – now they tell me! “The Americans generously offered to replace the Avenger that I had unfortunately ditched. Warrior hurried, as only an elderly aircraft carrier can, up to Pearl Harbor to pick up the aircraft. In a wooden crate looking rather like a giant plastic kit, it was swung aboard and lowered gently down into the hangar. “As we sailed back to Christmas Island, the flight’s ground crew quickly unpacked the collection of Avenger parts and started building a replacement aircraft. In a matter of days the chrysalis emerged as a rather glamorous addition to the flight. It was still painted in the colours of the American coastguard based at El Centro! It was still the same ugly lump of an aircraft, in blue as was ours, but with a US white star, red and white-striped tailfin and ‘El Centro’ on the fuselage. I thought it looked very handsome, as she stood at Warrior’s stern in apparent readiness. “The CO, Lt Cdr Gerry Bricker, turned to me and said, ‘It’s only right Chunky, that as you bent one, and ditched the other, you do the test flight. Off you go’. As I donned my flying gear, I had to admit I had not thought a test flight would be needed, so it was a shock. On reflection I considered it fair, having disposed of two out of three Avengers before a single bomb was dropped, that I should be the ‘test pilot’. I was just not sure that doing it in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, with the carrier the only source of salvation was the best method. I settled into the cockpit and went through start-up checks very carefully. Finally, with the engine roaring away, I climbed to a safe height of 3,000 feet and circled the carrier checking the controls, instruments etc. I thought 3,000 was a good height in case I had to try out the parachute as well. “Everything felt fine, and with the cockpit hood open, I enjoyed the 3,000-foot vista of a perfect Pacific day; whilst flying under the same foreign flag, as many heroic pilots in 1942 had done. My daydreaming vanished as I was suddenly aware that all four warning lights on the fuel transfer system were now indicating

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‘failure’. However, the engine and fuel content gauges showed no sign of a problem, so I thought it was possibly a fault in the warning system rather than in the fuel supply. Nevertheless, I thought why should I be the only one in a cold sweat? I called the ship and warned them of the problem. They agreed that I should land on as soon as they were ready and some minutes later, I was safely on the deck with yet another batted landing in the logbook. “My logbook shows that on 2 May 1957 I ditched off Malden in XB320, on the 8th I tested ‘El Centro’ and on the 11th I flew from Warrior off Malden on the first bomb data run from Malden to Christmas Island in 997. I flew the second run on the 31st and the third on 20 June. After the three bombs were dropped, Warrior was homeward bound. The Avengers were never flown again. Being part of the Lend-Lease agreements with USA, Warrior asked what should be done with them. The answer was ‘ditch them in deep water’; which we did off Pitcairn Island, including ‘El Centro’ which had not been flown after the air test.” Michael Clapp – observer “In May 1956 we went to Eglinton in Northern Ireland to attend the anti-submarine course. We flew in the new Gannet AS.1 and felt our selection and training was making sense. I was a bit puzzled as to why in November 1956 instead of then joining an ASW squadron, I was appointed to 751 Squadron the FAA’s electronic warfare squadron at Watton. Here I flew in Avenger Mk.6s using electronic search equipment which was fun chasing targets round England. It certainly gave me a good grounding in electronic warfare.” Chris James – observer “At 11:50 on 8 November 1960 Avenger XB328, ‘Hep Cat’, of 831 Squadron, took off from Culdrose on a mission to Fairwood Common, Swansea, to pick up parts needed for the only other Avenger still in service (XB446). The aircraft was flown by Lt ‘Bruno’ Brown with me as equipment operator/observer. “Halfway across the Bristol Channel Bruno had concerns about the engine. He decided to descend through the overcast and continue at low level, the explanation being that in case of engine failure we were better off close to the water as the aircraft was known for poor gliding abilities. Continuing at 200-500 feet above sea level we made landfall ten miles east of Fairwood Common. We contacted the tower and were cleared downwind for an approach to runway 10. As we commenced a left turn onto finals the landing gear warning horn began blaring, and in increasing crescendo I tried to alert Bruno to put the wheels down – but to no avail. The aircraft landed with a terrible screeching noise and came to rest at the intersection of the runways, effectively closing the airfield. “My first concern was fire and, as the rear access door was now in contact with the runway, I removed one of the cockpit panels, jumped onto the wing and ran away from the aircraft. At a safe distance I looked back to see Bruno still sitting



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in the cockpit completing his after-landing checks. Apart from the bent propeller and a crumpled port wingtip, the Avenger did not appear to be badly damaged. “The crash crews arrived and, after being assured that we were not injured, they dropped us off at the flying club to telephone Culdrose with the sad news. The bar was open and two ladies, who were the only occupants, offered to buy us a pint. We gladly accepted, and then one of them asked if that was our Avenger on the runway. Chris James. We started to expand on the vagaries of the Avenger, to which she replied, ‘Oh yes I know, I have 3,000 hours ferrying them across the Atlantic during the war’. “A Gannet was despatched from Culdrose to return Bruno and me to base. Even though the Avenger did not suffer major damage when the crash crew attempted to raise it to lower the wheels, the wings started to separate from the fuselage – that put XB328 out of commission for good. I don’t recall any investigation into the accident. Perhaps it was not discussed due to the ‘secret’ mission of 831 Squadron in the ECM role, or probably to avoid the embarrassment of an avoidable accident.” Pat Mountain – observer “These were the very last flying Avengers (‘Chuffs’) in the UK and were part of 831 Squadron. The two survived for three years but after November 1960, XB446 became the last flying member of its type in the UK. It was accepted into service with the USN on 22 February 1945, but does not appear to have had any embarked service before being transferred to the Royal Navy. It arrived in Glasgow on 15 May 1953 and went to Scottish Aviation at Prestwick for conversion to the anti-submarine role, subsequently being attached to 820 Squadron at Eglinton on 4 May 1954. “The AS (anti-submarine) role only lasted for a short time before XB446 was taken to Gosport on 3 March 1955 Pat Mountain. for conversion into its ECM role with 751 Squadron at Watton. The squadron transferred to Culdrose in 1957 where it was given frontline status as 831 Squadron. The Avenger was later transferred to Station Flight at Culdrose, but she was certainly retained by 831 Squadron and was quite extensively used on operational training until October 1962. For its last two years it was the only Avenger still flying in the UK as its companion, XB328, had suffered a fatal misfortune when transiting to South Wales [see Chris James’ account above]. I had flown in that aircraft twice on the previous day, enjoyably as usual. It had a spacious aft cockpit where instruction and demonstration of the ‘black arts’ of ECM could be given face to face, rather than in the simulators, to both new squadron observers

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and the occasional direction officer course. I was greatly saddened by its demise. “XB446 was uniquely different from any other FAA aircraft and I tried to fly in it as often as possible; not as frequently as I would have liked. However, its days were numbered and with maintenance and spares availability becoming difficult, it was decided to part with the old lady and take her to Abbotsinch for storage. On 19 October 1962 with Barrie Williams in the pilot’s seat, we set off north and chugged our way for two hours and 55 minutes to Abbotsinch, later being picked up by Mike Spinks in the squadron Sea Prince. My memories of this sole visit to Abbotsinch were of the large number of lovely old aeroplanes, including many beautiful Sea Furies, standing forlorn and battered in the Scottish weather with no control locks or other protection. “That though was not the end of XB446. In September 1969 she was transported (‘Queen Mary’d) to Yeovilton for the Fleet Air Arm Museum where she resides still, much restored and resplendent in a new paint job.”

FAIREY FIREFLY The Firefly was still in widespread service in 1945 and continued to be developed to enhance its abilities as a strike and anti-submarine aircraft, serving with distinction in Korea. It too was essentially replaced by the Gannet in the early 1950s. However Fireflies continued to serve in second line for a numFirefly AS.6 WD884 NW-13 723 Squadron ber of years, with the last seeing Nowra first deck landing HMAS Sydney, out their service as pilotless target 14 March 1956. (John Champion) drones with 728B Squadron at Hal Far, Malta. Post-war operating units: 700, 703, 706, 719, 727, 728B, 731, 736, 737, 741, 744, 746, 750, 751, 764, 765, 766, 767, 768, 771, 772, 778, 780, 781, 782, 783, 784, 787, 790, 792, 795, 796, 799, 805, 810, 812, 813, 814, 816, 820, 821, 822, 824, 825, 826, 827, 837, 1770, 1771, 1772, 1790, 1791, 1792, 1830, 1831, 1833, 1840, 1841, 1844 Squadrons, ‘C’ Squadron A&AEE, various second-line units and Station Flights. Embarked: Eagle, Glory, Illustrious, Implacable, Indomitable, Ocean, Theseus, Venerable, Vengeance and Warrior.



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Firefly 5 collision Eglinton on 3 February 1955. 737 Squadron’s VT380 GN-219 and VT474 GN-218. (Brian Allen)

Brian Allen “In December 1954 I went to 737 Squadron, at Eglinton, on the anti-submarine training course. We had to learn the trade on the ageing Firefly. There were about ten Mks.5 and 6 plus a single Mk.1 trainer in which Lt Cdr Sandy Sinclair took me for my first familiarisation flight. I sat in the pilot’s seat whilst he sat behind me in the instructor’s position. With the long Griffon engine stretching out in front I wondered how he could have any forward view at all. Sandy demonstrated the controls and handed over to me. It was very comfortable to fly, responsive and apparently docile. Landing was no problem because Sandy was flying. A threepoint landing afforded no forward visibility, and one had to use references to the side to maintain a straight line on the ground. I soloed after about four hours dual and quickly bonded with this lovely aeroplane. “Returning from a sortie you descended into the circuit with throttle fully back, the engine producing a satisfying burbling, crackling, popping sound, turning onto final approach with power back on. The airfield fence and runway threshold flash underneath your wheels; close the throttle, ease back the control column and you’re down. Wonderful! I usually adopted a main wheels only landing which gave a far better view over the nose, but was frowned on by the instructors. The summer progressed with us happily firing rockets and dropping bombs on rubber dinghy targets at Mineary and Magilligan ranges, depth-charging towed targets at sea and, thankfully only once, a RATOG (rocket-assisted take-off gear) take-off. “The RATOG device was two large rockets fitted just behind the cockpit on either side. The objective was to get airborne in a short distance in light wind conditions. The procedure was to line up ready to take off with full flap, apply power, hold your breath and push the red button marked RATOG on the control column.

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There was no going back – a moment of indecision before it fired then, with an almighty slam in the back, you were on your way. With flames and smoke pouring from the rockets the aircraft raced down the runway and, in a very short time, was hurled into the air. Everything then went quiet as the rockets died out. The aircraft seemed to hang in the air and time stood still, but the silence was comparative as the good old Griffon was still going strong. You then climbed away wondering at the initiative that could invent something like RATOG. I was to find out that only the catapult on the carrier compared in fright factor!”1 Tony Tayler – observer “After observer training, I was keen to join a Korea-bound ship, and was horrified when I was posted to 814 Squadron at Machrihanish on the Mull of Kintyre. We embarked Eagle for our first cruise in the English Channel. My pilot was Lt the Honourable Sir Patrick Walker, Baronet, who was like a character from the pages of P G Wodehouse. The landing-on proved normal, if going from flying speed to stopped in a few yards could ever be described as normal. “The boss was not so lucky. He missed all the wires with his hook and made an ignominious arrival into the safety barrier, badly damaging the aircraft. He then had to do deck-landing practice with nearly the whole squadron looking on. Someone put up a notice inviting the ship’s company to ‘come and see the show of the century’, bets being taken on the results of each landing. He did three or four landings, each one looking more dangerous, until finally a hair-raising lurch caused his propeller to hit the flight deck. This ruined the engine and propeller, not to mention the boss’s career. He quietly left three days later by ship’s boat. “On one occasion we were flying north of Iceland when the aircraft with which we were in company was unable to lower its hook. The sea was very rough and we were out of range of diversion airfields. Over the radio came a stream of advice from the ship. The observer was advised to unstrap and jump up and down on the cockpit floor! The pilot was advised to ‘porpoise’ the aircraft, which he did, forgetting the observer was unstrapped and was thus hurled up and down in the Tony Tayler.

1. Taken from On the Deck or in the Drink: A Naval Aviator’s Story by Brian Allen (Pen & Sword, 2010)



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cockpit. Luckily their combined efforts brought the hook down, but the battered observer had a few unkind words to say to his pilot. “I was up in ‘goofers’ when I saw a Firefly bank steeply and crash into the sea. I rushed over above the FlyCo position and shouted ‘aircraft ditched on the starboard bow!’ Wings immediately called the rescue helicopter. The badly injured Firefly crew were rescued and as an eyewitness I had to give evidence to the Board of Inquiry.” Dave Eagles – pilot “When I arrived on detachment to the Royal Australian Navy, I found that I was appointed to a Firefly squadron – my heart sank. On arrival at Nowra, I went to see the captain and explained that we were jet-trained. He quickly showed me the door, saying, ‘You’ll do what you’re bloody-well told’ so I joined 851 Squadron which was training observers. After about six months I had a mid-air collision. We were in formation on an over-the-sea nav trip and one guy came through the formation the wrong way taking off much of my starboard wing, including the aileron – I had some trouble getting it under control. It would only fly at about 160 knots, otherwise it would roll, so we ditched Dave Eagles. it and were plucked out of the sea by a chopper. “A few years ago, my wife Ann and I went on holiday to Australia. A couple of days before we were due to go the telephone rang and a voice said, ‘Are you Dave Eagles?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Did you ditch a Firefly in Jervis Bay?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well, I’ve just been sitting in your seat!’ He was a diver and we met up with him in Sydney where he gave me some sand that he’d brushed off the seat of the wreck, which he had found. I asked him if he knew exactly how much wing we had lost – he said it was seven feet!” Michael Clapp “The first long observer course began in August 1955; there were six of us. Only one, Jeremy Grindal, was a volunteer. Some supplementary list observers who had joined the navy just to fly for a relatively short career were concerned that we were there to take their jobs and did not make us very welcome. However when they heard we had mostly been ‘pressed’, and were capable of drinking as much beer as they did, they became much more friendly. “Our first flights were in the Sea Prince with an instructor, but then we moved on to the Firefly T.7. It was originally designed as the AS.7 but saw no first-line service being related to anti-submarine trainer with just a pilot and observer, typical of the navy’s need for a multi-role aircraft with a variety of capabilities. Tactical

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photography was interesting. One tried to take a passing photograph with a huge handheld camera and open the cockpit canopy to get a decent shot. It was not easy, and the wind didn’t help! I was later told I had won a photographic competition – perhaps I was the only one to actually photograph the target.” Ron Chitty – artificer “In 1952 I was drafted to 1830 Squadron with 12 Fireflies, two Sea Fury trainers and a Harvard. We were based at Abbotsinch but were detached to Donibristle while Abbotsinch runways were being refurbished. Donibristle was the best air station I ever served on, and 1830 together with 1843 Squadron formed the Scottish Air Division. “It was a requirement that the squadron detached once a year for a fortnight’s continuous training and in 1953 Ron Chitty. we went to Hal Far. The aircraft flew out with a couple of refuelling stops, while the maintenance crew went by RAF. I was the line chief so it was decided I would fly in the back of one of the Fireflies. The trip out was fine, but on the return trip the battery in the rear cockpit started boiling up and issuing little jets of steam. We were flying in formation so I got the pilot to switch off all the electrics, radios and alternator – the battery then cooled down. As we approached the Scottish border there was complete clag [fog] so the pilot had to switch everything back on and we diverted to Prestwick. The battery started boiling again so I put on goggles and oxygen mask. We were flying completely blind but as we got over Prestwick it was as if a giant with a knife had cut a large circle out of the clag and the airfield was clear. The rest of the squadron was diverted to other airfields and it took about three weeks to get them all back to base. “The following year we were detached to Culdrose. We had a spate of starter failures on the Fireflies and soon used our two spares – Culdrose could not help. The CO, Cdr Murricane, asked if we had spares back at Abbotsinch, I told him there were six in the store. We both flew up the next day in the Sea Fury trainer to collect them. We took off at 09:15 and the wheels touched down on the Abbotsinch runway 55 minutes later. The view was wonderful across the Irish Sea and the Isle of Man.” Paul Chaplin – pilot “I was tasked to display the Historic Flight Firefly at Yeovilton – a different kettle of fish from the Sea Fury which I also flew. We were limited to about half maximum boost pressure to preserve the engine. This made a difference to performance. All you could do was start your display high and fly an energy-decaying descending display for eight minutes, ending up with a straight flypast at 150/180 knots as you ran out of engine energy. It was quite exciting to be flying this museum piece, and I had a naval airman down the back who looked after it. At bigger shows we



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had ground transport in support, then we might have an observer in the back. “I have fond memories of the Firefly because it was harder to achieve a successful or satisfying display. When I was solo (not displaying in company with the Swordfish or Sea Fury) I commenced the show with a loop, but you had to get up to 4,000 feet, accelerate downhill and hope the wings didn’t fold!”

Paul Chaplin.

Keith Cotton – airframe/engine fitter “I was drafted to Abbotsinch in 1952 and started work in the Receipt and Despatch Unit. We received Fireflies from various squadrons to bring them up to date with the latest modifications. On the airframe side we carried out structural mods and metal repairs on the fuselage, mainplane and tailplane, usually making insertion patches and riveting them in place. On occasions we had to replace the complete wing with a new one modified at the manufacturers. “There was also the requirement to modify the hydraulic, pneumatic and oxygen systems, fitting new control valves often situated in the A Firefly T.7 of 796 Squadron, 1953. most awkward places to get at. You could of(Keith Cotton) ten see the valve concerned, but when you got your hands in the space everything was done purely by feel. It was uncomfortable working beneath the aircraft with DTD 585 hydraulic fluid running down your arms. “The Griffon engines were ‘lifed’ so after the designated running hours we did a complete engine change, or on occasions a ‘top end’ change where we renewed the cylinder blocks, pistons, piston rings and gudgeon pins. As the cylinder blocks were at an angle, we had to be extremely careful that we didn’t snap the piston rings when feeding the pistons into them. After installing the cylinder head, camshaft, and timing the magnetos we fitted new spark plugs, filled the oil and coolant. Then I had to carry out a full power run.”

DOUGLAS SKYRAIDER In 1951 the navy began receiving 50 Skyraider AEW.1 aircraft. The sole operational squadron – 849 – flew detached flights aboard each carrier until the arrival of the Gannet AEW.3 in 1960. Operating units: 778, 849 Squadrons. Embarked: Albion, Ark Royal, Bulwark, Centaur, Eagle, Glory and Victorious.

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Peter Hiles “I was appointed senior pilot on a squadron (778) that had no aeroplanes! Johnny Treacher was the CO; he retired as an admiral. We went out to Norfolk, Virginia to train in Neptunes. We were learning about the radar – mainly for the electrical officer and radar operators. After we returned to Culdrose our Skyraiders arrived at Renfrew in Scotland and we went up to collect them. On 778 we had horrible golden bone domes; I think they were American. When we had fully trained ourselves, the squadron became 849. We started getting crews who were going through to the ships, but I remained senior pilot of the headquarters squadron.

Skyraider AEW.1 A-452 849 D Flight Albion, 1960. (Mike Bickley)

“In the early days of the Skyraider we went around the air stations showing it off to senior officers. I went to Eglinton with the education officer and gave a demonstration. They didn’t have the right fuel so I went into Aldergrove to refuel and flew back in a Force 8 gale. Somewhere way out to sea beyond Strumble Head the engine gradually died and stopped. When flying normally fuel went into the carburettor above the filters. The priming pump produced fuel underneath it so I flew all the way back to Culdrose, some 70 miles, on the priming pump – on and off all the time. I got out of the aeroplane and nobody seemed to mention it after that. They inspected the carburettor and the filter was like a piece of army blanket. I didn’t get an Air Efficiency Medal – that rankled a bit. The Skyraider was a lovely aeroplane.” John Sturgeon – observer “I qualified as an observer 2nd class, promoted from a naval air cadet to midshipman, and joined 849 Squadron for AEW training on 1 April 1957. It was based on the opposite side of the airfield to the Naval Observer and Air Signal School. “Close up the Skyraider was large for a carrier-borne aircraft. The radial engine looked impressive, and the radome slung under the fuselage confirmed the special nature of its role. It had a crew of three, a pilot and two observers sitting side by



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side in the rear cabin. This was accessed by a door with a small bubble Perspex window on either side. The Royal Navy was the first navy outside of the US to operate the Skyraider. “I qualified as an AEW controller in July 1957, joined C Flight the following month, and embarked Albion. In January 1958 I was in D Flight aboard Bulwark, sailing first to the West Indies and then the Far East. In January 1959 I was in A Flight on Eagle, then back to Culdrose in April 1959 to complete my two-year appointment to 849 Squadron. With four aircraft per flight and a flight per carrier, it was the largest squadron in the FAA. My logbook shows the variety of tasks that we undertook including flying ashore to collect the mail (carrying only one observer in that case). During the 1956 Suez campaign it was discovered that by removing an observer’s seat it was possible to load over 1,000 cans of beer into the rear cabin! “From late 1957 849 Squadron HQ Flight was responsible for the Skyraider modernisation programme prior to the arrival on 1 February 1960 of the first replacement Gannet. On Friday 23 October 1959 849 Squadron flew a ‘balbo’ of 16 Skyraiders, led by Lt Cdr Stock, in a flypast over the Culdrose area. The engineering effort required to get 16 serviceable aircraft can well be imagined, so the opportunity was taken to fly the formation a year ahead of the final Skyraider operations to ensure a good turnout of aircraft. The last operational Skyraider was released from squadron service on 20 October 1960. It had certainly proved the concept for AEW and aircraft direction in conjunction with surface radar.” Michael Clapp “In January 1957 I joined 849 Squadron. We flew the Skyraider with its 16-cylinder radial engine, and enormous US AN/APS-20 radar which had a long pulse length and low pulse repetition frequency (PRF). This made it capable of detecting ships at some 200 miles, an astonishing improvement on ship’s radars and most aircraft’s radar too. “For the next two months I trained with the headquarters squadron, achieving 65 hours in the Skyraider and beginning to realise the extraordinary importance of the aircraft’s role. 849 Squadron was divided into the HQ Flight based in Culdrose, and four other flights; A, B, C and D, for the four aircraft carriers then in service. In April l957 I joined C Flight under the command of Cdr Tony Lacayo, a delightful and very experienced pilot. His senior pilot was Lt Burke, another very efficient man and good company. I was made the flight staff officer, which disappointed me at the time, but it soon taught me a lot more about how the FAA was managed. “In the back seat, side by side with individual radar screens, I flew mostly with the senior observer (SObs) Lt Dennis Atkinson. I made my first deck landing with Cdr Lacayo as pilot on 16 April 1957 when the flight embarked Albion, sailing for the Far East. We practised directing Sea Venoms to engage with ‘enemy’ aircraft, and Sea Hawks in ship attacks and reconnaissance. We reported back to Albion what we saw and our plans.

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“On an exercise off the coast of China, Dennis and I were sent ahead to try and find the ‘Red Force’ ships. There they were several hundred miles ahead, crossing the normal shipping lane, and trying to hide amongst the shipping closer to the coast. Back on Albion we went to the operations room to be debriefed. Somewhat to my surprise there was an admiral, several of his staff, our captain, commander (air) and the ship’s ops officer – daunting for a young inexperienced observer – Dennis answered most of the questions. To my surprise, the admiral then turned to me, asked if I agreed and did I have any other thoughts on what the ‘Red Force’ might be up to. I had never spoken with an admiral before, so somewhat nervously I confirmed what Dennis had reported, and added a few other ideas. The admiral thanked me and said he agreed with my assessment of their intentions. “This experience convinced me that I wanted to remain an observer as I was hugely enjoying the role. The importance of the job was obvious; and the Skyraider’s capability was, to most naval minds, incredible. My new horizon was vast and challenging. I, at last, accepted that I had joined a vital and challenging branch of a fighting navy. “In December we returned home and went on Christmas leave. On return I was switched to D Flight and soon embarked Bulwark. I then crewed up with Flt Lt Oliver as my pilot and Lt Randall as my senior aircrew. After visits to the West Indies, Gibraltar and Aden, we finally returned home in late October and Bulwark began her conversion to a commando helicopter carrier. I had very much enjoyed my time with 849 Squadron and was sad when it ended at Culdrose on 31 December 1958.” Keith Childs – radio and radar “I joined 849 Squadron on a two-year draft. During that period, I spent six months detachment with B Flight at Hal Far, returning to Culdrose for six months, then six months on Ark Royal. I got the chance to fly aboard Ark Royal in a Skyraider as part of the maintenance crew to do some arrested landings and catapult shots. Ark was undergoing post-construction trials and, as the FAA’s heaviest aircraft, the Skyraider was ideal for the job. We also tested the radar transmissions on the deck, which caused engineers’ spanners to spark! “I enjoyed the Skyraider it was easy to work on. However, a lot of its equipment was very heavy and you needed a crane to lift some of it, especially the radar modulator which was the only pressurised compartment, situated behind the pilot’s cockpit. In front of the left-hand observer’s position was a large piece of avionic equipment with three screens: one was an A-Scan display, one was a 200mile range display and from that a variable 20-mile range band could be selected on the third screen. Further up the fuselage was the receiver, transmitter and other radar-associated equipment, including the huge magnet surrounding the magnetron. We were issued with bronze spanners for working in that area. Above the radar equipment were two ARC-1 VHF radio sets and an ARC-28, which was the radio-relay system. There was also the ‘Bellhop’ radar-relay system for transmitting



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the airborne radar picture back to the aircraft’s base, effectively providing a 400mile radar picture (assuming the Skyraider was 200 miles away). Under the righthand observer’s seat was the AYF – the radar altimeter equipment – and directly in front of him was a big radar screen. Above that was the tunnel through which you crawled to reach various pieces of equipment. The right-hand observer’s display could be slaved to the aircraft’s base so that the radar picture would be presented as if the radar head was mounted on that base. This allowed you to find your way back home easily. A beacon receiver was mounted in each wing fold; on one of them you could receive music stations. They were positioned there because there was no room for them anywhere else! Removing the radome, situated between the main undercarriage legs, exposed the big 360-degree radar scanner. Through a small hatch you could access the APX-6 – the IFF (identification friend or foe). Detonation charges were attached to the AYF and APX-6, lest the aircraft ended up in enemy territory. Given that all this avionic equipment comprised valve technology it remained surprisingly serviceable. “The Skyraiders always seemed to be flying with sorties sometimes lasting to the limit of their endurance. One pilot seemed a bit slow on the uptake, especially when he missed the arrestor wires as he frequently did. He would float along the deck with the engine idling before realising what had happened. At the last minute he would select full power and disappear over the end of the angled deck but manage to recover the aircraft. Quite often you could see salt spray on the radome after he’d landed on. There were a couple of occasions when a Skyraider landed ashore wheels-up because of a malfunction. All you had to do was replace the engine, propeller, radome and radar scanner to get it serviceable again – it was a tough old bird.” Mike Bickley – observer “I completed the observer course in March 1960, moved to 849 Squadron and graduated in July. Although it was nearing the end of its service, all my operational training was carried out on the Skyraider. In September 1960 I flew out to Hong Kong to join 849 D Flight in Albion, returning to Culdrose that December where the flight disbanded. 849 D Flight was the last to operate the Skyraider doing so long after the other flights had converted to the Gannet. “The radars in the Skyraider and the AEW Gannet were essentially the same – the AN/APS-20 – although they were different variants and the displays were different. In the Skyraider the AN/APS-20C was 1940s technology and it was quite a performance to switch it on. There was a panel on the left-hand side of the cockpit above the door, which had about 30 switches and you had to turn each to ‘on’ in a specific sequence for the three-phase electrics, after which it was 15 minutes before the radar could be operated. So, for a while after getting airborne you couldn’t see a thing on it. Radar contacts moved relative to the motion of your aircraft, making your job more difficult.

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“The two observers’ radar displays were slightly different. He in the left seat, usually the senior of the two, was in control of the task and he on the right acted as an assistant, although observers could occupy either seat depending on the mission requirements. In the main we flew as constituted crews, but it wasn’t always possible to do so. The cockpit environment wasn’t too bad; we didn’t wear oxygen masks. There was a tunnel on the right-hand side into which you could, theoretically, crawl to rectify equipment problems, although I don’t recall anybody actually doing so. It was used for stowing the mail when we picked it up ashore for delivery to the ship. “For operations from Albion we set up interceptions for the Sea Hawks and Sea Venoms. They would be posiMike Bickley. tioned at either end of a dedicated airspace ‘towline’ and we directed one aircraft onto the other until they achieved contact and took over the interception. Sortie length for us was anywhere between one and two-and-a-half hours to accord with the carrier’s deck cycle. We were usually the last to launch, because we normally did a free take-off down the axial deck after waiting until the jets had been catapulted off, and were generally the last to recover because of our longer endurance. Catapult launches for us were quite rare – I logged only three. “The serviceability of our Skyraiders was generally good, I seldom got into an aircraft that went u/s – I didn’t have any hairy moments in it. On one sortie from Centaur the aircraft was piloted by the ship’s flight deck officer (FDO). As he had much Skyraider experience he’d managed to persuade someone to let him do it. The sortie was fine, but when we recovered back aboard he deliberately overshot the deck telling me to start the stopwatch. He then proceeded to fly the tightest circuit I’ve ever experienced, lasting less than a minute – apparently it was his party trick! On the next approach he missed the target wire catching the one forward of it instead. As he’d had a bet on the whole escapade, it cost him. Nobody ever tried that on me again! “From mid-September until early October 1960, while the ship was alongside in Singapore, our aircraft disembarked to Seletar for continuation flying. When we re-embarked the ship set course for Trincomalee, Karachi, Mombasa and then home. On about 6 October both catapults were unserviceable due to a fractured steam pipe, so the jets were grounded – enter the Skyraiders with a unique opportunity. The pylons inboard of the wingfold, normally used for external fuel tanks, were fitted with light series bomb racks and each aircraft loaded with four 25-lb practice bombs. “On 8 October Lt Chris ‘Jack’ Parsons, the senior pilot, with the CO, Lt Cdr Terry Butler, and myself in the back seats, launched with a free take-off. We were



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Skyraider formation of 849 Squadron Culdrose on 23 October 1959. (Lt Cdr J B Stokes via Mike Cole-Hamilton)

to carry out 30-degree dive bombing on the ship’s splash target. Lt Peter Randall, with Lt Keith Sumner and Sub-Lt Brian Elphick in the back, followed us – we had the splash target to ourselves. “As the Skyraider didn’t have a proper sight, Chris Parsons, the only one with any weaponry experience from his Wyvern days, had devised an aiming arrangement by marking a cross on the windscreen using a black chinagraph pencil. The dives were nowhere near 30 degrees of course, ten-15 degrees at most, but the pilots thoroughly enjoyed the experience. After the first two aircraft had recovered on board, two further sorties were flown. The flight’s junior pilot, Sub-Lt Keith Harris, did not have a go, which remains a sore point with him to this day. After all the excitement the splash target was recovered unscathed and the ship stood down from flying stations. A veil was drawn over the bombing results and mercifully they are long lost but the memory of some participants is that more practice could have been beneficial. “This opportunity was a great morale booster and a refreshing change of role for us. In the AEW configuration the Skyraiders were limited in performance by the huge radome. The episode certainly elevated 849’s standing amongst Albion’s squadrons, particularly the jets, at the bar and in the mess decks. The fact remains that for several days in October 1960 the Royal Navy’s carrier-borne attack capability east of Suez was in the hands of 849 D Flight and its four trusty Skyraiders very near the end of their front-line service. “I must say that I preferred the Gannet to the Skyraider, simply because it was

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a newer aircraft and had better equipment, especially the radar. In the Skyraider some of the pilot’s flying control wires ran through the roof of the observers’ cockpit – if you wanted to attract his attention you just pulled one!” Brian Elphick – observer “In 1960 Albion was on her last commission as a fixed-wing carrier and was returning, on a tight schedule, from a year’s deployment to the Far East for Christmas. The final exercise was the normal carrier sweep of the Mediterranean once clear of the Suez Canal. The other carriers involved were Victorious and Ark Royal. “The exercise commenced on 9 December but on the 10th the weather deteriorated rapidly. Victorious suffered rudder problems and sheltered in the Balearic Islands. Shortly afterwards Ark Royal was hit by a freak wave and went for the shelter of the Spanish mainland. The exercise and all flying were cancelled. Albion pushed on west alone, but was forced to go about when the impact of the sea on the stern was in danger of causing major damage – it was the worst storm I encountered in my naval career. The captain had to wait for a suitable trough in the waves to come about. Every aircraft was double lashed down, including those on the hangar deck. The priority was to try to make Portsmouth in time for the ship’s company to clear customs, and not spend Christmas anchored in Spithead awaiting port clearance, mandatory before the seasonal shore break. “As the storm abated Victorious asked Albion to collect and deliver an oxy-acetylene cutting rig from Gibraltar to assist in freeing the steering. This was a task nobody wanted to do, it had ‘stuck at Gibraltar’ writBrian Elphick. ten all over it. However, Cdr ‘Butch’ Barnard, standing in for commander (air) who had returned to the UK on compassionate grounds, accepted the task. Gibraltar dockyard protested they did not want to provide their only cutting gear, but they were instructed to do so from on high. “The scene was set for the last Skyraider mission by 849D, with a catapult launch from Victorious and a final recovery on Albion. Pilot Lt Benny Goodman and myself, accompanied by right-hand observer Lt Clive Turner, took off in Skyraider WV182 at 08:30 on 13 December heading west for Gibraltar with full drop tanks. The brief was to supply Victorious as requested and return before dark, as Albion now had no ’plane guard and weather conditions were unsuitable for a night landing. We



Twilight of the Piston Engine37

were not in any circumstance to land on Spanish territory, or even cross Spanish territorial waters. Our emergency diversion was Lisbon as a last resort. Any hope of diplomatic clearance to return to the UK direct from Gibraltar was a non-starter. The ship could not slow down or wait to recover us and make Portsmouth in time. As we left the CO, Lt Cdr Terry Butler, was taking £5 bets from other squadron COs that we would be stuck in Gibraltar, or even Lisbon, for Christmas awaiting clearance to the UK. “On arrival at North Front, unexpected mail for Victorious turned up, but not the rig which had to be chased out of the dockyard. Finally we took off. We saw aircraft activity on the radar as we approached possible ‘targets’; Benny reported a carrier and took control. We had found Victorious between Mallorca and Ibiza, steering by main engines and trying to find enough wind to launch her aircraft, now released early to the UK. “The approach frequency was chaos. Delayed aircraft were wanting to get away to meet diplomatic clearance times. In the midst of this came the normal challenge to closing aircraft followed by the course change check, plus a warning of aircraft operations. This was followed by a request for our destination. When we informed them ‘Victorious’, we were asked if we were a naval aircraft and when we confirmed we were, this was followed by the question of what type? The reply ‘Skyraider’ brought a very loud ‘SKYRAIDER!’ shout. This was followed by, ‘Sorry, no-one told me you were coming, but hold off as we cannot clear you to FlyCo (flying control) until all aircraft have launched to the UK in low wind conditions.’ “They eventually managed to find the wind and get us aboard. Our ’plane guard for the exercise had been a C-class destroyer with open bridge, but that had stood down during the storm. We made a quick straight-in landing. Job done; a requested free take-off was firmly refused due to lack of wind over the deck. After more mail had been loaded we were launched by the strongest catapult launch of my whole career. We left Victorious at 13:30 with the captain wishing us the best of luck in making Portsmouth on time. “We returned to Gibraltar at 16:30. The strength of the catapult launch had jammed tight the mail bags, which were eventually recovered badly torn by the waiting ‘postie’. The necessary damage report was quickly completed and signed. At 17:00 we set off again, round Spain in pursuit of the ship now well past Faro, going at best speed north along the coast of Portugal. In the fast-gathering gloom of dusk we landed back on Albion at 18:05. My logbook records the round trip at seven hours and five minutes flown. In FlyCo we found Terry Butler collecting his £5 notes. Albion did make Spithead in time for customs clearance before Christmas.” With the departure of the last Skyraiders, piston-powered fixed-wing carrier ops in the Royal Navy came to an end. However, the carriers still had to provide AVGAS for Whirlwind helicopters for a few more years.

CHAPTER TWO

TURBOPROP STRIKERS The advent of effective turboprop engines in the early 1950s led to carrier-borne anti-submarine and strike aircraft evolving in that direction. Whilst the AS role was effectively addressed by the Gannet, satisfying the strike requirement proved to be less so.

Wyvern S.4 WN336 J-372 830 Squadron HMS Eagle, Hal Far around August 1956. (Adrian Balch collection)

WESTLAND WYVERN Designed to meet naval specification N.11/44 for a long-range strike aircraft the Wyvern first flew in 1946 with a Rolls-Royce Eagle piston engine. The engine was then abandoned by Rolls-Royce and a change was made to turboprop power. It was late in 1953 before the Wyvern S.4 entered service. The high point in its service was Operation Musketeer during the 1956 Suez campaign, with the last examples being withdrawn in April 1958. Operating units: 700, 703, 764, 813, 827, 830, 831 Squadrons, ‘C’ Squadron A&AEE. Embarked: Albion, Ark Royal, Bulwark (deck trials), Eagle and Illustrious (deck trials). Bob Edward – pilot “Strapped securely to a Martin-Baker ejection seat at the highest point of the fuselage the pilot has an excellent view to left and right and, aided by a mirror, to the rear. However, it is totally obscured straight ahead and below by the exceedingly long nose, housing the Python engine driving massive contra-rotating propellers. Throttle 38



Turboprop Strikers39

fully forward to 8,000 rpm, left hand behind the throttle and shortly afterwards the Wyvern launches. The pilot raises the wheels and initiates a turn away from the ship’s centreline. As speed increases, he lifts the flaps from their launch settings, and retards the throttle to 7,800 rpm. The attitude of the Wyvern now allows the pilot a splendid all-round view. “It was a delight to fly unless something went wrong, when it could be a very dangerous beast. Armed with four 20-mm cannon in the wings, with 600 rounds per minute rates of fire, it was not defenceless, but it was very much an air-to-surface weapon. It was not aerobatic, but it was a beautifully steady weapon delivery platform. The cockpit had plenty of room for re-folding maps, using handheld navigation aids etc. There was even a flexible tube that could be used to urinate – I never heard that anyone used it. “On return one ran in at 400 feet, reducing speed, lowering wheels, hook, and flaps. Check airbrakes in, tail wheel unlocked and four green lights (three wheels and the hook). As you approach the deck, the nose obscures the centreline but the mirror is still visible. The hook should catch a wire as the three wheels all touch down together. The ideal approach speed was around 102 to 105 knots. In Ark Royal in 1957 we worked a one-hour ten-minute cycle for general training; in Eagle in 1958 one hour 20 minutes was the norm. My longest sortie in a Wyvern was two hours 20 minutes on a mine-laying exercise from Ark off the west coast of Scotland. Intentional spinning, even for training purposes, was not allowed as it had been assessed as unrecoverable. The only person I recall getting into a spin was Lt Barry Hartwell on 14 February 1957. He was doing an air-to-air exercise, pulled too hard for his speed, and the aircraft stalled and spun – he ejected. “Most of the problems we had were with the engine and props. We had oil leaks, props connecting with each other and flame-outs due to fuel starvation. On the airframe the leading edges of mainplanes would become rough and disturb the airflow, and on the electrics we had lights failing. Shortly after commencing conversion in 764 Squadron at Ford I had my first Wyvern accident – entirely my fault. “At the end of a routine training exercise, on 15 February 1957, I turned down wind, lowering wheels and flaps but in my downwind checks failed to lock the tail wheel. For landing on a runway, as Bob Edward. opposed to a carrier, the tail wheel had to be locked fore and aft to ensure the aircraft kept straight when the throttle was retarded. When the power came off the propellers went automatically to fine pitch, effectively making them a disk-reducing airflow over the aircraft including the tail – the rudder becoming ineffective. There was a crosswind

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which pushed against the large tailplane and swung the aircraft into wind and off the runway. The grass was soft and the wheels sank into the mud. The aircraft nose dug into the turf, the props broke, the engine shock loaded and stopped. “I was summoned to see the captain. He had in his hand a piece of white Wyvern S.4 VZ752 182 813 Squadron Ford May 1953-May 1954. CO’s markings can be seen on the aircraft. (Stephen Wolf) paper, thick almost like parchment, gold embossed. It was addressed to him and informed him that he was to admonish Acting Sub-Lt R W Edward and inform him that he had incurred the displeasure of The Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty. Seven years later I had a slight inadvertency in a Buccaneer, breaking a flap by exceeding its limited speed. I was summoned by the captain of Lossiemouth who had in his hand a piece of ordinary blue-stamped paper from which he read that he was to admonish Lt R W Edward and inform him that he had incurred the displeasure of the Admiralty Board of the Defence Council. Oh, how we have fallen from quality of paper and those to whom we hold our allegiance! “831 Squadron disembarked from Ark Royal to Ford following wire-breaking episodes, a fortnight before the flag officer flying training inspected Ford. The inspection had been planned in the expectation that 831 would be at sea. The squadron was inserted rapidly into the exercise for the evening and night of 17 September. This programme was already crowded with aircraft being sent to Ford from other naval air stations to test all the operational, exercise and emergency skills of Ford’s ‘ship’s company’. 831 was given an apparently simple task, to carry out a night dummy strike on Merryfield airfield in Somerset. It had to be explained to the admiral’s staff that we had just disembarked and the Wyvern had never been cleared for nightdeck operations, so all the pilots were out of date for night flying. The CO, Stan Farquhar, was ordered to take the pilots who had most recently night flown, do a night recovery to Yeovilton and return to Ford. Owing to the maintenance tasks following disembarkation, only four aircraft were serviceable. The pilots chosen were: Leader CO with me [in VZ795] as his wingman, Pete Wheatly as No.3 with Gerry Smith as his wingman. “Following start-up Pete’s aircraft was unserviceable so the remaining three took off, joining up in the dark with navigation lights on. The weather was foul, heavy rain with 8/8ths thick cloud at 2,400 feet with extensive patches below to



Turboprop Strikers41

about 1,200 feet. We made formation passage to Yeovilton carrying out individual ground-controlled approaches (GCA) there. The weather was somewhat nicer as we climbed away to the west, re-joined on the boss and above cloud at 20,000 feet headed for Ford. As we approached, we found the approach frequency full with aircraft pouring into Ford, many with exercise emergencies. One pilot had been briefed to go south of Ford and claim to be about to eject. No one heard the call ‘For Exercise’ but did hear the word ejecting. The air traffic controller immediately pushed the button to launch the Beachy Head lifeboat. “There were two things not ‘practised’ that night, crash on the airfield and crash off the airfield – there were two of each. First was a Sea Hawk from Lossiemouth, short of fuel which landed on the main runway, skidded on the very wet surface sliding across the grass and into the bowser drivers’ hut. While the runway was being inspected for damage and loose articles the cross runway was used to recover a Gannet with a low fuel state. This runway had a fairly strong crosswind. The Gannet landed, burst a tyre and fouled both runways by stopping at the intersection. “Meanwhile the Wyverns returned overhead and commenced individual GCAs. When the leader broke cloud still in the rain he sighted the airfield, but because of the blocked runways was told to orbit. I was the next down and was told to go from the GCA channel to the local control on which there was a lot of talk to other aircraft being told to divert, or wait. I was asked if I could see my leader, which I could, and was told to join on him. Gerry then completed his GCA and was told to overshoot, join up with us and was sent to the local control frequency. Gerry saw us in the rain but he only saw one tail light, mine had apparently gone out. Clearance was then given for us to join the circuit to land. Not knowing that Gerry was trying to join us, I moved to cross from echelon port to starboard for the port break into the circuit. In trying to join the CO, Gerry never saw my aircraft as I moved from the CO’s port wing to the starboard. As I was nearly across the lead aircraft, Gerry’s props drove into my rudder and elevator. My aircraft rolled sharply and the nose dropped, there was no response to stick controls. Heading downwards and rotating rapidly I ejected through the canopy. At the same time Gerry’s engine blew up. He jettisoned his canopy and ejected. The CO reported that he had felt an explosion and had no sight of his other two aircraft. He was cleared for an emergency landing. “Having pulled the face blind to eject the wet air rushing by was most exhilarating. Almost immediately the parachute opened. I looked down and just managed to move my feet to hit a beam on the edge of a three-acre greenhouse. I fell off the side among a certain amount of broken glass, unstrapped and rolled up the parachute which I left at the greenhouse door along with the dinghy pack and my helmet. I went around to the farmhouse and rang the bell. There were lights upstairs and presently a delightful middle-aged lady opened the door in her dressing gown. I explained that I had just landed on, and broken, their greenhouse and asked if I could use their telephone. I was ushered in and shown the ’phone. She

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asked me if I would like a cup of tea. I was about to accept when her husband appeared saying ‘or would you prefer a glass of brandy?’ “Meanwhile Gerry Smith had landed in a field. In a corner, near a gate, he saw the light of a caravan. He banged on the door and was invited in by a single mum with three children. The local telephone exchange, hearing there was a crash, stopped all calls except from the emergency services and the air station. So it was some time before either Gerry or I were able to report our whereabouts and be brought back by ambulance. Two days later the Daily Express had a headline saying ‘Pilot Prefers Brandy to Tea’. Further into the article it quoted a near neighbour who claimed ‘I was in the bathroom cleaning my teeth before going to bed when there was a big bang – the wife rushed in and said ‘Now what have you done?’ “The aircraft both crashed in open country. There was no Board of Inquiry, no court martial, in their heart of hearts I believe everyone knew it was command error for which the admiral was wholly responsible. “November saw 831 re-embark Ark Royal for Exercise Phoenix, that year’s major North Atlantic NATO exercise. The 19th saw Ark Royal in company with Eagle, far to the north of Scotland facing some pretty atrocious weather. “I was tasked to take part [in WN325] in a strike on Muckle Ossa, a rock outcrop well clear of the Outer Isles. The aim was to make a low-level rocket attack – a satisfactory number of live 60-lb 3-inch rockets hit the target. The return was commenced at low level. The sea was very turbulent and salt spray was flying quite high as we remained low to avoid radar detection. Shortly after leaving the target my aircraft developed a propeller oil leak, which came in a fine spray, mixed with the salt spray and left a sticky mess on the windscreen and side panels. Forward vision was markedly impaired. On return to the ship, I was told to land last, a wise precaution. Ark Royal reduced speed to nine knots into wind for the land on. With the gale, there was a need to reduce the wind speed over the deck as much as possible while still being able to steer the ship through the large waves that were quartering across the wind. The result made the ship heave, pitch, roll and yaw all at the same time producing a corkscrew motion. The drill with a prop leak was to wait until in the landing circuit and try the windscreen wiper. This I did and then pumped some de-icing fluid onto the windscreen. This made windscreen and side panels opaque with the mixture of salt, oil and de-icer, but it was then wet enough to be removed by the windscreen wiper. On turning it on, nothing happened! I was left with windows that were quite opaque and no forward vision. I opened the canopy so that I could see out sideways and a bit forward. “Abeam the centre of the ship at 400 feet I commenced a turn towards it, a fairly tight circuit seeing the deck nicely over the edge of the cockpit. Shortly after getting halfway around the turn I picked up the ‘meatball’ from the gyro-stabilised mirror landing aid. Unable to see ahead I guessed the position. The hook caught the last of the four wires and the aircraft arrested. As a result of the lateral ship movement and my misjudgement of where the centreline might be, we ended up



Turboprop Strikers43

drifting off to port and stopped with the port main wheel off the side of the deck. The nose dropped, the props hit the deck and shattered. Smoke started to come from the engine. I undid the parachute and seat harnesses and disconnected the main oxygen system to my mask, however the emergency oxygen tube snagged on something, holding me in the cockpit. At this stage a small explosion occurred as one of the starter cartridges cooked off and the fire started in earnest. However, a very brave naval airman in a fearnought suit leapt up on the starboard wing with an axe, cut me free and helped me down to the deck. “I went to the island and as I got through the door I was accosted by the doctor, who wanted to take me immediately to the sickbay. However, the bridge messenger was also there saying the captain wanted to see me. The doctor explained that I should go first with him. However, I declined and as I came onto the bridge the captain, Frank Hopkins, turned around in his chair and said, ‘I sent for you Edward, to tell you that I didn’t think that crash was your fault’. The deck-edge lift was bent and never worked again. Following Exercise Phoenix Ark Royal went for refit and the space for the lift was incorporated in the modified angled deck.” George Barras – pilot “Flying operations for Operation Musketeer started at 02:40 on 1 November 1956. Action began at first light and I was on the first Wyvern strike. Our target was the runways at Dhekelia airfield Alexandria, using 1,000-lb bombs. Virtually unopposed the attack was repeated twice more that day. On day two my first sortie was against Camp Huckstep – a major Egyptian army base – again using 1,000-lb bombs. There was a fair amount of flak and I had a bomb George Barras. hang-up, but got back to the ship in good order. “On day three the target changed to Gamil Bridge and again I was on the first and third waves. During one of these Dennis McCarthy’s Wyvern was hit by flak. He managed to drop his bombs, turned out to sea, and ejected, floating in his dinghy three miles off shore for an hour before he was picked up by the ship’s Whirlwind. Day four was a standdown, and on day five I flew against targets on the coast with bombs and rockets. During the second of these attacks, the senior pilot, ‘Smokey’ Cowling, was hit in the engine and losing power he was unable to make it back to the ship, ejecting 20 miles short – again he was picked up by the Whirlwind. “Day six was the last day of operations and I flew a ‘cab-rank’ sortie, armed with ten rockets and 20-mm cannon, in support of the ground forces in Port Said. Attacks were called by ground controllers and, with the number of aircraft waiting to be called in, it was like bees round a honey pot.”

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SHORT SEAMEW The Seamew, first flying in August 1953, was intended to replace the Avenger AS.4 being used by the RNVR. Only 24 aircraft were built, its performance was considered poor and the 1957 Defence White Paper killed it off along with its intended squadrons. By that time just seven Seamews had been delivered since October 1956 and most were quickly scrapped. Operating units: 700, Air Torpedo Development Unit, ‘C’ Squadron A&AEE. Embarked: Albion, Bulwark and Warrior (trials only).

Seamew AS.1.

Anthony Stephens – air electrics “In 1957, serving as a young mechanic at the aircraft holding unit (AHU) in K20 Hangar, Lossiemouth, we received the first Seamew for receipt checks into the FAA. I was sent to check the oleo extension micro switches. I knew the function, if they didn’t operate, the pilot could not select ‘wheels up’. After a few minutes, when I noticed the aircraft maintenance control office door Anthony Stephens. was open and a crowd were laughingly watching – I realised the landing gear did not retract! “We received another three Seamews, which were checked and then sent to K26 Hangar for storage, with the first. Then the last three arrived and were also placed directly in storage. All seven were subsequently scrapped by Williamson, a local scrap merchant. The rest of the MoD’s order for Seamews was cancelled, and those aircraft that had been completed at the factory were also destroyed. It was really a strange aircraft to work on, but also a sad story of waste.”



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FAIREY GANNET – ANTI-SUBMARINE, ELECTRONIC COUNTERMEASURES The Gannet was Fairey Aviation’s response to naval requirement GR.17/45. First flown on 19 September 1949, it made the first deck landing by a turboprop aircraft on Illustrious on 19 June 1950. First deliveries of the AS.1 went to Ford in April 1954 and 826 Squadron was the first to go to sea on Eagle. The AS.1 was followed by the improved AS.4, plus T.2 and T.5 trainers. By the early 1960s the AS Gannets were replaced by the Whirlwind HAS.7 helicopter, but numbers continued in service as the ECM.6 and COD (carrier onboard delivery) variants with 831 and 849 Squadrons respectively. Operating units: 700, 703, 719, 728, 737, 744, 796, 810, 812, 814, 815, 820, 824, 825, 826, 831, 847, 849, 1840 Squadrons, ‘C’ Squadron A&AEE. Embarked: Albion, Ark Royal, Bulwark, Centaur, Eagle, Hermes, Illustrious (deck trials) and Victorious. ‘Ut Fulmina de Caelo’ – observer “In the mid-1950s I was an RNVR junior naval airman with the Channel Air Division at Ford (1840 and 1842 Squadrons) prior to the abolition of the RNVR. We had Gannet AS.1s ex-824 Squadron on Albion, and I was waiting for an Entry Board for flying training. On age grounds anyone under 18 was not allowed to fly. Sadly, our ‘summer camp’ at Hal Far disappeared in the run-up to Suez.

Gannet AS.1 WN407 HF-088 847 Squadron, Hal Far, Luqa, 1957. (Steve Bond collection)

“After gaining my Wings in March 1958 I went to 849 Squadron for AEW training. It was not a success in my case; it normally required a minimum second-tour skill-set. I was sent to Eglinton and, as the changeover to helicopters was taking

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place, I was the very last observer to qualify in fixed-wing anti-submarine with 719/737 Squadrons. I flew with John Coward in 719 Squadron – we did a ‘land away’ to Little Rissington to deliver his motorbike (Gannet bomb bays had many uses). “The abrupt withdrawal of the Whirlwind HAS.7 in April 1959 led to the rapid re-formation of 810 Squadron as the last fixed-wing AS squadron to embark. It reformed at Culdrose with Gannet AS.4s, under the command of Lt Cdr A M Sinclair, to embark Centaur to replace the Whirlwinds. After a record re-conversion to fixed-wing flying for many of the pilots and observers it embarked from Gibraltar only six weeks later (no telegraphists air were carried because of the short drafting notice). As a large Commonwealth exercise in waters off Ceylon was scheduled focusing on carrier-based AS operations, this necessitated Centaur landing her 849 AEW Flight to provide room. “The ship returned to home waters in April 1960 and the squadron was disbanded on board in the North Sea three months later. Its aircraft were returned to Abbotsinch from whence they had hastily been retrieved from the mud 15 months previously. I was on the final sortie of that commission and (once again) of fixedwing AS in the RN – it was a night sortie and some joker had switched off the mirror. “For submarine detection, sonar to pretty much everyone post-1945 (dipping Asdic to the Admiralty), had been the preserve of ships and submarines, with ranges in active mode of around 3,000 to 5,000 yards. The RAF/RN went down a blind alley of bigger, better and very expensive airborne sonobuoys, culminating in the Mk.1C active buoy. This was still constrained by basic science; a lack of range in the water. The Gannet never carried these and could not be easily adapted to the longer endurance on task required to hunt down and suppress the enemy. The USN had the longer-range Grumman Tracker with cheap and expendable passive sonobuoys. These could also be launched from greater heights if required, allied to far more comprehensive on-board analysis.” Chris James “In February 1959 I flew to Malta to join 891 Squadron, part of the air group on board Centaur. The Whirlwinds of 845 Squadron had been experiencing engine problems resulting in several ditchings. They were subsequently grounded and replaced with hastily formed 810 Squadron Gannet AS.4s joining the air group in April. “Our month in Australia was undoubtedly the highlight of the cruise for most. It was with heavy hearts and a few less sailors, that we sailed north to the Indonesian navy base at Surabaya. As they were interested in purchasing Gannets our mission was to embark a contingent of their officers and politicians, proceed to sea and demonstrate the capabilities of 810 Squadron’s aircraft. Unfortunately, the Gannets were grounded for technical reasons and unable to fly, leaving it to the jets to impress the visitors with a display. This must have worked as they did buy Gannets



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– some claim the welcome they received in the wardroom played a major part in their decision. “After leaving the Gulf on the return journey, when thoughts were turning towards home, a group of army and RAF officers were airlifted on board from Aden to brief the aircrew on Operation Damon. ‘Dissident tribesmen’ had attacked a village in the interior and taken refuge in caves. As Britain was responsible for security in the Aden Protectorate air strikes were considered necessary in response. Gannets were armed with AS rockets and flew holding patterns off the coast in readiness to come to the aid of any our downed aircraft.” John Coward “On 744 Squadron I completed several flights and trials in what was simply called the ‘Gannet’ as there were no other marks of the aircraft at that time. For one trial a wire recorder, the forerunner of the tape recorder, and a cine camera which filmed the radar screen in the observer’s cockpit, were installed in the aircraft. There was a requirement for a simulator on which to train AS observers and the aim of the trial was to help develop the facility. The idea was that the simulator would show trainee observers how various sea states would be represented on the radar and how it could detect a periscope. We spent many hours droning over the sea in different sea states filming what the radar saw. I’m not sure whether anything became of the footage, but that was my introduction to the Gannet. “Easter 1956 my family and I went on leave to our caravan. When we arrived, there was a letter inside the door. I was to join Eagle in Malta the 719 Squadron Gannet AS.1s at Eglinton in 1956. next week because half of its em- (John Coward) barked 812 Squadron had been sent to Cyprus; consequently, the remaining part of the squadron was short of pilots. So I joined Eagle and flew a lot of ASW and bombing training sorties. On our return to the UK, I was sent to 719 Squadron at Eglinton which was also home to 737 Squadron. The latter’s role was type conversion to the Gannet, after which crews moved to 719 Squadron where we taught attack profiles, weaponry, night formation flying etc. After that job I attended the Naval Gunnery School at Whale Island to become a weapons instructor. “We thought the Gannet was lovely, although it had a few peculiarities. Somebody said to me a few years later, ‘You can always tell a Gannet pilot – he walks with his

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right leg flicking and his right elbow twitching’. This was because whilst cruising on long sorties you shut one engine down, swapping engines every hour. However about once every five times the shut-down engine wouldn’t start, particularly on the early versions of the aircraft. The re-start procedure was a lot of work – you had to reduce below the prop’s flight time pitch-stop to make a circuit, select HP (high pressure) cock on and press the feathering button to un-feather, but quite often the ignitor didn’t work. In Fairey’s wisdom, the ignitor box was in the skin of the aircraft by the pilot’s right foot so if there was a problem with the ignitor you had to kick the side of the fuselage. In addition, next to the pilot’s right elbow there was a large square box containing circuit breakers and which had a folding panel in the middle – if you nudged this with your elbow you could reset any circuit breakers which had popped. “We flew ASW sorties by day and night at about 800 feet and they usually lasted about two hours – you could become very adept at looking at the sea surface. It was amazing what you could see, you could pick up large sharks for example. We flew a complicated search procedure, devised by the SObs, searching visually and using radar – normally we didn’t detect anything. At night we employed Glowworm flares to illuminate targets. In order to attack a submarine, we carried depth charges in the bomb bay. If you detected a submarine, you quickly turned towards it, bearing in mind you would be at 800 feet and single-engined (you didn’t have time to start the other one). Release height was 300 feet from a dive for a stick of three, and you had a half-second pause between dropping each weapon, aiming for the first to hit the water about 100 feet short, the second on the target and the third 100 feet beyond. “We spent many hours practising dropping depth charges on weapons ranges and other facilities ashore. For this we used 20-lb break-up bombs, carried on the No.1 and 3 stations in the bomb bay, leaving the centre station vacant in order to simulate straddling the target. The range assessors always knew if you were chickening out and pulling hard on the stick after release of the first weapon because of the increased distance between the two bombs. We also practised this 300-foot release at night, using a radar altimeter, and I think we only had one casualty. We used Magilligan Range at Lough Foyle, Northern Ireland and one student flew into the sea. Luckily it was low tide at the time and the lough was very muddy. After going in like a dart, the student managed to get out of the aircraft and walk ashore. “We also practised 18-degree [dive] rocketing for the anti-shipping role. These rockets were the 25-30-lb solid-head versions, and the idea was to aim them to hit the water about 50 to 100 yards short of the target. They would then level out about 30 feet below the surface, run parallel to it and puncture the side of the ship’s hull. I carried live depth charges and dropped them but I never actually dropped a torpedo. The Mk.8 torpedo, which had a homing head, was being developed at the torpedo workshops at Eglinton. The business of dropping such a weapon was highly



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classified. We never really talked about it, but it would have been a low-level drop. “People used to talk about various potential Gannet problems. One nightmare-ish one was PCU [power control unit] failure where you lost control of your propellers. Unlike other aircraft, in the Gannet you selected the pitch stop after you had got airborne and raised the undercarriage. Having settled in the climb you wanted to check whether the pitch stop was working, so you brought the throttle back to the flight idle gate. The engine was constant-speeding at 15,000 rpm, as the revs dropped off you knew that it had hit the pitch stop. The Gannet’s design requirement specified that you needed precise engine control for carrier landings, and for instant power response you didn’t want the pitch stop in. When you lowered the undercarriage the pitch stop came out. It was knocked into you from the beginning that you never brought the throttle back below the flight idle gate until you had landed. This was because once you brought the engine to idle the propeller would move to six degrees of pitch, which was quite a shock. If you brought the engine to below idle and shut it down whilst airborne [undercarriage up] the propeller would hit the pitch stop and wouldn’t reduce to below 21 degrees. “When I was instructing a student, I would tell him this is what would happen if he suffered a PCU failure, or if he shut the throttle. We’d get climb to 5,000 feet, lower the undercarriage – sometimes we’d raise it again keeping the power low so that the pitch stop was withdrawn – I’d tell the student to throttle back on one engine. He would shriek with horror at what was happening! One propeller would immediately move to six degrees to maintain 15,000 rpm. This meant that you lost all control over the tail because the rudder and elevators were completely inoperative, there was a marked pitch nose-down, resulting in a fast descent, seemingly without any control. The natural reaction was to counter this by pulling back hard on the stick – which had no effect. To correct the attitude, you carefully opened the throttle and increased rpm to normal, at the same time ensuring that the stick was centralised because the tail surfaces would be live again. If you kept the stick back you would rear up and probably stall. My theory was that if you ever ended up in a rapid descent like this because of an emergency, and given that the other engine was operating normally, if you increased speed to 160 knots you would be able to land the aircraft in a field or somewhere. “The AS was light and more manoeuvrable than the later AEW.3 – we used to roll it, even when carrying 16 rockets. However there were many differences. For example, in the AS the port engine drove the front propeller, but in the AEW it drove the rear propeller and the contra-rotation of the propellers was reversed. When you shut down an engine in flight you had to rudder-trim the aircraft to counter the yaw. Even though I didn’t really know that much about the aircraft, despite having flown many hours in it, I set up a Gannet conversion course. My one-man Gannet conversion ‘unit’ was then amalgamated with 849 Squadron at Culdrose.”

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John Sturgeon “I went to 831 Squadron at Culdrose which flew Gannets and Sea Venoms equipped with ECM. In September 1962 I embarked Ark Royal with a flight of two Gannets on a voyage to the Far East. We went to Perth, Australia for a goodwill tour – enjoying trips to the vineyards and breweries! “We sailed after two weeks, and as there had been no night flying for quite a time, Ark Royal went to flying stations. We launched with Dave Pickles as pilot, me as observer and Tony Hayward, having decided to come along for the ride, in the telegraphist’s seat. After about 90 minutes we were instructed to return and land on. You’re in the south Indian Ocean and its rough conditions so although the wind may not be that strong, the sea state is a long swell. The ship was pitching heavily into the sea with the flight deck moving up and down a lot. This was the first night flight that any of the aircrew had done for quite some time and they had not experienced these sea conditions. Dave did his best using the mirror landing aid to adjust the aircraft’s height as he approached but unfortunately he hit the round-down. The main undercarriage was broken, the hook came away and the long-range tanks went Gannet ECM.6 XA472 R-398 C Flight 831 up in flames. We hit the port mirror, and the aircraft Squadron HMS Ark Royal, split in two with the tail breaking just behind Tony’s 4 September 1962. position. He was left sitting in the cockpit but going (Tony Hayward) over the side with us. The fuselage turned over and we landed upside down in the water alongside the carrier, which was then doing 30-odd knots and steaming away. “The ’plane guard destroyer, following close behind the carrier, watching all this going on, stopped and lowered a sea boat. Somehow the boat’s crew managed to find and rescue all of us. It was standard procedure in the Gannet for crew to have the hoods open for landing so that, if anything happened, they would at least have half a chance of getting out. We just pushed ourselves out of the submerged cockpits and surfaced. I got into my dinghy hoping the destroyer would pick me up, but the sea conditions were so bad that their sea boat did. As they got me into it, I heard one of the naval hands say, ‘Christ, I didn’t volunteer for this’. Another one said, ‘It’s your bloody job!’ “The destroyer took up its position again a short way from the carrier (the cabin they gave me was on the starboard side). By now the Sea Vixens were having trouble trying to land on. One of their pilots was newly flown out from the UK and was going round and round – this was his first night landing under these sea conditions. I lost count of his landing attempts. The pilot was told to make a final approach and, if he didn’t catch a wire, he was to pull up and the crew eject. Somehow he managed to get the hook on the wire. He was a shattered wreck when he got down to the bar afterwards.



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“On 831 Squadron we only landed on by special invitation to practise with the carrier’s aircraft. Also, when we got to somewhere else that had naval or RAF aircraft we could show them what exercises were like using the ECM gear. Some of the foreign naval services that we were operating with had never seen what ECM gear could do to their radar. “Our ECM had very little power, was very directional – you had to tune in to the signals coming in to you. You decided that was the one you were going to block out and went for it. You had to be spot on to have any effect, and quite close as well. The government decided that we should team up with the RAF to form one unit doing all the ECM work. We went up to Watton with the Gannets and Sea Venoms. I’m not sure we actually teamed up with them, but we certainly operated from Watton for some time and that’s where I retired from.” Aircraft Handler Jim Rae saw the results of John’s accident. “I was off watch when it happened. The port mirror site was unserviceable so they had to use the starboard one, and there were a few shaky landings until they got used to it. The Gannet wreckage was kept for the inquiry, then it was dumped over the port side, but got snagged on the catwalk by its ‘loop’ comms wire. Jim Rae. No amount of ramming with the forklift would shift it. The FDO, Lt Cdr Barnard, jumped into the catwalk, got his shoulder under it and stood up – SPLASH!” Mervyn Jones – observer “We were sent off to do a coastal familiarisation flight when I’d just joined 831 Squadron and my pilot decided to have a bit of fun. We went out to sea, came straight into the beach, roared towards the cliffs and then pulled up. When we landed there was a party waiting for us – the duty officer and a couple of other guys. I was taken into one room and the pilot was taken into another and we were handed a pencil and some blank paper and told to write our account of what we’d been up to. Apparently, they’d had lots of complaints from the sunbathers. “One evening we were about 20 minutes into our flight when we ran into trouble. One of the engines packed up, then the other one did (due to debris from the first one contaminating the oil system).

Mervyn Jones.

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The engines also fed the oil system so the props went to fully coarse pitch and we went into a steep dive. After hearing ‘bail out’, I did so very promptly. I grabbed hold of the aerial in front of me and went out feet first, keeping my legs crossed – I was later given the aerial as a souvenir. I passed ‘Lofty’ Nash in the back trying to get out, it seemed I just sort of fluttered by him, it was all very fast. I landed near a night watchman’s hut and tried to get my SARBE (search and rescue beacon) going – but it didn’t work. Other aircraft airborne at the time started searching for me over the Bristol Channel (John and ‘Lofty’ were in hospital by then with broken limbs). I went back to the crash site and then to the hospital before heading to the nearest pub for a pint. I got a couple of pints and took them back to the hospital for the other two. Of course, the rumour went around that not only did I want the Caterpillar Club badge I wanted the Goldfish Club one as well, so I had inflated my dinghy and climbed into that!” This accident occurred on 23 January 1964. The Gannet was ECM.6 XG832 which came down in open moorland six miles north-west of St. Austell. Pilot Lt John Middleton and observer Lt J E ‘Lofty’ Nash both sustained minor injuries. Dick Searles was involved in the search. “I was in a Sea Prince for general flying practice with ‘Dusty’ Milner. We tried to home in on ‘Oboe’ Jones’s SARBE but it was indicating somewhere over the sea. After landing the CO and I drove to the site. ‘Oboe’ was in the field where he had landed and, in one corner up against a wall, was the remains of the aircraft.” The last AS-style Gannets in service were a handful of COD.4s and T.5s with 849 Squadron, which continued to support the AEW.3 fleet [see Chapter Seven] until the retirement of Ark Royal, with the squadron disbanding on 15 December 1978.

CHAPTER THREE

SEA HAWK, SEA VENOM AND SUEZ In addition to their roles as air-defence fighters, both the Sea Hawk and Sea Venom had substantial attack capabilities. Their effectiveness was amply demonstrated, especially during Operation Musketeer over Suez in 1956.

HAWKER SEA HAWK The Sea Hawk entered service in 1954 and was instantly popular with those who flew it. After its major role in Operation Musketeer it continued in front-line service until 1960, and with second-line units until 1969. A single example was later refurbished to fly with Yeovilton’s Historic Flight. It is currently stored awaiting Sea Hawk F.1 formation 898 Squadron, Brawdy, February 1956. (Adrian Balch collection) a return to airworthiness with Navy Wings. Operating units: 700, 703, 738, 764, 767, 781, 787, 800, 801, 802, 803, 804, 806, 807, 810, 811, 895, 897, 898, 899, 1832 Squadrons, FRU, ‘C’ Squadron A&AEE. Embarked: Albion, Ark Royal, Bulwark, Centaur, Eagle and Illustrious (deck-landing practice). John Ford – pilot

John Ford.

“On 802 Squadron we were carefree young men, thrilled with our luck to be flying a fighter aircraft in a front-line squadron. As self-confidence grew, we walked tall, feeling far superior to other earthbound mortals. We rapidly became a team, brought together by good leadership and training, flying together, drinking together – there was little time for anything outside our narrow professional world. “This attitude gradually changed during the spring of 1956 as we learnt that President Nasser was threatening to nationalise the Suez Canal, a distant event thought unlikely to involve us. There seemed little reason for 53

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concern, but the tempo of training intensified. There were more frequent range sorties, as many as four or five a day, which tended to limit our evening entertainment. Each flight involved five or six dives at the target, pulling 5 ‘g ’ on recovery and by the end of a long day our enthusiasm to party was tempered by fatigue. “We all had very limited night-flying experience. The requirement now was to work up in a night-attack role. A response of ‘hang on a minute we didn’t join up for that’ got nowhere. There followed three weeks of intensive night-flying training. Firstly a couple of nights to become familiar with cockpit lighting and general aircraft handling in the dark. We then practised night dive bombing and strafing on Tain range. We started with a 30-mile transit over the sea which was flown entirely on instruments for there were no shore lights in this isolated part of Scotland – the next task was to find the range and identify the target. “Bombing tactics in a Sea Hawk called for a 45-degree dive, place the gunsight on the target, allow an offset for wind, keep a peripheral eye on the rapidly unwinding altimeter, and release the bomb at a predetermined height. This was followed by a steep pull-out to keep the aircraft clear of the expanding pattern of bomb splinters. Pointing an aircraft at the rapidly approaching ground while trying to do all the other necessary things to place a weapon in the desired place, was difficult enough in daylight. At night the degree of concentration and level of stress was immeasurably greater. Our target was illuminated by three small lights, in an otherwise totally black environment. Any pilot will tell of the danger of disorientation at night when focusing on a single light source. One pilot misread his altimeter while concentrating on the target and on pulling up saw his navigation lights reflected in the marshy pools below – his survival measured by a few feet! “Trials were conducted with a Gannet dropping flares over the target as the attacking Sea Hawk rolled into its dive. This illuminated the ground quite well but left the attacker pulling straight up into the light of a one-million candlepower flare, a totally blinding experience. One aircraft was reported overdue. Those in the air were ordered to search the area between Lossiemouth and the range, but nothing was found. A further search at first light spotted an oil slick off the coast – a naval launch recovering wreckage and a pilot’s helmet. A few nights later the same thing happened again, another young pilot losing his life. Both had almost certainly become disorientated and inadvertently flown into the sea. “In June we joined Bulwark off the Moray coastline to gain some further deck-landing experience. Although there had been immense improvement in deck-landing techniques, landing on still required a high degree of accurate flying. These early circuits were tense. Medical research showed heartbeat rates of 150 per minute as common during the final 30 seconds of an approach, together with rapid eye movement. By July the international situation had deteriorated and all three services were ordered to mobilise in face of the Egyptian situation. The squadron was told to prepare to embark Albion on 15 September, the ship being hurriedly brought forward from refit.



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“Three carriers, Eagle, Bulwark and Albion had worked up together off Malta, sometimes in co-coordinated operations. On Monday 29 October this force was ordered to sea on ‘exercise’ and set off eastwards. The ‘exercise’ story was wearing thin and everyone was excited and curious about our mission. We heard of numerous clashes on the border between Israeli and Egyptian forces in which Israel seemed to be the aggressor. Discussion in the crew room centred around which side Britain might support. News reached us later that day that Israeli forces had crossed the border into the Sinai Peninsula. Long afterwards the world learnt of a conspiracy between Britain, France and Israel, who colluded to provide an excuse for Britain and France to invade and recapture the Suez Canal. “On 30 October all aircrew were called to a briefing. A solemn-faced commander (air) announced that from midnight we would be at war and that offensive operations were to commence against Egypt at first light the following morning. Our carrier force objective was to neutralise the Egyptian air force by attacking its bases, and destroying aircraft on the ground. We were astonished that the British government intended to invade a sovereign country with which we had a long tradition of friendship. It was to be an almost pre-emptive strike; the Egyptians were to be given an ultimatum lasting only a few hours. This required them to cease hostilities against Israel, withdraw from the canal, and allow British and French forces to occupy the area. It seemed unbelievable that Britain should conduct an offensive campaign without first taking alternative steps. “We left briefing somewhat shaken by the morality of what was being ordered, but of course tense and excited by the prospect of combat. Some of us went back to our cabins and solemnly wrote out letters ‘to be opened in the event of my death’. Later that day a broadcast recalled all aircrew to the briefing room. Commander (air) announced that the operation was off. We were to forget everything said earlier and, under the terms of the Official Secrets Act, never to reveal anything about the events of that morning. An impossible demand! It was all ‘on’ again next morning! We never knew what twist of diplomatic activity caused this extraordinary sequence of events. “Aircrew had to rapidly prepare for the mission, much too short a time for efficient planning. We were given a khaki uniform and a revolver which somehow had to fit into a narrow cockpit. Any threat to the enemy from this weapon was potentially less than the danger to its owner, as few of us had experience in firing one. The intelligence staff gave an assessment of the capability of the Egyptian air force, and the country’s anti-aircraft defences. From the beginning of 1956 the Soviets had started supplying Egypt with about 100 MiG-15s, together with Russian and Eastern bloc pilots and maintenance staff. The MiG had superior performance to the Sea Hawk and Sea Venom in level speed, and particularly rate of climb. Their best tactic would be to dive at high speed, attacking our formations from above before breaking off and climbing away. The Sea Hawk, with its straight wing, had a better turning performance meaning that MiGs would not stay and dogfight. We had only

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one pilot in the squadron with combat experience. Senior Pilot Paddy McQueen had flown Sea Furies in Korea and was much sought after to answer questions about the MiG and give advice on tactics. “A prime factor in trying to assess the threat was the level of pilot proficiency, how determinedly they might defend their airfields, and the likely serviceability of their aircraft. Sea Hawk FB.3 Z-109 800 Squadron Albion having Suez stripes painted on in 1956. Pilot experience was unlikely to be high due to the limited period these aircraft had been in Egypt although some very brave and capable Egyptian pilots had appeared during previous clashes with Israel (there were rumours that Russian and Eastern bloc pilots might take part). Serviceability was thought to be likewise low. The Egyptian air force had also received about 30 Il-28 bombers from Russia, with a performance rather less than the Canberra. “Escape maps were issued with advice to memorise certain grid reference points to where, if forced to eject over Egyptian territory, aircrew should make their way. We were told that escape and survival stores had been hidden there, and aircrew could expect to be rescued. This all seemed very dubious. After the conflict it became known that this plan was only the result of somebody’s fertile imagination! Lastly we were given a sealed plastic envelope containing five golden sovereigns, as ‘goolie’ money, to buy off any sadist Egyptian looking to castrate the unfortunate who had inadvertently landed in his country. Instructions concerning handling of these sovereigns and the dire consequences of losing them (court martial offence), were the most forcefully stressed items in the briefings. Such are priorities in service life!” Wednesday 31 October “The carrier group was now in the eastern Mediterranean some 60/70 miles north of the Egyptian coastline. The war situation was still uncertain but the force was prepared to defend itself against surprise attack. I took off at 10:45 leading a section of two Sea Hawks, guns loaded, for CAP (combat air patrol) duties. As we climbed away the whole fleet appeared spread out below, three carriers surrounded by a ring of destroyers and frigates, their wakes twisting and turning around the major ships. This was for anti-submarine protection as the Egyptian navy had some elderly submarines. “Both our aircraft were fitted with F-24 reconnaissance cameras. Suddenly the air defence room controller ordered us to fly a specific heading, for a certain distance, and photograph the harbour which would appear. On no account were we to come closer than 12 miles to the coastline. This seemed a strange moment to be



Sea Hawk, Sea Venom and Suez57

concerned about international niceties considering that Britain was to attack Egypt the following day. It was also impractical as our oblique cameras would hardly produce an image at that range. The target was Alexandria harbour and we set off in high hopes of being the first UK carrier aircraft to take part in a semi-operational sortie. It was not to be as both cameras were found to be unserviceable, also a recall followed before sighting land. “The next excitement came with orders to intercept and identify a radar detection of aircraft closing with the force. At the end of a long chase two USN Banshees were sighted turning and climbing away – a US carrier task force was operating close to the north of our area. This was the start of continual harassment by its aircraft, confusing the air defence picture, and resulting in many wasted interceptions to ensure that none of the radar contacts were Egyptian bombers approaching the fleet. This was a deliberate policy to interfere and threaten British forces, as the US became more aggressive in its demand that Britain and France should back off from attacking Egypt. Later in the day the British government issued an ultimatum to the Egyptians, due to expire at midnight, and as it was inconceivable that President Nasser would agree to its terms, hostilities would commence at first light.” Thursday 1 November “Alarms sent the ship’s company to dawn action stations. Aircrew were crammed into the briefing room for last-minute intelligence and operational orders. The ultimatum had been rejected and it was ‘Go’. Almaza airfield, an operational base for MiG fighters, was Albion’s target for the first strikes – about 80 miles inland and 130 miles from the ship. Not being scheduled to fly in the first attack I went on deck to watch launch preparations. Shaded lights moved in darkness as last-minute checks were made on the aircraft. The ship was steaming downwind to get into position for the launch. All was very quiet with only fitful puffs of wind blowing cold across the deck from off a dark sea. There was just a hint of a horizon foreshadowing the dawn. Aircrew were already strapped in their cockpits, heads visible as faint shapes against the sky. “The deck began to vibrate as Albion started to turn into wind and increase speed. A sense of urgency rippled through the flight deck crews. ‘Stand clear of intakes and jet pipes, start the jets.’ The command on the tannoy was closely followed by the roar of cartridge starters, and a rising crescendo of noise. Aircraft began to waddle forward, belly lights reflecting from the deck, wings spreading, as each marshaller’s wand directed them forward towards the catapult. A green light appeared from FlyCo to start the launch. The first Sea Hawk’s engine wound up to a painful scream, navigation lights came on and seconds later it was hurled into the darkness. Another took its place. Soon the sound of the formation faded into the distance as the first pale flush of light spread across the eastern horizon. “Our mood was one of high tension and excitement. Everyone expected the Egyptian air force to come up and fight, and wondered how we would react to

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combat, so different from the hours training in war games. Evidence from World War 2 suggested that a pilot new to combat was pretty ineffective until he had put a number of missions behind him. FAA aircrew were well trained and had much more flying experience than those who fought in the Battle of Britain. It seemed unlikely that Egyptian pilots would be any better prepared, so we were fairly confident and ready for the test. Those returning from the first strike were immediately surrounded – we were eager to hear how they had got on. They were full of stories of attacking many MiGs, Meteors and Vampires on the ground, but no MiGs appeared in the air. “The next mission was also against Almaza. As a junior pilot I was to fly No.4 in a section led by George Black RAF. We launched at 11:55 and as we climbed to 15,000 feet the coastline soon appeared out of the haze. Everyone was jumpy, constantly scanning the sky above and behind, straining to catch a glimpse of silver wings in the sun. The Nile Delta, shaped like a wine glass, lay below, stem pointing at Cairo. The land was lush and green but beyond the fertile perimeter a grey desert stretched away into the distance. Soon Cairo came into sight, then the pyramids standing out against the pale desert. “Almaza appeared on our starboard side, peaceful in the sun. The leading Sea Hawk tipped over into a dive; we followed, sights switched on and finger hovering over the firing button. No advance intelligence had been available to help identify where aircraft might be hidden. In a short dive it was difficult to visually search the whole airfield and identify the prime target – any MiG. In a few seconds the Sea Hawks ahead were firing, smoke and cartridge links trailing behind them. I saw a group of aircraft dispersed between two runways, and opened fire at about 4,000 feet. My cannon shells chased across the sand before cutting through the tail of a Fury, which collapsed in dust and debris. The pull-out was dangerously low. “Our four aircraft soared upwards and round in a tight turn to come in for a second firing run. I found another Fury with a figure running away falling flat on the ground as my shells exploded all round his aircraft. Suddenly we were going home at 430 knots low level. The silhouettes of our aircraft rose and fell as each followed the contours of the ground. We leapt over canals, and below the level of tall lateen sails. White-robed figures jumped for safety from their donkeys. The countryside looked incredibly poor, mud villages and straw huts, each dominated by a tall white minaret. At the coast the flight pulled up from low level – there was a sudden relief of tension; our first operational mission complete and nobody lost. “Photo reconnaissance later discovered some MiGs hidden in corners of the airfield which we had not seen – probably unserviceable aircraft. After the first attack most of the MiGs had been flown away to the south of the country. Our afternoon task was to attack aircraft on the ground at Inchas airfield, but it was deserted with just a few burnt-out wrecks. One of the gun pits put up a few rounds but I never saw where the shells went. Our leader then took us to Bilbeis, the Egyptian equivalent of Cranwell, where about 80 Harvards and Chipmunks were dispersed round



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the field. We had a great time. It was like being on the range at home, except the targets were real aircraft which blew up with satisfying gouts of flame. Our cannon shells would occasionally ricochet off concrete, bouncing glowing balls arcing lazily into the air.” Friday 2 November “Action stations at 04:00 and bleary-eyed aircrew made their way to the briefing room. The first mission was to Helwan, an airfield 20 miles south of Cairo. This was to be a long flight with only enough fuel for a short stay over the target. We launched at 07:45 again crossing the coast at 15,000 feet. As we flew deeper into enemy country it was instinctive to listen for any change in engine note, glancing frequently at the instruments for hints of trouble. We were going too far inland for any chance of helicopter rescue. Helwan appeared ahead as we skirted round Cairo. There were no aircraft to be seen on the ground so we strafed the hangars and control tower. “Another sortie launched in the afternoon. We followed 800 Squadron Sea Hawks, armed with rockets, for a strike on Camp Huckstep a major vehicle and tank storage depot. On approaching the target at 7,000 feet we saw ahead, in some disbelief, shells bursting in the sky near the leading formation. Egyptian gunners were reacting at last and had moved AA guns into protective positions near the camp. Moments later we were in the thick of quite heavy AA fire, larger black bursts from the heavier shells interspersed with smaller puffs from 40-mm calibre weapons. It was all quite accurate and most of the explosions close to our height. I twice flew through the dispersing cloud of smoke from a near shell burst. Lines of orange tracer curved slowly up, before accelerating past. One’s stomach muscles contracted and subconsciously I tried to curl up in the cockpit to present a smaller target. Paddy McKeown, our leader, commenced a defensive weave through 2,000 feet before turning in to attack. “The camp was already burning, and ragged black smoke obscured some of the lines of parked vehicles. Strings of glowing tracer came snaking up towards us. Suddenly we were diving and firing back, striving to hold the vibrating gunsight steady on a group of vehicles, while keeping the other aircraft in sight. This was the first exposure to anti-aircraft fire for most of us – a new and uncomfortable piece of combat experience. In a strange way the fact that the Egyptians were now fighting back made our actions feel more justified. The English sense of fair play perhaps. “By the end of operations on the second day there had been no reports of enemy aircraft coming up to challenge British or French air strikes. All flights over Egypt continued to be on the defensive, followed a certain lowering of guard as the days went by. We learnt afterwards that Nasser had decided not to oppose us in the air, but to safeguard his air force for the future with all front-line aircraft flown south beyond our reach.”

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Saturday 3 November “Albion was ordered to detach from the force and steam north to refuel and take on ammunition from the fleet ‘train’. This was a welcome respite for aircrew, time to assess the actions of the past two days, and to reconsider tactics. The carrier returned to the operating area by nightfall.” Sunday 4 November “It was hard to believe this was the Sabbath, walking to briefing at 03:30 while strapping a revolver round my waist. The launch at 05:50 was for another strike on Almaza. 800 Squadron went ahead to drop 500-lb bombs aiming to destroy the hangars. Each exploded with a bright flash raising tall columns of black and white smoke. It appeared there were several hits but subsequent reconnaissance proved most bombs had detonated on the hard-standings. This was a common error under combat stress to let speed control get out of hand causing the bombs to fall beyond the intended impact point. “Then it was our turn with our cannon shells exploding on the hangar roofs, and brightly glowing anti-aircraft shells coming in the opposite direction. When pulling away from a target it was practice to ‘tell off’, each pilot calling his number in the formation to confirm all were safe. Nothing was heard from Sub-Lt Clarke flying as No.4. Orders were never to turn back towards a disturbed target area, and in any case fuel was short. It seemed he must have been hit. There was low-lying mist over the Delta and at 100 feet our aircraft were going through banks of undulating moisture. An aircraft could be seen in the rear-view mirror slowly overtaking us. Our first reaction was caution that it might be the enemy, but as it caught up it was identified as Clarke’s Sea Hawk. His canopy had been shattered – his muffled voice only just audible on the radio. Shrapnel from a 40-mm shell bursting above his head penetrated the cockpit, making a hole in his helmet; the aircraft became momentarily uncontrollable. Later, when he removed his helmet in the crew room, a piece of metal fell out of his hair! “At 09:05 we were on our way to Almaza again, this time to strafe ahead of four rocket-armed aircraft from 800 Squadron. Photographic interpreters had picked out a battery of heavy AA guns with associated radar aerials close to the airfield. We all had difficulty identifying the gun pits. I caught sight of a tripod predictor, and opened fire with cannon, watching the shells burst across the area. As the formation could not turn away sharply enough, we flew low over Cairo airport – no attack was permitted here because of the presence of international commercial aircraft. However it was well defended and tracer came from my starboard side and travelling nearly horizontal, burst on the ground just in front of me. “The last sortie of the day launched at 13:25 to provide cover for a photo-reconnaissance flight over Almaza. The CO flew straight and level over the airfield at 10,000 feet pursued by some rather desultory flak – presumably discouraged



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by our earlier attack. On the way home the sparkle of one gun firing at me from a small olive grove received a swift burst of 20-mm cannon in reply.” Monday 5 November “This was the day of the planned airborne drop on Gamil, an airfield east of Port Said, and the start of the Allied landings intended to recapture the Suez Canal. Everybody wanted to be in the air to witness the paratroopers jump. Our launch at 06:20 was to provide CAP for the fleet. From our station above the fleet we could see condensation trails way to the north and the occasional glint of sunlight on a wing; this was high cover for the aircraft carrying the paratroops. Towards the end of our patrol a long straggling procession of transport aircraft appeared low over the water. They were homing into (overhead) a headquarters ship positioned off the coast. We followed their track to the ‘overhead’ and onwards towards Gamil to drop the paras, but had to return to Albion to make our ‘Charlie’ time. “The second mission of the day was dull – protection for helicopters returning to the fleet from shore bringing back the first army casualties. The final mission at 15:15 allowed us our first chance to fly over Port Said catching up with action ashore. British airborne troops had encountered sharp resistance at Gamil but having seized the airfield were now pushing on into the outskirts of Port Said. Several Egyptian counterattacks had been repulsed by aircraft and ground fire whilst any trucks found moving on the roads were promptly attacked. The Allies had complete command of the air – a decisive factor in the support of army operations. “Forward air controllers (FAC), with the advancing troops, were calling in air strikes to clear Egyptian opposition ahead of the commandos. Above the city large numbers of aircraft, including French navy Corsairs, milled about eagerly waiting to be given a target. My leader sighted a rather doubtful-looking motor torpedo boat which we attacked with cannon shells leaving it burning. The FAC called us in to attack buildings in a closely packed part of town where Egyptian troops were holding up the advance. This was a scary job – correct target identification was vital because friendly soldiers were close by on the other side of the street. Two firing runs shattered some tin-roof shacks where the enemy was holding out. A tragic accident occurred when a British patrol was fired on by friendly aircraft, causing casualties.” Tuesday 6 November “There had been talk of an overnight ceasefire, however Egypt withdrew from the negotiations, leaving the planned main seaborne landing to go ahead. Off again at 05:20 into darkness, an experience to which we were becoming more accustomed. As we climbed up to CAP stations the sky lightened in the east. Spread out below us was a fleet of numerous vessels; landing ship tanks (LSTs) and transport ships unloading tiny assault craft, circling round like little water beetles. Destroyers started bombarding the landing beaches to clear the way for the assault. Their

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bright gun flashes out at sea where it was still dark low down, sent shells towards the shore, which were seen by us circling high overhead as slow-moving red balls. We could not stay to see the landing, as we were running out of time, but watched the assault craft spread out and start their run for the beach. Before John Ford’s Sea Hawk FB.3, WM995 leaving all fighters made a final ‘heads down’ Z-138, 802 Squadron HMS Albion strafing run along the shore by the holiday on 6 November 1956 with damaged beach huts. As I pulled up from low level a drop tank. (John Ford) destroyer’s broadside exploded in the shingle close alongside throwing up a tall column of dirt and smoke. “By the time I was airborne again the initial landing phase was over; the first of the LSTs were alongside in harbour discharging tanks, trucks and stores. We carried out an armed recce down the canal – our first sight of the famous waterway, with abandoned merchant shipping lying at the point where the water divides. We spotted many army lorries and Bren gun carriers on the roads near El Qantara, and made a series of attacks. Soldiers fired back with machine guns and rifles. Suddenly there was a jolt at the bottom of one dive followed by vibration through the airframe. The first concern was possible engine damage, but thankfully it ran on normally with no unexpected indications on the instruments. My wingman closed in to make a visual inspection and said the forward section of the starboard drop tank was missing, it had been struck by a bullet or small shell. Drop tanks were always emptied first so there was no problem of fuel shortage. The subsequent landing was uneventful. “The last sortie of the day at 16:30 was another reconnaissance along the coast to the west. Seeing no military activity we turned back to Port Said. The town was burning in a dozen places, flames bright in the gathering dusk. A dark column of smoke from damaged oil tanks spread out by the inversion into a malignant cloud. Further down the canal the twinkling lights of cooking fires gave away the position of Egyptian army units, hidden in small woods, where many vehicles had been spotted earlier. These were quickly extinguished as we dived to attack in the fading light. It was fully dark by the time we returned to Albion, with the unwelcome prospect of a night deck landing to complete a very eventful day. Fatigue and stress were beginning to affect everyone. This was my ninth operational sortie from the carrier in three long days. All seemed well with the approach – we hit the deck with the usual heavy impact – then no sharp drag on the shoulder straps! Seconds later we shot off the end of the deck into darkness. A radio call from the landing safety officer (LSO) ‘No arrestor hook’ explained everything – undercarriage and flaps had been lowered, as part of the usual cockpit check, but not the hook. The next approach and landing were happily incident free.”



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Wednesday 7 November “It was Albion’s turn to leave the fleet to replenish fuel and ammunition. We all expected to return to the battle the following day. However, hectic diplomatic activity behind the scenes with extreme pressure from the US and the Soviets threatening to bring in reinforcing aircraft, all led to a UN-brokered ceasefire. This was the end of a short, hectic period of operations. Defensive CAPs, guns loaded, continued to be flown during daylight but the pressure was now off. Eagle and Bulwark were released to return to Malta for maintenance and leave, while Albion stayed on guard off the Egyptian coast. “The next weeks at sea were a complete anti-climax. Some routine flying continued to keep everyone in practice before returning to Malta just before Christmas. It was particularly galling to read in the newspapers’ dramatic stories of how the RAF had confronted the Egyptian air force and provided support for the army, giving the impression that it alone had scoured the skies over Egypt. No media mention of FAA involvement appeared until long afterwards. The Admiralty had completely failed to understand how important it was to publicise the activities of its service, and the skills of its personnel. Morale and recruitment, as well as the navy’s claim on future government finance, much depended on public recognition and awareness. “While hostilities were in progress there had been little opportunity to give thought to what we had been asked to do, the morality or strategic purpose of the government’s plan. After the first shock of being ordered to attack Egypt we were too busy and tired to do more than get on with the job. The politicians had colluded with France and Israel in a devious and unrealistic plan, with no concept of the fury and antagonism that its action would provoke. The final ignominy of giving in and retreating from Egypt was a defining moment in the decline of British prestige and influence throughout the world – and a bitter blow to the morale of the services. “The knowledge that I had almost certainly killed people, probably including civilians caught up in events of which they had little understanding, in a cause hard to justify, stayed with me long afterwards as a significant and distressing recollection. Collateral damage later became the euphemistic expression to describe civilian casualties in war. “However, as a professional military person I would not have missed it for the world. It is an interesting observation that politicians often seem keen to give another nation a bloody nose, while experienced senior military people urge caution. The drama, excitement, adrenalin highs and tensions of combat flying proved this to be an episode in my life which remains a vivid memory.” Nigel Anderdon – pilot “Before Suez in 1956, as a junior pilot in my first front-line squadron, we practised Glow worm attacks with Sea Hawks. One Venom was joined by three or four Sea Hawks over the ship and then set out in loose formation. At 20-25 miles the Venom called the range and heading to the target and when to break away.

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The Venom accelerated, fired the Glow worm flare and then turned to be on the end of the Hawks’ queue. They had separated and then attacked, strafing with 20 mm, a little easier than correct entry, dive angle, speed and release heights for RP (rocket projectile) or bombs. The Venom strafed last. “After attacks all aircraft flew at a moderate speed on a pre-determined return heading with nav lights on. The Venom at the back, using lights and radar, collected up each aircraft in turn to formate on it. When all were gathered, we returned to the ship, which we found by radar, re-joining into a break pattern for the Sea Hawks to separate before landing. The day fightNigel Anderdon. ers had been flying in formation for most of the sortie until about three or four minutes before landing on at night, which they didn’t like. We did a number of Glow worm exercises. One night I fired four and carried out three strafing attacks on Eagle’s splash target in 90 seconds.” John Ford “In the more relaxed days of naval aviation it was sometimes possible to take an aircraft away for the weekend. This was a much-enjoyed concession especially when serving at a distant airfield in Scotland and concerned about the waning affections of your southern girlfriend. If you had been good, and approached the boss tactfully, you could be lucky. Permission granted it was necessary to get airborne after the day’s work, and before the airfield closed at 17:00 on Fridays. No time for all that stuff about pre-flight and navigation – just kick the tyres, light the fire and blast off. “The Sea Hawk was a delight to fly, cruising at Mach 0.7 with enough range to comfortably reach the south of England. It did not, however, have any navigation equipment and only one VHF radio. The designer had also failed to take into account the need for a suitable stowage for the pilot’s dinner jacket. This had to be screwed up into a tight package, protected by a bin liner, and put into the radio bay. When it emerged on landing, more often than not, it was somewhat oil-stained. “Soon at 30,000 feet, on track 180 degrees, call up one of the military radar stations, ‘Thanks Border Radar – just give me a steer to Bovingdon in Hertfordshire, that will do nicely.’ Bang down at Bovingdon (a joint RAF and American transport airfield), taxi rather fast to give them a bit of a show, and watch mouths open as the wings fold passing the tower. “Back early on Monday morning it was time to get the aircraft home for the daily task at Lossiemouth. All naval pilots were qualified to sign (QS) for first-line servicing so they could turn the aircraft around away from base. Everything still seemed to be in the same place, but hang on a moment – what’s this? Three small gauges up in the nose gear bay, and one needle is at zero. Don’t seem to remember



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ever having seen them before, but it looks as if the ‘bird’ needs some air. Help in the shape of a massive USAF sergeant arrives, and shortly afterwards he returns towing a trailer with large air bottles. We connect up and give him the OK to turn on the tap. Immediately there is a loud explosion and a cloud of smoke and dust surrounds the aircraft. Bad news, the inflatable rubber cockpit seal has split from end to end. Wrong sort of air! It obviously doesn’t like 3,000 psi. “On the way home at height, with the weekend hangover not helped by lack of cabin pressurisation, it is time to consider the consequences. No more weekends – a dismal prospect. Try a confident saunter into the line shack to sign off the A700. ‘Sorry Chief, bloody thing just blew up on me at 30,000 feet.’ Could anything so incompetent ever happen in a professional naval air squadron? Obviously yes, but perhaps when the stakes are high being economical with the truth is justified?” Mark Thomson – pilot “In the early 1960s the Soviet navy’s Sverdlov-class cruisers were thought to be formidable and a danger to our carriers. Naval intelligence concluded that their anti-aircraft guns could only elevate to 75 degrees. A 75-degree dive-bombing attack profile was therefore devised which entailed climbing to 7,500 feet over the cruiser. We would roll inverted with airbrakes out to quickly establish what we hoped would be a 75-degree dive down to a bomb release height of 4,500 feet. A very strong two-handed pull was required to recover from this awesome high- Mark Thomson. speed dive. We were scared rigid levelling out at high speed just above the sea, and the bombing results were usually wildly inaccurate. Pulling out of such a steep fast dive was hard work with the manual elevator, and utterly terrifying! I clearly remember a few times when I thought I would not pull out. Thank God we rarely practised it!” The Sea Hawk equipped several aerobatic display teams as former solo display pilot and team member Brian Toomey recalls.

Brian Toomey.

“In those days a solo display pilot had to abide by minimum rules, and could start his display by arriving fast, low and noisy flying towards the crowd, to wake them up! Then in a ten-minute slot he could bring about the maximum of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’. “The 738 Squadron aerobatic team in 1957 was known as the ‘Red Hawks’, although some people say

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it was the ‘Red Devils’. The aircraft’s red colour predated the full-time ‘Red Arrows’ by seven years. The 1958 800 Squadron team had switch on/off red, white, and blue smoke – another first. The ‘Red Hawks’ were a great (part-time) team comprising Lt Cdr ‘Spiv’ Leahy, Lt Cdr Tom Leece (SP), Lt Colin Casperd, Lt Brian Wilson and myself. The soloist Lt Cdr Dennis Kelly was killed in rehearsal at Ford, and Lt Terence Bourke replaced him.” Kelly’s accident occurred on 26 August 1957 when his aircraft (XE381) failed to recover from a loop and crashed at Arundel railway junction. Brian Toomey continues. “The 1958 team was a much tougher challenge. 800 Squadron, commanded by Pete Perrett, embarked Ark Royal for the Mediterranean. In May the CO was told to provide as large a team as possible for Farnborough, because the RAF had a nineplane team. Many of our pilots had never flown any serious formation aerobatics, and certainly not in a large team with formation changes thrown in. We did some training in Malta and Libya, and during sorties from Ark, arriving home in July for more intensive training at Brawdy. The maintenance crews were critical as ever in ensuring we always had the right aircraft serviceable. “On the preview day at Farnborough, all went well, and we carried out a nineplane formation landing – a first at Farnborough, and something the ‘Red Arrows’ avoid as they think it’s too dangerous – they’re right! Then on the first display day, in front of a huge crowd, and going vertically up in the first loop, No.7 (David Pentreath) calmly told No.4 (Roger Dimmock) that he was on fire. The leader was superb. Finishing the loop, and arranging for No.4 to extricate himself from the middle of the formation, we switched to a seven-plane display, and completed our ten minutes. We were under strict orders ‘not to make a mess at Farnborough’, so Dimmock, whose very new wife was watching, flew to nearby Blackbushe in a blazing aircraft and ejected, breaking a leg in the process. The fire was caused by using coloured smoke. A fuel tank above the engine had been gradually rotted by the mixture of oil and colouring chemicals which flowed on to the hot engine. We did not discover the cause until after Farnborough, so carried on smoking throughout the week! “In April 1960 I ‘borrowed’ a Sea Hawk from Lee-on-Solent. It was the Admiral’s Barge and the only green Sea Hawk around. I decided to pop over to HMS Dauntless, Burghfield (Reading), where my fiancée Mary was a Wren. As it was in the London Air Control Zone, advance permission was required to enter their airspace, but the sight of a hundred or so Wrens, fallen in on the parade ground was too much for a pilot madly in love. I gave them a short, vigorous, low-level display, stopping the parade in its tracks. Subsequently, I was threatened with a court martial, which would have ruined our October wedding!”



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Terry McDonald – radio and radar “In 1960 an Indian Navy Sea Hawk squadron visited Lossie for training from the carrier Vikrant in the Moray Firth. Whilst they were with us, they crunched a wingtip panel. One of their mechanics squatted down in the corner of the hangar and started to panel beat the damage; we stopped him and told him to get a new one from stores – he said, ‘Oh I can’t do that my country is very poor’. We took one from stores and gave it to him. You have never seen such gratitude; he couldn’t do enough for us. “One chap came to us and said, ‘I am wanting some aluminium’. One of the lads went to the workshops and brought him back a billet. He too squatted down in the corner of the hangar and worked on it for several days making a new quick release buckle for his aircraft to replace a faulty one. He was given a new one from Safety Equipment, again received with gratitude which we found quite touching. The galley put a curry on for them once a week – they found our normal diet quite overwhelming.”

DE HAVILLAND SEA VENOM

Sea Venom FAW.21, WW221 V-461, 893 Squadron HMS Victorious in 1959. (Rob Faulkner)

Serving with the front line from 1954 until 1961, the Sea Venom’s principal role was as an all-weather fighter. As with many FAA types, it was multi-role and backed up its air-defence duties with ground attack, also earning its spurs in Operation Musketeer. It continued in service with 831 ECM Squadron until 1966, the last examples left the Air Direction Training Unit (ADTU) at Yeovilton in 1970. Operating units: 700, 736, 738, 766, 809, 831, 890, 891, 892, 893, 894 Squadrons. ADTU, FRU, FRADU. Embarked: Albion, Ark Royal, Bulwark, Centaur, Eagle and Victorious.

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John de Winton – pilot “809 Squadron formed at Yeovilton in May 1956. At that time our nine shiny new aircraft had no ejection seats – this was not ideal for a single-engine jet with a reasonably high landing speed and a wooden cockpit. Getting out in a hurry either meant turning upside down or bunting – not likely to be successful in the circuit. We had a busy summer working up in the interception role, plus a lot of ground-attack practice with RPs and cannon. In July we spent a week in Bulwark getting deck qualified, and in August our aircraft were replaced with new ones – with John de Winton. ejection seats! Our two RAF navigators were both found to be too long in the legs to safely eject and were returned to their service. “In September we embarked Albion, our home for the next six months, joining Eagle and Bulwark in the Malta area. We were aware that things were hotting up in the eastern Med and that we were likely to be involved. We remained at sea most of the time with a short period at Hal Far, which was chock-a-block with aircraft, stores and munitions. We did a lot of air-to-ground weaponry and army support exercises which were clearly preparing us for a land combat support role. “On 23 October 1956 our three carriers left the Malta area and sailed slowly east. We painted the aircraft with black and yellow wing stripes and our Gannet squadron disembarked to make more room. One could feel the tension rising as we listened to news reports of the increasingly sinister goings on in Eastern Europe with the Soviets massing on the Hungarian border. I don’t remember feeling we shouldn’t be doing this, much more that we were going to do what we had been trained for. “The carriers started offensive operations at dawn on 1 November. My first sortie was on CAP over the task force defending against any Egyptian air force attacks. Fifty minutes after landing I took off again in a four ’plane flight to attack aircraft on the ground at Inchas airfield. This had already been bombed by the RAF during the night and strafed by Sea Hawks an hour earlier. We fanned out and did one shallow run from the south – I got a good burst in on a MiG-15. There weren’t many aircraft to be seen as the serviceable ones had been flown south. (It was a sad co-incidence that the aircraft I flew on that sortie [XG672] ended up five years later in the drawing room of my thatched cottage in Yeovilton village. Sadly the Airwork pilot was killed after a failed take-off on the short runway.) “As the air threat was thought to be low, we didn’t do many CAPs after the first day, but we were concerned by the threat from E-boats at night. Another concern was the presence of the USN 6th Fleet. Their carriers kept well away but we were aware, and could see from high altitude that they were keeping a close eye on us. Their aircraft could have been flown by USN friends I had trained with not so long before. Most of my sorties were now ground attack on airfields. We were involved in cab rank sorties for the parachute landings at Gamil, and the fighting towards



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Port Said – softening up the beach defences as the seaborne landing came in. The oil tanks in Port Fuad had been set on fire and there was a sinister pall of black smoke over the whole area. There was a fair amount of flak around. Probably the most danger came from collision with other friendly aircraft, including the French Corsairs and RAF Venoms from Cyprus, with everyone trying to get in on the act. I remember sharing the feeling of frustration we all had at the ceasefire – but age, sense and knowledge of the underhand machinations of the government of the day, eventually made one realise what a disaster it had been. “It is worth noting that, despite accident problems with early Sea Venom squadrons, 809 did not have a serious accident, or lose an aircraft or individual during my 18 months – apart from the CO’s aircraft. This had a brake failure while being re-spotted on the deck with a naval airman in the cockpit, but he was swiftly rescued. This says much for the abilities and dedication of the squadron maintainers.” Mervyn Jones “The first squadron I went to (893) saw me crewed up with Lt Eric Palmer. I was literally thrown in at the deep end and had to learn very quickly as the senior officers in the squadron were very demanding. After some sea time on Victorious the squadron disbanded after a year and I joined 891 Squadron on Centaur. I had to fly out to Mombasa with Bob Jones, so Jones and Jones were the crew; Bob, when he retired from the navy, later went on to fly the island ferry routes in Scotland. “We did Operation Damon in western Aden; an air-support operation to attempt to put down a rebellion in the Radfan region. They gave us old-fashioned pistols with holsters that were not suitable for ejection, so I took some Bofors signal flares with me. These had stainless steel fins capable of cutting through jungle foliage and could reach a height of 750 feet; I reckoned this would be quite useful if one of the locals, incensed by our rocketing activities, came after me if I had to eject. Other guys were rumoured to have Sten guns broken into all sorts of bits and pieces in their pockets. Senior crews took most of the flights, so we only did about five or six – two less than what was required to get a medal! “We did an exercise on Dartmoor looking for the Royal Marines. We found them by flying very low, looking up to see their camouflaged location whilst they threw rocks at us. We had great fun, we were very low – we’d come over the top of the A30 and cars were swerving like anything as they saw us approaching. On one of the trips we intended to drop a little ‘gift’, with a mini parachute made from a drogue, on the Royal Marines. However because it would have to be stowed under the flaps, it would mean a flapless take-off. The CO got wind of it and, because we were on the short runway, we were forbidden. “When we took off there were a couple of Airwork pilots lined up behind us, also ready to take off and do their radar trips. When we returned to the airfield the condition was ‘black’ (runway closed). There was smoke coming from the end of the runway. One of the Airwork pilots had hit the deck during take-off, gone into

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893 Squadron’s Sea Venom aerobatic team in 1961 taken from Mervyn’s position. (Mervyn Jones)

a caravan and then into a cottage at the end of the runway near Yeovilton church – sadly the thatch came down and asphyxiated him. The squadron thought it was us who had gone in whilst disobeying the CO’s instructions. “The squadron aerobatic team was formed to support air shows throughout the country during Navy Air Days. We were in the No.4 ‘cinders’ position in the box of the formation of four. During a rehearsal over Merryfield, after a late-night party, the left-hand aircraft broke formation in the middle of the loop and swept through us all – we scattered. He was quite close as he drifted across – I remember looking at the oil stains underneath his aircraft – but happily he landed OK. The squadron was disbanded not long after that and I went onto the Sea Vixen conversion course.” John Sturgeon “At the FAA selection centre I accepted training as an observer. Having failed the first year at university in 1955 I was still obliged to do National Service and I thought that if they were coming to get me, I would rather be on an eight-year short-service commission in the Royal Navy. After serving on Skyraiders [see Chapter One] I trained at Yeovilton with pilot Gill Stanley, in the last operational Sea Venom squadron, 894. We embarked Albion in January 1960 to go to the Far East. “The air group urgently needed to work up carrier flying operations so next day we went to flying stations in the straits of Gibraltar. It was 08:00 and we were the second Sea Venom to launch [WW147]. The engine failed on the catapult and the aircraft was shot into the sea ahead of the carrier. Seeing the danger of running



Sea Hawk, Sea Venom and Suez71

over us the captain ordered hard-to-port, the ship swung over, and then hard-astarboard, and it swung back – missed us! All of this took about five seconds. “I had realised it was all going wrong as soon as we got to the end of the catapult. Gill didn’t have the control he was expecting. I could see the rev counter was unwinding – it should have been around 11,000 rpm, and the thrust wasn’t there. As Gill put his hand up to release the locking lever for the hood, I reached for the ejection seat handle. As the two seats operated quite separately and wouldn’t collide with each other, I went out before Gill – I wasn’t waiting around. “The procedure for launching a Sea Venom meant it was cocked up on the catapult and so the pilot couldn’t see ahead over the radome. He had to raise his seat to the full extent; if you had a long back your helmet was just touching the canopy. Observers lowered their seat to its full extent so they could reach back and get their hands on the ejection handle just above their head. The pilot’s handle was about halfway up his helmet – very difficult to pull if the top of his helmet was touching the hood. The hood had an explosive charge and was blown off before the seat ejected. Gill was still trying to lower his seat as I ejected, but the aircraft had hit the water and disintegrated around him. “The flight deck was about 60 feet above sea level, and you were meant to be above 200 feet in level flight for a low-level ejection to work. A drogue parachute pulled out first and should then deploy the main ’chute, but by that time I was in the water so it never fully deployed. Gill was still in his seat when the aircraft hit the water but he managed to inflate his life jacket. The ’plane guard helicopter picked him up and flew him to the RN Hospital in Gibraltar. I went past the ship down the starboard side and waved at a party of Wrens (from Gibraltar) who were observing from the ship’s island. They were probably thinking ‘does this happen every time?’ “On return the ’plane guard helicopter picked me up and put me back on board. The surgeon-commander asked me whether I would mind going down in the bomb lift (in an emergency, that was how they planned to get survivors to the sick bay). I thought that sounded a bit hairy and said I’d rather not, but he pulled rank on me. I had a sore back from the ejection – that was it. They had me down for flying in the afternoon. However the captain decided to head for Malta, where the aircraft were to disembark, and operate from Hal Far for a couple of weeks. Gill’s seat may have fired while he was in the water and the compression of his back was such that he was stopped from flying aircraft with ejection seats. He retrained on helicopters.”

CHAPTER FOUR

OTHER ASPECTS OF NAVY LIFE  OR ‘ALL WORK AND NO PLAY MAKES JACK A DULL BOY’

The navy’s renowned cartoonist ‘Tugg’ Wilson.

There is, of course, so much more to the FAA than the obvious ‘sharp end’ of flying and maintaining aircraft. In addition, there is a wide variety of other supporting roles both on land and at sea, but one thing they all have in common is the ability to both work hard and see the lighter side of service life. For everyone it all had to start with enlistment, whatever the eventual job, as airframe and engine mechanic Catherine Davies van Zoen explains. “In February 1967 my friend Sue asked if I would go into Bristol with her. She was in her smart new Wrens uniform, on her first short leave from HMS Dauntless, the Women’s Royal Naval Service’s training base. She had some papers to drop off at the recruiting office in town. While we were talking to the recruiting Wren officer a male commander came in, ‘Great shot, recruiting officer, new recruit in uniform and her friend asking about joining too!’ he exclaimed. “I assured him I had no intention of joining anything requiring a uniform – thank you very much. But he came back with his camera and said it would Catherine Davies van Zoen. just be a photo for Navy News. I agreed, he asked my name and we left. Imagine my horror to see the photo with the caption, ‘Miss Cathy Higgins interested in joining the Wrens too’, on the front page of the Bristol Evening Post a couple of days later! It must have been a slow week. Anyway, it worked because I applied to join. I was enlisted as a radio 72



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operator and went to Dauntless for initial training. After that I was off to Arbroath to train on their out-of-service aircraft. There were just two women and 14 men on our course, Mary was top and I came second, well we had to show the men that we could beat them at what they regarded as a male domain! I was posted to the Visiting Aircraft Section at Yeovilton and really enjoyed my time.”

A ‘CRAB’ WITH THE NAVY RAF airmen are universally called ‘Crabs’ by the navy, and those seconded to the FAA can suffer a good deal of ribbing – usually, but not always, good humoured. Master Air Electronics Operator Bob Barrett was one such. “I was on 42 Squadron RAF (Nimrods) when word got around that Hermes was changing role to become an ASW ship and the RN were looking for three volunteers to serve on loan with 814 Squadron at Culdrose as instructors. This would be the first Sea King squadron to be equipped with the Emerson AQA-5 sonobuoy system, as fitted in the Nimrod. I volunteered and was told that I would be joining with ‘Pip’ Witts (who had done a helicopter work-up on Tiger) and Dick Yates, a Nimrod AEO Bob Barrett. and our RAF boss. Our job, in addition to providing instruction, was to set up a HAAU (helicopter acoustic analysis unit) at Culdrose and onboard Hermes. For the latter we were given the former commando boss’s office, very small and mostly taken up by a desk. We did not need the desk, so we asked the dockyard crew to remove it. The job was quickly done by giving the desk a ‘float test’ over the side. “Our Sea King training started very quickly. We had to do the ‘dunker’ (evacuation from a submerged helicopter cabin) which was great fun if you enjoyed a swim, but a horror to those who did not like water. We did load lifting at Predannack, general lifting around Culdrose and some radar training off the coast. We worked up on RFA Engadine and joined the ship’s company for an exercise at Portland. Eventually we were considered ready to depart for some serious work down in the Mediterranean. “Life onboard was good, although our ‘suite’ was rather cramped to say the least. ‘Pip’ and I shared a cabin with two warrant officers (WOs) which was fine. The work-up continued and we completed an exercise with a rather ancient submarine, USS Nautilus, as the prime target. She was the first US nuclear submarine, a little noisy – but still quick. “The RN aircrew operating the AQA-5 were becoming quite positive about it. This was not the case for all of the squadron. The senior observer, Tony Bull, was a

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‘believer’ and a splendid man to work with. However we occasionally found ourselves up against a senior pilot who only believed in ‘pings’ (active sonar) – the bigger the better – thus announcing a presence to the underwater world. “Our jaunt around the Mediterranean was soon over, and it was back to Culdrose after the customary stop in Gibraltar where Dick brought out some spoof RAF Daily Orders. The first item on the sheet concerned the very honourable (to the navy that is) Top of the Rock running race. The order stated, ‘All RAF personnel who feel they would like to enter this race are advised to retire to their beds until the feeling passes over’. Copies went to ‘Pip’, myself and all the ‘wheels’ on board. Dick’s humour was not appreciated by many of the heads of departments. “I found some difficulty with the ‘language problem’, and various other customs. The executive officer (XO) took me aside one morning to tell me that ‘we’ did not whistle on board. Evidently whistling was the signal that supposedly started a mutiny somewhere, many years previously, and was therefore taboo. The squadron commander requested my presence and gave me a hard time about my flying logbook. I submitted it monthly for his signature in a manner which much displeased him. I used RAF style, which referred to him as OC 814 Squadron, and he very strongly assured me he was CO 814 Squadron and I was to make sure it did not happen again. “As for the different languages, customs etc., it was a bulkhead – not a wall! It was a deckhead – not a ceiling! Sit down in the mess for the loyal toast. Sailing (?) ships have low ‘deck heads’, so do not crash your head above. You have been warned. We were also supposed to understand the bugle calls which came over the tannoy – that was given a miss. Dick came up with his own list, but I think it might not have impressed the hierarchy if they had received copies. “We did another deployment, which as always required the dash to Gibraltar, but then headed west via Bermuda to Norfolk, VA. It was there that I met up with Tony Bull. He had been the senior observer on 814, but was now first lieutenant on Type 21 frigate Arrow. He asked if I would speak to their ops room about ‘Jezebel’ (AQA-5), so after we sailed to join an exercise I was transferred by ‘helo’ to Arrow for a couple of days. After returning to Hermes we finished up in sunny Mayport. Following some excellent golf and the totally necessary trip to Disneyworld we were inbound again, but back to Bermuda first. Here a working party had the task of tidying the old naval cemetery. I was told this was a regular occurrence for RN ships, and that a superb job was always carried out. “Onward and home – almost the end of my tour. I had a great time with 814 Squadron and I hope I appeared gracious when the ribbing was dished out. There was a lot to remember – fortunately most of it was fun. I did a presentation to Admiral Sir Terence Lewin and he said to me, ‘Well how are they treating you on board Mr Barrett?’ I replied, ‘Fine thank you, Sir.’ He then asked, ‘Do you think you should have joined the navy?’ I very quickly replied ‘No, never!’ He threw his head back laughing.”



OTHER ASPECTS OF NAVY LIFE  75

Wren (WRNS) Beverley McDermott was land based, serving all her time on one naval air station. “I was a radio operator in the communication centre at Yeovilton. Wrens’ quarters were rather dated, a long block accommodating 14 Wrens in each mess, tucked in behind the officers’ quarters on the outskirts of the base. It was quite a walk to the ‘commcen’. Invariably we had to salute officers coming in the main gate, and approaching their accommodation. Wrens joined the Naval Disciplinary Act (NDA) in the summer of 1977. Prior to that ratings only Beverley McDermott. saluted their immediate boss if he happened to be a fleet chief, and commanders and above. The morning of the NDA announcement was quite a busy time, for most of the walk to work we were saluting. Officers had to return the salute – fun if they were on a bike. “The chaps in the commcen took in an orange juice drink at night – there were only so many cups of tea one could drink over 14 hours. We used a Gestetner for duplicating signals. The fluid used in the duplication process was called Ormig, this mixed very nicely with the orange as it was alcohol based. Some of us literally ‘rolled out’ of the commcen in the morning. “We had a visit from Princess Anne when she was Commandant of the WRNS. I was on step lining duty when she stepped out of the aeroplane. I thought how lovely, I might get to meet her. She stepped out of the ’plane in her uniform and straight away we all looked down at her feet – she was wearing slippers! Seeing us look down, and not to attention, she realised what was wrong and went back to change into her court shoes. She thanked us all when she passed us – we had a laugh afterwards. Rosemary Saunders. “The Wrens had a super time at Yeovilton, we were a close-knit family. Being a specialised unit, it was very professional, and we were all mates – the memories live on. I’m glad I was in the Wrens during the 1970s and1980s. As I didn’t want to serve in ships I left.” Rosemary Saunders’ job at Brawdy was range assessor, another vital role

in support of flying operations.

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“I joined the WRNS in May 1955, a few months after my 18th birthday. After initial training at Dauntless two of us were sent to Lossiemouth to begin range assessor training. It was a completely different world for me, the wide-open spaces and huge skies, the great comradeship of the other Wrens, the pattern of the day. There were only three of us in the classroom and it wasn’t a bit like school. “Most of the Wrens slept in small cabins of about six to a room, but we were put in a large hut added to the end of the corridor. There were 12 of us, it was like the best of boarding school, lots of support over various love lives, advice on what to wear for a date, often lending things or mending at the last minute. We used to cover for each other, opening the window for latecomers, those on different shifts would keep the two bogie stoves going during the day. We cooked cheese sandwiches in the flames, and made tea with our hidden kettle. Outside the ‘Wrennery’ there were hundreds of men, everywhere you went, on the parade ground, just around the camp, we were hugely outnumbered. I wasn’t used to such crowds of men, but felt completely safe, even walking alone going to the NAAFI or library. We were one of them – a ‘Jenny Wren’. “The range assessor course was in two parts, first we learnt cine-assessing, looking at the film shot by pilots during air-to-air combat training. We studied the film being projected onto the screen beside us, and compared it to the shadow thrown alongside by a model of the aircraft being attacked. The tricky part was to move the model so that it exactly copied the image, then read off the angle of attack and the distance. By checking on charts, we could assess whether it would have been a hit or not. This was then recorded by our partner and plotted onto charts. “After four weeks’ training, we moved onto the link trainer section, which would be considered very primitive now. It was an aircraft cockpit mounted up on bellows. We got in and through headphones, followed instructions as if from the control tower – mostly for GCA. Then we had to learn to do the talk-down from the desk outside, with a moving pen over a map of the airfield. “We worked in pairs, in a darkened room, assessing the film from the pilots and making large charts. We also made lots of coffee, and talked to a steady stream of young men who seemed to gather in our section. We knitted whenever we had no work partner, with plenty of help from experienced knitters. I learnt lots of things very quickly. “After a year, I was drafted to HMS Ariel at Worthy Down for a few glorious summer months. Every day our little group of range assessors went by ‘tilly’ (a wartime utility vehicle) to the range hut where we took measurements of pilots’ angle of descent and took down hundreds of numbers very quickly. I still have to make a straight bottom to a ‘2’, rigid sides to a ‘4’ and close a ‘6’ completely – careless scrawl can produce a wide range of numbers to choose from. We worked from a hut on the edge of the airfield, taking down numbers over the telephone and plotting them on a chart, recording the success, or otherwise, of bombing runs over the sea. Not much else to do except read or knit – we spent more time



OTHER ASPECTS OF NAVY LIFE  77

sunbathing outside on the grass, miles from anywhere. “Luckily I was drafted to west Wales, first to HMS Harrier, Kete, with a daily hour’s journey to HMS Goldcrest, Brawdy and back. The squadrons used an airto-ground range for RP firing and practice bombs at Castlemartin, west of Tenby, and an air-to-sea range for RP firing, strafing and bombing offshore in St Brides Bay, where we had a range hut on the cliff at Druidston. “There was no accommodation for Wrens at Brawdy and there was no male equivalent to range assessors. But a few months later a new block was opened for the POs. The ground floor was sectioned off by a large door for our group. We were about six or seven with a Wren 3rd officer in charge who did not work with us. We were very much free agents with our meals provided in a small room. Of course we had been very seriously warned that any attention, or complaints, we would be sent back and spoil it for everyone else. We stuck to the letter of the law, were afraid to allow a man past the doorway after 18:00 – but found a very cosy outside cleaning cupboard which came in for a lot of use! We each had single cabins, which was an unheard-of luxury. We became a very close-knit group. Occasionally a sailor would stop in amazement and shout ‘legs’ at us. “An air station is like a small village and Brawdy was very spread out. As we used film for assessing, we were always next to and friendly with, the Photographic Section. They allowed us to use their lock-up toilet block, we had to go into their section, collect the key and lock ourselves in. “We had plenty of pilots visiting us, many we already knew. We mostly worked for front-line squadrons, I remember 892, 894, 897 and 899. One day I was persuaded to accompany another girl as a ‘chaperone’ to a village ‘hop’. She had been asked out by an old flame, both now engaged to other people, she needed it to look respectable and I was the only one available. I tried hard to get out of it, I had had enough of various boyfriends and was happy not to be matched up. “That was how I met Sandy Saunders, neither of us were very interested, we stayed casual friends for quite a while until I suddenly got a draft to Malta, the only foreign posting range assessors had. I was very torn about whether to accept it and risk this relationship fading away, we were getting on so well together. But when I told him about it, he was very enthusiastic, ‘You must go, of course, you would be stupid to lose such a chance.’ He seemed so keen I thought I might as well go as he was not very serious. Then he said, with such a look that I knew, ‘I’ll still be here when you come back’. “I went on embarkation leave, and then off to Malta with all new white kit. A few months later I was promoted to leading Wren. Life was much the same at work, although we had very little to do. The squadrons came and went, but did not do much air-to-air or air-to-ground practice, using the range at Filfla. Our range hut was at Delimara Point near Marsaxlokk, a fishing village. During the summer months we only worked a long morning, finishing at 14:00. This was just in time for lunch and a siesta, then sunbathing, possibly shopping in Valletta or going down to the

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basement of the ‘Wrennery’ where they held craft classes. I enjoyed making baskets and tray edges in basketwork. It was nice to have your hands in cold water. I also helped run the Wolf Cub pack, I loved being with children again. “In 1957 it was the beginning of the ‘British get out of Malta’ campaign. One day while doing nothing much at work, we were given a length of canvas and white paint and asked to write out ‘Stand back or we Fire’ in English and Maltese. I don’t think it was ever used but there was an unsettled feeling about. Stones were thrown at our transport and we had to go to work by bus in convoy. The average Maltese seemed as friendly as ever, and we were not really anxious. Sandy and I got engaged on my 21st birthday, then there was a crisis in Lebanon and my leave was cancelled. My first officer promised I would be on the first flight out. In the end I got a navy flight, arriving back just five days before the wedding. I managed to have my dress fitted and clothes bought in time. “We never regretted our time in the senior service and have much to be grateful for. It was my university of life.” Arriving in port, a carrier’s decks were lined by the ship’s company in ‘Procedure Alpha’. Mike Cole-Hamilton: “It was a sunny July morning as Centaur entered Gibraltar harbour. Aircraft lined up impeccably on the flight deck, ship’s company in white tops and shorts drawn up around the perimeter, and the Royal Marine Band playing ‘The March of the Mods’. Centaur had to turn 270 degrees to lie alongside the South Mole. The first 180 degrees went fine but now things got tricky. The ship was coasting toward the South Mole at very little speed, a tug had to bring her head around to starboard fairly quickly; the heaving line from forecastle to tug was clearly not connecting. We aircrew were lined up facing forward, just aft of the round-down, at the bow. We could see the South Mole steadily approaching, and the top of the tug’s mast moving from side to side, accompanied by a flow of language from the forecastle beneath us. “The South Mole was now below the edge of the flight deck and some of us began shuffling nervously – if Centaur hit the Mole, she’d take some stopping, and we were liable to be pitched forward over the edge! In fact, the entire (largely unsuspecting) ship’s company would be in considerable disarray, Procedure Alpha wouldn’t look good. “The language from below reached a hysterical pitch – then suddenly went quiet as the bow began to swing to starboard. As everyone began to relax, a wonderful, rich, strong, deep Londoner’s voice came up from the tug ‘Ere! You wanter see a doctor abaht that marf of yours!’ Mild hysteria all round.” Donald Sellers served for six years as an air mechanic at home and abroad. In that time he had a very wide variety of jobs.



OTHER ASPECTS OF NAVY LIFE  79

“I went to Yeovilton for six months training to become an air mechanic (engines). Working on worn-out Seafires and Fireflies we were taught to maintain and fit aircraft engines. On 29 January 1947 I qualified as an AM (E) 2nd class. I then went to Lee-on-Solent, the main depot for naval air ratings, then off to Ford where I stayed until October. “Ford was used mainly by second-line squadrons engaged in service trials for new aircraft, plus fleet support. My responsibilities were the servicing and maintenance of any of the aircraft based there. First-line servicing comprised fuelling, daily and before-flight inspections, simple repairs, replacing time-expired parts and simple adjustments. Second-line servicing involved minor inspections, engine changes, major component replacements, etc. The units at Ford had a Donald Sellers. variety of aircraft. 720 Squadron used Ansons as flying classrooms for photographic training and communications. The Anson was a reliable aircraft and we mechanics enjoyed working on it, often hitching a ride for post-maintenance checks. “The Heavy Twin Conversion Unit, 762 Squadron, operated Mosquitos. It was not just training to fly a twin-engine aircraft, the art of carrier deck landing also had to be learnt. To aid this the airfield had markings on the runway to represent the arrestor cables on a carrier deck. Pilots carried out aerodrome dummy deck landings (ADDL) on the mocked-up carrier deck guided by a deck landing control officer (‘batsman’), giving signals with his bats. Lucky mechanics were often treated to a local ‘pleasure trip’ in the Mosquitos. The pilots, needing to ensure repaired aircraft were ready to return to service, delighted in beating up the south coast of England with the nervous/exhilarated mechanic in the observer’s seat! The Service Trials Unit, 778 Squadron, had some Firebrands, built at the Brough factory where I had worked during the war. In July 1947 801 Squadron re-formed with the new Sea Hornet, my first sight of an aircraft I would later work on and had a great fondness for. “Whilst I was with 762 I enjoyed two brief reunions with my childhood friend from Brough. Ray was doing his National Service and had joined the squadron just before I left it. He met me on his first day with the squadron and was most impressed that I’d got my trade badge (first class) already. As with my happy posting to Ford, good fortune was to intervene again. I returned to Daedalus on 4 October 1947 to await my next draft – and what a draft! On 10 October I departed the UK bound for Hal Far, Malta, sailing on the merchant vessel Tsarevich from Southampton. Hal Far was a busy airfield and Malta was one of the most popular drafts in the navy. “As well as temporarily disembarked squadrons, Hal Far was the permanent home to 728 Squadron to which I was attached. The squadron provided target-towing duties for shore batteries, ships’ guns and aircraft, fighter direction exercises,

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radar calibration and verification runs to ships and aircraft of the Mediterranean fleet. It was also responsible for the station flight. “In order to meet all these requirements, we operated quite a mixture of aircraft. One of our Tiger Moths P4709, had an unusual history. It was actually a DH.82B Queen Bee (usually a pilotless target aircraft), and had been adapted as a piloted station ‘hack’. The squadron also flew the Expeditor, Harvard, Martinet and Sea Otter. The Expediter and Harvards were lovely aircraft to work on. However being American types they required specific training and tools compared to British aircraft. “Life on Malta wasn’t all work. Inter-service cricket matches and football tournaments took place regularly – some of which I took part in. At certain times of the year, you had the scirocco, the hot dusty wind from Africa. Grit covered everything, and it got really cold and wet in the winter. Malta was still more comfortable than life in England. With no rationing at tea and meal times, you could have sugar and butter which was still rationed at home. “The carrier air groups (CAGs), of both Triumph and Ocean, spent varying periods at Hal Far throughout 1947-50 with 728 personnel working on disembarked aircraft. Normal routines were significantly changed by the influx of these visitors and their 200 or so personnel. If you put your name down on a list, you could fly as ‘ballast’ in one of their Fireflies for armament practice or making RP dives at the nearby range on Filfla. The excitement of being in a ’plane firing live ammunition was great. “In the summer of 1948 804 Squadron embarked Ocean and for a brief time she carried one additional crew member – me. It was common practice that visiting ships and squadrons used 728 Squadron men to fill in for crew absence due to sickness or training. The first you knew was when you were told you have ‘volunteered’ for the following duties … You could be subject to a loan draft, or given urgent sailing orders – either way at short notice. It was not unusual to have two hours’ grace to get together a steaming kit and present yourself to the ship. As this was an operational draft, with less chance of any ceremonial or divisions, it was sensible to pack only working gear – overalls, blue shorts, No.8 shirts, sandals, caps, towels, etc. The whole joining/leaving routine was essentially waived, although one routine did take place. I was issued with a new set of cap tallies for each ship – one with gold wire for the best cap and the second one of silk/rayon for the working cap. Odd really in that I was only on board as a supernumerary rating assigned for a special mission and would not in all conscience be wearing them when going ashore. However, the thought of receiving a new ship’s name on your cap was rarely declined. “I was taken to Valletta, picked up by the ship’s boat and taken out to the carrier in Grand Harbour. Embarking a warship was a whole new experience. There were hatch coamings to step over, passageways, straight up and down ladders, ordinary sets of stairs, watertight doors that had huge locking handles to negotiate whilst all of the time carrying kitbags, cases and of course hammocks. There is a



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particular smell to a warship, it smelled different from anything I’d experienced before. There was fuel oil, cooking from the main galley, well-scrubbed decks below, re-circulated air through the main air ducts (commonly known as fan trunking) and people, lots of people, in very small spaces which became home. Everything was totally functional with no room for the niceties of life, it was not home away from home by any stretch of the imagination. Every passageway was lined with overhead pipes of varying colours e.g. red for steam lines etc., and each pipe had colour and letter coding to assist the damage control personnel. There were valves and turn cocks, all with brass fitments that were burnished by incessant polishing, there were ‘punkah’ louvers set into the fan trunking just to circulate air that was only slightly cooler than that on the upper deck. The temperature on board most of the time was fairly hot in every compartment with the exception of those offices that contained electrical equipment and these were air conditioned to remain static at 65 degrees to protect the equipment. The loan drafts were extra personnel, and therefore not always welcomed aboard by the crew who were living in pretty cramped conditions as it was. My place of work was below decks in the hangar and the engine repair shop. On occasion I sneaked up to the ‘goofers’ to watch the excitement of aircraft operations – unforgettable.

Merry Christmas in Hal Far. (Don Sellers)

“In 1948 Hal Far was playing host to another CAG. Although she was the flagship of the home fleet, Theseus also visited Malta as part of the summer cruise. She brought with her Sea Furies of 807 Squadron, an aircraft for which I would have a lifelong affection. They disembarked for a short period alongside the Fireflies of 810 Squadron. “On 25 October I witnessed the aftermath of a tragic accident. A 728 Squadron Harvard was exercising with 73 Squadron RAF Vampires when one of them hit from behind over Ta’ Qali. Although the Vampire landed safely the Harvard lost its starboard wing and crashed out of control, exploding on impact. Lts Albert Matthews and Arthur Marsden were killed. The sight of my colleagues sombrely surveying the wreckage was poignant – sadly fatalities were not uncommon. Within days I was at work on another, thankfully non-fatal, incident at Hal Far.

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“Being based in Malta was a foreign draft. That meant I spent a minimum of 18 months absent from the UK, and thus was entitled to seven days’ local leave for each six months spent abroad. Many servicemen spent their leave at a Royal Navy rest and recuperation centre at Qrendi, an old airfield, also home to RAF Malta Meteorological Office and an army camp. The accommodation was basic to say the least, yet more corrugated iron Nissen huts – hot in summer, with a daily invasion of flies and nightly mosquitoes. Bicycles, tennis and other sporting kit was available for our use. The nearest bar was in Ghar Lapsi down a steep and bending narrow lane; a long walk back up the hill! “Pending the arrival of new Mosquito TT.35s the squadron briefly operated the Beaufighter. Transferred from the RAF, six were modified to TT.10 standard (the only examples for the FAA) and two were sent to Hal Far to join 728. Their arrival was a short-lived bit of variety, as they were all back on RAF charge by October. “One of the last incidents, before I left Malta in March 1950, happened on 8 February. A Sea Fury had disembarked to Hal Far from Glory and when it left it suffered an engine cut at 700 feet after take-off. The pilot climbed to 2,000 feet on the manual priming button, making a glide approach and a wheels-up landing. The aircraft was repaired. My fondness for the Sea Fury never left me, despite the complexity of the Centaurus engine. “The news that I was leaving Malta came as a great disappointment. My diary records wistful thoughts on leaving, as well as a bad back from my hammock! After a short period of leave I arrived on 31 May 1950, at RAF Beaulieu, a short distance from Lee-on-Solent, joining the Airborne Forces Experimental Establishment (AFEE). Their task was to develop non-traditional airborne methods of delivering airborne forces and materiel, using a variety of aircraft and gliders. AFEE was split into four flights – I served in the small naval section of A Flight which had late marks of Seafire and Firefly testing target-towing equipment. I also worked on Horsa gliders – what an engine mechanic was doing on gliders is open to speculation. “On 1 September 1950, after being there for five months, I was confirmed as a leading mechanic. By then it had been decided to amalgamate the work of AFEE and the Aeroplane and Armament Experimental Establishment (A&AEE) at Boscombe Down. Consequently AFEE was disbanded on 14 September, and its equipment and personnel transferred to A&AEE. The staff (including me) became part of ‘D’ Squadron A&AEE. “A&AEE was regarded as secret, and somewhat remote. It was another unusual and stimulating posting for a young naval airman. Whilst with B Flight I worked on Fireflies, Sturgeons, Sea Hornets and Sea Furies. March 1951 saw me re-united with the Sea Hornet, this time in the guise of the radar-equipped NF.21. It was an easy aircraft to work on, with very good access to the engine compartments. “My final draft was to Abbotsinch on the outskirts of Glasgow. Its main functions were as an AHU and Aircraft Maintenance Yard. My role was preparing aircraft for embarkation, and the ‘embalming’ process – aircraft placed in long-term



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storage by a process of cocooning. The engine was inhibited and the entire aircraft sprayed in an impervious ‘skin’, with desiccants placed inside compartments to absorb moisture and inhibit degradation. The skin was inspected periodically and the desiccants changed. When I arrived the AHU was busy dis-embalming stored aircraft for the Korean War. Many were craned onto the decks of carriers and aircraft maintenance ships at the King George V dock in Govan. I was involved in embarking aircraft onto Vengeance. “I finished there on 12 October 1953. It was an uncertain time with many factors likely to impact on a possible extension of service. The Admiralty’s decision to impose extension of service for existing engagements (anticipated as being for 18 months), made the chance of my service being extended far from remote – thankfully it wasn’t. My employment and ability record lists my general efficiency was ‘superior’, ability to take charge ‘very good’ and described me as an ‘excellent leading hand’ – high praise indeed. I returned to Lee-on-Solent to await the end of my service, being given a month’s leave before concluding my regular service and starting five years as a reservist on 20 November. I then joined the Bristol Aeroplane Company as a draughtsman.” For some it was perhaps, more work than play. It is easy to think of aircraft operations in terms of aircrew and maintainers, but that is only part of the story. The aircraft handler – ‘chockhead’ – has probably the most dangerous job on a carrier. Jim Speirs served on Eagle, Hermes and Invincible. “On the flight deck, you have to park aircraft very close together, within inches, especially during recoveries when they have to be clear of the foul safety line. Sometimes it was difficult moving aircraft out of the ‘pack’ because, having taxied in to Fly 1, they were so close together it was tricky trying to attach a tractor. There were two catapults on Eagle, one on the waist and one on the port side of the bow, the latter allowing aircraft to be parked on the righthand side, which meant we could park and launch aircraft simultaneously; I was part of the emergency tractor team on the bow catapult. If an aircraft went u/s whilst hooked up to the catapult it had to be un-loaded and quickly towed out of the way.” Chris Pugsley.

Chris Pugsley was also a ‘chockhead’.

“Eagle was a good ship. We spent most of our time in the upper hangar, manoeuvring ‘cabs’ onto and off the flight deck lifts. Jets were big, noisy things with all sorts of

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sharp points poking at you, and they leaked a lot. As the hangar was designed for Sea Hawks, Sea Venoms and the like, manoeuvring a 17-ton Vixen in it was quite tricky. It was a major challenge operating larger, higher performance aircraft on ships such as Centaur. The jets got bigger but the ships didn’t, and over the years the deck plates distorted so that when you moved a Vixen it looked as if it was waddling along.

Eagle’s hangar deck in the 1960s.

“As a ‘killick’ (leading airman) in charge of a movements team, you were nervous the first couple of times you moved a ‘cab’ in the tight confines of the hangar, but quickly got used to it. Equipment and spares were stored on the hangar walls so you had to be careful when manoeuvring aircraft to ensure they weren’t struck by, for example, aircraft drop tanks which were more exposed to damage as the wings were folded. The team had a director in charge (loud voice and whistle to stop), steering arm operator, mechanical-handler operator and chockman. The mechanical-handler was a diesel-driven device with rollers which fitted around the mainwheel providing drive, whilst a steering arm fitted to the nosewheel was manually moved in the desired direction.” The trials and tribulations of a senior officer on a carrier, as experienced by John Ford. “In 1971 I was appointed to Ark Royal as commander (air) – ‘Wings’ – two demanding, exciting and sometimes stressful years. Ark Royal had recently completed a refit during which her catapults and arrestor gear had been uprated to permit larger and heavier aircraft to safely operate. The Buccaneer had been at sea since 1962, but the



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Phantom was new and still working up to full potential. Also new were Sea Kings – a major advance in the ability to protect the fleet against submarines. Finally, the four Gannets were now an even more vital component of Ark’s air defence. There was a clearly defined threat from Soviet maritime forces. Ark Royal, and most RN forces in the western hemisphere, were committed to NATO, the overarching command structure controlling a very large group of ships, aircraft and submarines. “Early misgivings about lack of preparation for the task were confirmed after discovering that the only available courses were one day viewing the land-based catapult at Bedford, three days having fun trying to fly a helicopter at Culdrose and a couple at Portland talking to the ASW boys. No time for the relevant dummy deck training at Culdrose or anything else which might help to prepare for what was to come. “There was no job description. ‘Wings’ was obviously boss of the air department and ultimately responsible for all that happened. However, he could not personally lead in the air, but was required to make decisions concerning aircraft and safety of aircrew. He might have to discipline aircrew for their failings and investigate and complete A25 accident reports. There was a vast difference between acting as a mere airport manager and being truly on top of all aspects of operating these new aircraft. To do this with confidence required good knowledge of their capabilities and performance and here lay a problem, lack of experience on current types being of greater significance than the abbreviated time for other briefings. “No costed flying hours were available for even a shore-based ‘Wings’. Fortunately, by begging from squadron COs during my previous appointment, I got about 50 hours in the Phantom, enough to fly it but little enough time to experience its wider capabilities. Only five familiarisation flights were granted in a Buccaneer, one dual in a Gannet. “The service traditions of ‘can do’ and ‘press on’, as embraced by the FAA, were a splendid encouragement to young people to be proactive and take responsibility. In an increasingly complex and technical environment however, pressing on without skill or knowledge could prove inefficient, even dangerous. That earlier style of ‘kick the tyres, light the fires, last man off’s a cissy’ had been replaced by a much more professional approach. The prospective commander (air) was not so well served. The ‘other’ service did it rather differently. An RAF friend was given a nine-month course, including conversion to the Harrier, before taking up his appointment as wing commander (flying). Only some of my short handover period was actually at sea as the squadrons returned on board – six days passed in a haze of images with little practical education. “Though the scene was familiar the first impression was of a new dimension, everything on the limits and close to being out of control. Larger and heavier than their predecessors 892 Squadron’s 12 Phantoms and 809’s 14 Buccaneers dwarfed the available deck space. Three Phantoms were parked on a space called Fly 4, occupying the port aft corner of the flight deck – only just clear of landing

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aircraft. A need to move one aircraft to the hangar often meant repositioning three others. Four large Sea Kings also contributed to the crush, often required to operate from a small extended sponson just aft of the island, in turbulence and funnel smoke. “All the ‘heavies’ were individually weighed, and it was the aircraft control room officer’s (ACRO) responsibility to add the weight of consumables, fuel and armament and send the result to FlyCo. This was then compared with the end speed graph, and forecast wind over the deck, to determine whether the catapult had enough power to safely launch. Ark was getting old and could barely make 25 knots. Attempting to go faster meant reducing steam pressure to the catapults, so it was sometimes necessary to reduce the weight of armament in order to be on the right side of the launch curve. In light winds and at higher temperatures crews were being launched close to the aircraft’s stalling speed – this operational limitation could not be overridden even in a war situation.

Hermes FlyCo.

“In FlyCo all eyes were on the windspeed indicator as each aircraft was tensioned, fingers ready on the red cancel button should the wind drop by even a couple of knots. The noise from a Phantom in reheat as it reared up on the catapult, only just held back by its leash, was mentally crushing even when wearing ear defenders. Even behind FlyCo’s strengthened glass, sound energy waves caused the chest cavity to physically vibrate. “Visitors found the deck choreography fascinating. However, aircraft handlers on the flight deck, for whom there was enormous respect, had demanding jobs carrying immense responsibility while working at great personal risk; danger from jet blast and being blown over the side, walking into propellers or turning rotors, being trapped by ammunition lifts or sucked into a jet intake. This did happen to one young man who remarkably survived. Flight deck engineers were also in



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danger as they crawled under each aircraft while it was running on the catapult to attach the holdback. “Everyone appeared to be competent and getting on with their job, the FDO, ACRO and Little ‘F’ running the flying programme with no untoward excitement. At flying stations the lives of all in the air department were dominated by the ‘carrier cycle’. A Phantom or Buccaneer’s endurance during exercise sorties was about one hour 40 minutes, often with only 15 minutes of fuel remaining. It was essential when operating without a shore diversion that everything was ready to bring them back on board, deck clear, arrestor wires checked and tensioned, fire crew dressed and ship steaming into wind with sufficient speed to land the ‘heavies’. This meant only one hour available between sorties for the FlyCo team to do other work, eat and sometimes sleep. Gradually the pattern of launch/land activity became more familiar with ‘Wings’ becoming more than a mere bystander. Little ‘F’ controlled minute to minute operations in liaison with the FDO, while ‘Wings’ stood back ready to come to his support or anticipate the next level of decision making. Clearing the next aircraft to land with the ship pitching in a heavy sea became a two-man job; ‘Wings’ looking ahead at the approaching waves attempting to gauge deck movement; Little ‘F’ ready to punch the ‘Wave Off’ button. I remembered what we, as squadron pilots, thought about those in FlyCo; ‘Dim twits forever frustrating us with changes of plan’. Try and do better! “It was ‘Wings’ job, working with the operations officer, to assess the ship’s future programme. We arranged all the facilities the squadrons needed to work up in their individual roles, incoming attacks for 892 to engage, ships for the Buccaneers to ‘find, fix and strike’, and submarines for the Sea Kings to hunt. There were weapon ranges to book in Europe and the superb USN facility off Puerto Rico. “The squadron COs’ mindset tended to focus on individual training and routine exercises, F-4s intercepting each other, 809 practising armament on the splash target. These were very necessary basics, especially on return to sea after a period of maintenance. None of the COs had attended the Tactical School course where the best brains in the navy, admirals taking up seagoing appointments, all COs before ship command and most of their first lieutenants, joined together for four weeks to play tactical games against the real threat, Soviet naval aircraft, surface ships and submarines. Sadly the FAA with its ‘get airborne’ philosophy considered this training a lesser priority. It always aspired to punch above its weight, which it did. However with a limited stock of aircrew and sometimes inadequate equipment, priorities had to be made – filling cockpits came first. It was up to ‘Wings’ to encourage more realistic thinking and organise tactical exercises – the necessity of intercepting an incoming Badger strike before releasing its Kennel missile, and for 809 aircrew to plan how to survive when attacking a missile-armed Kashinclass destroyer. “Early in this period (1971) Ark was conducting night qualifying for some of the more junior squadron members. Both aircraft types were often close to the

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limiting speed/energy which the arrestor gear could safely accept, and an arrival a few knots fast was likely to pull out or break a wire. Any attempt at a late flare in a Phantom was a no-no because this immediately set up a high rate of sink and likely result in an arrival on the quarterdeck! “A recovery had been going without incident when the lights of the next approaching aircraft came into view. It started to descend in an increasingly high noseup attitude to the accompaniment of ‘Power! Power! Power!’ on the radio from the LSO. The sink rate continued until the Phantom hit the round-down heavily in a cloud of sparks and a shock felt throughout the ship. Seconds later it roared along the deck and disappeared into darkness. Everyone momentarily held their breath expecting to hear ‘Eject! Eject!’ – then a strained voice came on the radio, ‘We are OK and diverting to Lossiemouth’. The Phantom landed safely but its main spars had been buckled.

Flight deck crew HMS Invincible in 1985. Errol Thompson, Rob Thompson, Paul Keenan and Mick Soloway on tractor duty. (Shaun Turner)

“Aircrew flying at low level were out of radio contact and when ‘zip lip’ communication procedures were in force, had to find their own way back to the ship. There was often nowhere else to go but ‘Mother’, and they could still face a stressful situation on arrival in the circuit. Once the centreline lift stuck at hangar level, blocking the landing area when aircraft were returning short of fuel. The FDO sent a team of strong handlers with sledge hammers to knock out pawls from the lift mechanism. This cleared a jam and allowed the lift to rise back to deck level, to the relief of those airborne, and saved us from losing half an air group in one go. “Arrestor wires were inspected after each aircraft landed. During a recovery in mid-Atlantic the flight deck engineering officer waved a ‘thumbs down’ in FlyCo’s direction. No.4 wire was damaged and was swiftly cut and pulled aside. As the land



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on continued, wires 2 and 3 were also damaged, rejected and so removed. This left only No.1 arrestor wire which now showed ‘Red’ – it was unsafe. The final Buccaneer was just turning finals! The immediate reaction was to consider rigging the emergency barrier which had never been used by a Buccaneer. There was an agonising period as the aircraft continued to approach. At the very last minute a white-overalled figure jumped onto the deck with his thumb up. The Buccaneer, flown by a very experienced pilot, hit the deck targeting wire No.3, and bolted. A very irate voice demanded to know why he had not been told that only No.1 wire was rigged – he landed safely next time round. Events had happened so quickly that FlyCo had not had a chance to warn him, however his anger was understood. “A major exercise, Royal Knight, was designed to test NATO’s ability to support troops in northern Norway against a Soviet incursion, protecting them from air and submarine attack. Ark Royal’s carrier group, and two USN carriers worked together for 20 days in the north Norwegian Sea, with Phantoms maintaining round-theclock CAPs, plus alert aircraft on deck. Approaching Soviet aircraft were detected several times giving the fighters opportunities for live interceptions, flying alongside taking pictures for intelligence assessment. The arrival of Phantoms in the fleet brought a major advance in air defence capability. It was the first UK fighter able to make an effective head-on attack, its ‘launch and leave’ Sparrow missile able to engage an enemy aircraft at a range of 20 miles. This brought a new tactical decision for command. Was it acceptable to allow an attack beyond visual range, without a visual identification, when there might be other friendly aircraft in the area? “Flight refuelling had been developed in the 1960s to support nuclear missions and was extended to topping up fighters on CAPs. Lack of endurance had been a persistent design failing with naval aircraft with the inevitable demand for ultimate performance. In reality less than 5 per cent of airborne time was spent operating at full potential. The ability to keep aircraft in the air for longer periods had real tactical benefit, whilst reducing time into wind for the carrier. It was wasteful to bring back a serviceable aircraft, after only a short time in the air, merely to fill its tanks. 809 Squadron kept two Buccaneers configured in the tanker role, with one always manned and ready to launch in an emergency at the end of each sortie cycle. The exception, and a commander (air)’s delight, were the Sea Kings. They were able to remain on task screening the ship for four hours at a time, return on board refuelling ‘rotors running’, before departing with a fresh crew for a further four hours. After 12 hours it became necessary to stop engines and check oil levels. “FlyCo at 03:00 was a lonely place, but worse for the aircrew sitting at alert on the catapult. Buccaneers flew inland on low-level missions providing support for NATO troops. After a long period of high-intensity operations 809 Squadron launched all 14 Buccaneers, a major feat of serviceability. The flight deck team developed a special drill to start up all these aircraft at the same time, then direct them to the catapults without delay. It was known as the ‘Elephant Tango’ using most of the available flight deck. Several Buccaneers positioned alongside the island

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started-up facing aft, then taxied to the round-down before being marshalled forward, following the one ahead up the port side to the catapults. “Intelligence suggested that in the event of an imminent threat Ark might receive four to six hours’ warning of a Soviet air strike. A plan was developed to protect the force with the maximum number of fighters on defending CAP stations, and for them to remain airborne for as long as possible. It envisaged launching half of 892 Squadron’s 12 Phantoms, with two more at immediate readiness. Buccaneer tankers followed one-and-a-half hours later, fuelling the fighters on station to ensure an airborne time of at least three hours unless engaged in combat. The fighters were recalled when their endurance fell to 30 minutes, replaced by the other half of the squadron. The command plan had to adjust to changing tactical situations with an overriding commitment to keep Ark steaming into wind for the least time possible. “The FAA characteristic ‘once an aviator, always an aviator’ meant that an individual moving on to higher rank often found it hard to accept his experience might now be out of date. None of the flag officer carriers and amphibious ships’ staff were qualified on any of Ark’s aircraft. This led to irritating nit-picking regarding what they could see from the ship from their viewpoint, whilst being much less interested or knowledgeable about the air group’s tactical employment. It was a relief when a non-aviation admiral flew his flag during exercises as his staff merely set the task and left the ship and squadrons to perform. “It was unusual to receive a ‘flash signal’ in peacetime. In January 1972 the chief yeoman hurried to the captain with one as Ark was crossing the Atlantic. The government was requesting all three services to investigate how soon an air presence could be flown over British Honduras. Foreign Office intelligence had failed to appreciate that Guatemala was preparing to invade its crown colony neighbour, lightly defended by a small garrison without air support. A ‘proceed with all dispatch to British Honduras’ from C-in-C Fleet put pressure on Ark to come up with a plan. The ship immediately turned south-west steaming hard to close the range, while ops and 809 Squadron worked on fuel/distance calculations; aiming to put two unarmed Buccaneers over Belize City at the earliest opportunity. To achieve this they would have to be refuelled both on the outward and return legs. The two Buccaneers, to be flown by the CO and his SP and their observers, were hurriedly reconfigured with bomb bay fuel cells and wing slipper tanks, the Buccaneer now near its maximum AUW (all-up weight) of 53,000 lbs and just within catapult capability given some natural wind. “The pair were launched at 12:00 on 28 January just 30 hours after receiving the signal. It was 1,300 miles to Belize – the longest operational flight ever attempted by an FAA jet aircraft. As they climbed out accompanied by two tankers, success depended on all aircraft remaining serviceable. The most critical point during the flight was going to be on the return leg, a successful rendezvous with the tankers without assistance from the ship, as this would be beyond radar range. As it was not long after the Cuban missile crisis, and USAF radar and fighters guarded the



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airspace between Florida and Cuba, signals were sent to Washington requesting diplomatic clearance for the Buccaneers to fly through the area. “The first refuelling was carried out successfully at 30,000 feet, 250 miles out from the ship, following which the pair climbed to 39,000 feet. This was definitely not a comfortable altitude for the Buccaneer, designed for high-speed low-level flight. Their autopilots were ineffective and sloppy controls meant careful hand-flying. Radio calls to Miami Center went unanswered and nothing positive was heard beyond ‘we do not have a clearance for you’. Passing over the southern tip of Florida they continued towards the Yucatán Peninsula before commencing descent to British Honduras. Both crews were continuously monitoring fuel consumption arriving overhead Belize with the exact amount calculated, allowing them ten minutes at low level over the area. The Buccaneers were seen by Guatemalan agents who immediately understood the significance – a powerful aircraft carrier was not far away. Messages sent back to the president convinced him that the odds had critically changed, and any idea of invading British Honduras was quietly dropped. “As they climbed back to 39,000 feet the boss decided to ‘cut a corner’ to make a small fuel saving by just clipping the edge of Cuban national airspace. There were a few tense minutes listening for any indication of Soviet fire control radars. Attempts were again made to contact the US Air Defense Identification Zone, with no initial result. Eventually they heard an ominous transmission – ‘You are about to be intercepted’. Both crews searching the sky behind them sighted a USAF F-106 sliding in to keep station on the leader. A second then appeared alongside the other Buccaneer. The American pilot made signs indicating a turn back and descent, but the two British crews looking resolutely ahead did not attempt to acknowledge. The elderly F-106s were struggling at 39,000 feet, and presumably recognising this as a flight of British carrier aircraft finally broke away and disappeared – a matter of considerable relief. The most testing moment of the flight was now approaching, a very necessary rendezvous with the tankers at or just beyond the point of no return, beyond which it would not be possible to divert back safely. “A visual RV (rendezvous) position had been agreed over the Grand Bahamas – still 400 miles to Ark. There were anxious moments as the pair headed out over the ocean with as little as 1,200 lbs of fuel remaining – totally dependent on a successful refuel. Thankfully the Buccaneer’s radar made contact at a range of 40 miles – they descended to 25,000 feet to make refuelling less critical. Each received a further 4,000 lbs of fuel, enough for all four aircraft to return and land back on board after a highly successful five-hour and 50-minute mission. All aircraft had remained fully serviceable and this epic operation, meticulously prepared and expertly performed, was completed exactly as planned. The failure of communications to clear the flight through US airspace led to recriminations between the two governments, but did not detract from its operational success. The squadron was subsequently awarded the Boyd Trophy for that year’s finest aviation feat. [See Chapter Ten.] “This was a classic demonstration of carrier air power; an example of what

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the navy could do at short notice independent of other agencies, and in this instance beyond the reach of their land-based counterparts. The irony was that before the last fixed-wing carrier was withdrawn without replacement six years later, six RAF Harriers were ferried out to the country where they guarded the colony for several years.

The crews who flew the Buccaneers over Belize. From left to right: Steve Park (senior observer), Carl Davis (CO), John Roberts, Colin Walkinshaw (senior pilot) and Mike Lucas (Colin’s observer). (Colin Walkinshaw)

“For nearly two years Ark’s FlyCo team had overseen some 3,000 deck landings; a matter of quiet pride and relief that no aircrew had lost their lives or suffered serious injury. Looking back, it is still a wonder that young men were so willing to face the daily risks of flying from a carrier, sometimes even witnessing the death of good mates. This sentiment is underlined by the fact that 915 FAA aircrew died in combat or accident between 1946 and the end of the 20th century. It was a tribute to the FAA’s esprit de corps that morale remained high. 1978 saw the end of traditional fixed-wing carrier flying.” But was the FAA ‘all work and no play’? Not a bit of it, and the memories clearly linger long after leaving the service.



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Unofficial ‘aircrew bronzing station’ on Ark Royal in 1966. 890 Squadron’s Ian ‘Killer’ Kilgour on the right. (Mike Garlick)

Dick Searles “In the old Ark Royal amusing alternative use of the flight deck when aircraft were stowed below or had disembarked, was the ceremonial ranging of 8, 9, 10 Squadron preceded by the flight deck pipe ‘range 8 9 10 Squadron’! The forward lift would start to be raised (to a background of some rousing sea shanty) exposing a very motley crew of ‘ship’s staff’ (as distinct from air department) in an array of mutilated uniform and civilian clothing and carrying a variety of strange items – a very large spanner, half a bicycle, a three-cornered hat, etc. They then proceeded to parade up and down the flight deck to the musical accompaniment and the amusement of ‘goofers’. The whole of this act was, of course, to demonstrate that the ship actually belonged to the ship’s staff and not the air department! “Normally once or twice a commission, particularly at the end of a long cruise, there would be a staged entertainment in the hangar – a sod’s opera. The Royal Marines band were of course a vital part of this enjoyable event. Officer and rating volunteers to put on an act were usually keen to audition, and often it was an opportunity for ratings to poke fun at the officers. Normally there would be two performances, one in the afternoon for junior ratings and one in the evening for senior rates and officers.”

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Ark Royal’s upper hangar during the recording of Rod Stewart’s ‘Sailing’. Royal Marines contingent played, ship’s company and embarked squadrons sang the lyrics. (Steve Shirley)

David Allan – pilot “I was the duty officer on a very quiet Sunday at Yeovilton. The airfield was closed and the only interruption during the day was the rounds of the airfield perimeter, buildings, hangars, etc. Myself and the duty PO of the watch carried them out a couple of times during daylight hours, being driven around in a pusser’s tilly. “Come the evening rounds, as it was so quiet, and I was David Allan. a bit bored, I called the guardroom to inform them that I would carry out the rounds on my own in my car, allowing the PO and the tilly driver to stay indoors, as it was very cold with clear skies and near to freezing. I was acknowledged with a wave as I passed the guardroom, driving my 3.4-litre Mk.2 Jaguar. “I duly inspected all the relevant buildings, and as I drove round the taxiway by the threshold of 09, I thought it would be quicker to drive down the runway back to the guardroom, rather than a slow manoeuvre between all the buildings. Having driven over the arrestor wire, which was flush on the deck, I accelerated down the runway and managed to get over 100 mph – the fastest I had ever driven it. The ‘distance to go’ markers were highly visible so I had a good idea of the distance to the end of the runway. However, just as I started to brake, I spotted the arrestor wire at the 27-end of the runway. It was in the up position, held off the ground by solid bobbins. I hit it at about 90 mph, taking my foot off the brake as I went over it, hoping I wouldn’t cause it any damage. “Inspection showed that the wire successfully went under both the front and rear wheels. However between the two it sprung up under the car, just aft of the



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engine, and completely removed my twin exhaust pipes depositing them on the runway. I had instantly gone from driving a finely tuned Jaguar to driving a badly tuned tractor – the noise was deafening. I waved at the guardroom on the way back to the wardroom. They waved and smiled at me driving this Jaguar that sounded like a tractor, with the exhaust pipes protruding out of both the back windows and the passenger side window. I should have taken the tilly!” ‘Chalky White’ via Tim Lewin “Missing the Royal Navy life? Here’s how to recapture the atmosphere of the old days and imagine living on board ship once more. • Build a shelf in the top of your wardrobe, and sleep on it inside a smelly sleeping bag. Remove the wardrobe door and replace it with a curtain that’s too small. • Wash your underwear every night in a bucket, then hang it over the water pipes to dry. • Four hours after you go to bed, have your wife fling open the curtain, shine a torch in your eyes, and say, ‘Sorry mate, wrong pit’. • Renovate your bathroom. Build a wall across the centre of the bath, and move the showerhead down to chest level. Store beer cans in the shower enclosure. • When you have a shower remember to turn the water off while you soap. • Every time there is a thunderstorm sit in a wobbly rocking chair, and rock as hard as you can until you’re sick. • Put oil instead of water into a humidifier, then set it to ‘high’. • Don’t watch TV except for movies in the middle of the night. For added realism have your family vote for which movie they want to see – then select a different one. • (Mandatory for engineering types) Leave a lawnmower running in your living room 24 hours a day to re-create the proper noise levels. • Have the paper boy give you a haircut. • Once a week blow compressed air up through your chimney. Ensure that the wind carries the soot over into your neighbour’s house. When he complains, laugh at him. • Buy a rubbish compactor, but only use it once a week. Store up your rubbish in the other side of your bath. • Wake up every night at midnight and make a sandwich out of anything you can, preferably using stale bread. Optional: cold soup or canned ravioli, eaten out of the can. • Design your family menus a week in advance without looking in the fridge or larder.

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• Set your alarm clock to go off at random times through the night. When it goes off, leap out of bed, get dressed as fast as you can then run into the garden and break out the garden hose. • Once a month, take every major household appliance completely apart, then re-assemble. • Use four spoons of instant coffee per cup, allow it to sit for three hours before drinking. • Invite about 185 people you don’t really like to come and stay for a couple of months. • Install a small fluorescent light tube under your coffee table, then lie under the table to read books. • Raise the thresholds and lower the top sills of all the doors in the house. Now you will always either hit your head or skin your shins when passing through them. • Put lock wires on the wheel nuts of the car. • When baking cakes, prop up one side of the cake tin while it is baking. When it has cooled, spread icing really thickly on one side to level it out again. • Every so often throw your cat in the swimming pool, or bath, and shout ‘man overboard’. Then run into the kitchen and sweep all the dishes and pans onto the floor while yelling at your wife for not having ‘secured for sea’ properly. • Put on the headphones from your stereo, do not plug them in. Go and stand in front of your dishwasher. Say to nobody in particular, ‘Dishwasher manned and ready sir’. Stand there for three or four hours. Say once again to nobody in particular, ‘Dishwasher secured’. Remove the headphones. Roll up the headphone cord and put them away. • Nickname your favourite shoes ‘steamies’ then get your children to hide them around the house on a random basis.” Despite the risks and challenges of flying operations, the navy’s sense of humour was never far below the surface. This is best exemplified by an offering from the always ribald, often risqué Fleet Air Arm Songbook.



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The Buccaneer Song Tune the gasman cometh

’Twas on a Monday morning, the first launch was at eight Six Vixens were to be launched, but five of them were late, There was panic up in FlyCo, they did not know what to do, So they launched the five spare Buccaneers to do what Vixens do. chorus:

Oh it all makes work for the Buccaneers to do

’Twas on a Tuesday morning, a Gannet on low-see, Sent to find a Krupny, which was far out at sea, When suddenly his APS-20 went for a ball of chalk, So they called upon the Buccaneers to do the Gannet’s work. ’Twas on a Wednesday morning, the choppers should have dunked, But they got their balls in a twist and the sorties would have flunked, When someone shouted “801 – they’ve never known defeat” So they called upon a Buccaneer with its underwater seat. ’Twas on a Thursday morning, there was some mail ashore, The courier was in Fly 1, u/s would fly no more, The engineers were working hard ’twas all to no avail, So they called upon the Buccaneers to go and fetch the mail. ’Twas on a Friday morning the tankers could not fly, The army wanted air support but nobody knew why, We launched an ‘on call’ Buccaneer – that ever-useful ’plane, And flew ashore and blew the ***s to hell and back again. Now Saturday and Sunday are our days of rest, The Vixens and the Gannets on the flight deck doing tests, The Buccaneers are down below all handsome and sedate, Awaiting Monday morning when the first launch is at eight

CHAPTER FIVE

LAND-BASED MISCELLANY To support carrier-borne aircraft operations a substantial fleet of shore-based aircraft has always been required. Their roles range from aircrew training, communications between naval air stations, fleet requirements such as target-towing and ships’ gunnery training. The aircraft types in this chapter are just examples of the hugely varied fleet operated in the last 75 years.

FAIREY SWORDFISH The Swordfish, better known as the ‘Stringbag’ had disappeared from squadron use by 1945. However a few examples lingered on for a while in second-line roles with station flights, but more famously as display aircraft with the Royal Navy Historic Flight, now Navy Wings.

Swordfish W5856 and LS326 at Yeovilton on 16 July 1993. Both aircraft are now with Navy Wings. (Adrian Balch)

Catherine Davies van Zoen “We were trained on many types of aircraft at Yeovilton’s Visiting Aircraft Section. I was most proud of my certificate to maintain the Swordfish. I flew in it to the aircraft factory at Filton, Bristol for their air day, and another time seated in the back, hanging onto the rear gunner’s flying suit as we did a low slow flypast and he stood up to salute the new captain of Heron when he arrived. Our pilot Bob ‘Crash’ Evans was a little concerned as the Phantoms flew in at the same time and, afterburners on, they were roaring vertically upwards almost directly above us. We made a distinct lurch towards the ground – the wooden airframe creaked in protest!” 98



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BOULTON PAUL SEA BALLIOL

Sea Balliol T.21 WP325 of Abbotsinch Station Flight on 8 July 1961. (Steve Bond collection)

A carrier-capable version of the RAF’s Balliol advanced pilot trainer. Following deck-landing trials in 1950/51, a total of 33 Sea Balliol T.21s served from 1953 to 1964 for both training and liaison, with a single example flying with ‘C’ Squadron until 1969. Operating units: 702, 703, 727, 765, 781, 796, 1831, 1832, 1834, 1840, 1844 Squadrons, ‘C’ Squadron A&AEE, Station and Ship’s Flights. Embarked: Bulwark, Centaur, Illustrious (deck trials), Ocean and Triumph. John de Winton “The Sea Balliol was used for continuation training, communications, occasionally for deck-landing practice and other miscellaneous work. I got about a hundred hours on it, mostly when I was a qualified flying instructor (QFI) in charge of the Balliol Conversion Flight at Culdrose. The task was to convert jet pilots back to props before going to Wyvern, Skyraider or Gannet squadrons. “It had a Rolls-Royce Merlin 35 engine and a roomy cockpit with side-byside seating. Although it sounded like a Seafire it was somewhat underpowered. However it was pleasant to fly with well-harmonised controls and no real vices. On take-off it was important to remember to lock the tail wheel to prevent a tendency to ‘wander’. When airborne, visibility from the cockpit was marred by the position and width of the canopy support frames. The aircraft was directionally sensitive to changes in power and speed, and some patience was needed to keep in trim for accurate flying. The engine could be a bit temperamental, and there were a few forced landings. I had one, fortunately while demonstrating forced-landing procedures to a student over Culdrose, so no damage. Nice to fly on instruments, and screens were available to fit round the student for instrument flying practice. It was fully aerobatic but had one potentially disastrous drawback. It invariably

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lost height during vertical manoeuvres, so one couldn’t afford to be too low before starting a loop from low level. I got some deck landings on a passing carrier whilst at Culdrose, and found the aircraft stable on the approach with a good view and a wide strong undercarriage.”

DE HAVILLAND CHIPMUNK The main user of the Chipmunk in the FAA was the Britannia Flight at Roborough from 1966 to 1994, where it replaced Tiger Moths. Many navy pilots also trained on it with the RAF at Leeming and Church Fenton. Operating units: 771, 781 Squadrons, Britannia Flight, Station Flights.

Chipmunk T.10 WP906 Heron Flight Yeovilton, Wroughton Families Day 16 July 1977. (Steve Bond)

Mike Norman – artificer later observer “It was my first solo in January 1967. My instructor, Flt Lt Threlfall, had wondered if I would ever get to this point – so did I. I had no natural talent for this but by hard work and determination I had arrived. I was naturally apprehensive but the takeoff was uneventful, and here I was at 2,000 feet on a blustery sunny day following the A1 northwards towards RAF Leeming. There were lots of large cumulus clouds and I had visual contact with my instructor’s Chipmunk, a couple of hundred feet away on my port side. “ ‘Yes, I can do this!’ I briefly glanced inside the cockpit to check all was well, my instructor said to initiate a gentle climb of 500 feet/min and follow him up through a gap in the clouds. Seemed straight forward – the engine purred away nicely and the note changed as I opened the Mike Norman.



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throttle and initiated the climb. My instructor was now in front of me and higher. All was going well until I got an impression that the gap we were heading into was closing. I fixed my eyes on the aircraft in front of me – ‘It will be fine, my instructor knows what he’s doing.’ Then I noticed the odd wisp of cloud obscuring my view of his aircraft. The wisps became thicker to the point where I suddenly lost contact altogether, then it appeared again. “The voice in my earphones ‘If you lose sight of me keep flying straight ahead and continue climbing. Keep your wings level. I will see you on top.’ This was a ‘sucker’s hole’, as I learnt later, and it was happening to me on my first solo. I quickly became completely enveloped in cloud – I felt very alone. My hands froze on the controls, where was the aircraft in front of me? I strained my eyes to get a glimpse of it. ‘Must keep an eye on the instruments, wings level, passing 3,000 feet.’ The engine noise seemed to be muffled, as if I had cotton wool in my ears. I checked the rate of climb indicator – still at 500 feet/min and the airspeed 75 knots. There was nothing more to do than stare at the instruments with the odd glance ahead. “What seemed like minutes ticked by, and if anything, it got darker. The aircraft was being buffeted about a bit; I glued my eyes on the artificial horizon to keep the wings level. ‘Was this going to end in disaster, the end of my naval career at least? Where is my bloody instructor?’ I called him on the radio – no response. How the hell was I going to get back down again and return to Dishforth? These were all dark thoughts and I began thinking about my wife and baby daughter and my life in the navy so far. I had spent five years training as an aircraft artificer apprentice and having been encouraged by my divisional officer I went to RAF Biggin Hill to do the pilot aptitude tests. I was surprised to pass and before I knew it, I was a sub lieutenant air cadet at Dartmouth. I survived the two terms, and was now on the threshold of a new chapter as a fledgling pilot – was it all about to go horribly wrong? “The radio crackled into life, but I could not understand a thing he was saying. I heard the odd word ‘clear’ and ‘maintain your … something’ Then the enveloping cloud around me seemed to lighten, there was the odd break in the cloud and I got glimpses of blue sky. Eyes firmly out of the ‘office’ now – I was almost blinded by bright sunlight. There were puffy white clouds all around me and I was skipping along the tops of them, occasionally dipping back into the mirk below. ‘What a relief!’ But where was my instructor? The radio crackled into life again but I couldn’t understand a damn thing. “I kept flying straight ahead, easing back on the throttle as I passed 4,000 feet. Then I spotted him, what seemed like miles away on my port side. He must have banked away from me as we entered cloud to avoid flying into each other. The sense of relief was overwhelming. I called him excitedly on the radio: ‘I can see you in the distance on my port side.’ He joined me and we were soon skipping along between the towering cumulonimbus – it was beautiful and uplifting. “This feeling of well-being was short-lived. There did not seem to be any breaks in the cloud through which to descend, ‘Would I have to go through it all again?’ I had

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no idea where we were in relation to the ground. My instructor told me to tuck in behind and follow him. I eased back on the throttle then opened up again as I positioned myself 100 yards astern and below him. We cruised around for what seemed like ages, looking for a gap in the clouds. I glanced at the fuel gauge; still half a tank left so that was all right. We were heading south-west away from the Yorkshire Moors, my instructor called Leeming for a weather report. They had some breaks in the cloud there so we reversed our heading. I had no idea where we were, and had given up any attempts at dead reckoning – not good! “As we approached Leeming some very welcoming breaks in the cloud appeared, and we were soon descending. What a relief to see terra firma again. I could see the A1 which we followed back to Dishforth, and landed as a pair. After the drama and tension of the last hour I never gave it a thought that this was my first solo landing – I was back on the ground in one piece. At debriefing my instructor was reticent in admitting he had got us into that predicament though the lessons learned were obvious. “My training continued and I gained confidence, responding well to ‘aeros’; loops and barrel rolls in particular. My parents lived on the other side of York in Dunnington where dad was the local vicar and they were very proud of their son. ‘Local boy makes good’ was the title in the Yorkshire Post one day. Towards the end of the course my first solo navex was scheduled. I had an idea to demonstrate my skill as a pilot, and wondered if I could get away with it. The night before I rang my parents to say that I would fly over the vicarage at about 14:00 on my way back to Dishforth. “The day came and the met briefing was most favourable for the round trip, the furthest extremity of which was Flamborough Head. This was to be a navex following line features with approximately ten waypoints. I had done my route planning the evening before. All I had to do now was to apply the wind factor, using my Dalton computer, to the route, add timings and write it all down with chinagraph on my knee pad and ‘Fablon’-covered chart. I also assessed how I would deviate from the planned track to overfly the vicarage. As I walked out to the line hut to sign the ‘700’ and authorisation sheets I was feeling quietly confident and excited at this new ‘milestone’ in my training. “Start-up and pre-flight checks done I taxied out. I caught sight of my instructor, arms folded watching from a distance by the hangar. I called the tower for take-off. This was my tenth solo flight, so I was becoming an old hand at this, but there was no room for complacency. Clear of the circuit I climbed away to the north-east, following my first line feature which was the A168 towards Thirsk. Visibility was excellent, I could see the Yorkshire Moors ‘on the nose’. Turning east over Thirsk onto the next leg I followed the A170 more or less, all the way to Scarborough. Then south-east passing Filey and on to Flamborough Head. Fuel was good and I gave a radio check and position every 15 minutes. I did a 360-turn over Flamborough Head getting a good view as I took a couple of photos then turned for home.



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“Approaching Stamford Bridge I had to make a decision, should I divert off my intended track to fly over the vicarage? I was on schedule; the weather was still set fair and I decided I would do it. I wouldn’t have this opportunity again, and how would they find out anyway? I climbed to 4,000 feet turning to port looking for Dunnington. It was easy to recognise in the ‘V’ formed by the junction of the A1079 and A166. I picked out the church and vicarage. Glancing at my watch it was 14:05, I was five minutes late but not to worry. I wondered what they were thinking as I spotted my parents on the lawn looking skywards. I started my pre-aerobatic checks, especially not forgetting to ‘Cage the DI’ which had been drummed into me by my instructor. I started a shallow dive then up into a loop cutting the power at the top, following it with another at a slightly lower altitude. All was going well. I then did a barrel role and, reversing my course, did another one. I finished with a pass over the vicarage at 500 feet, waggling my wings as I climbed away. That was exhilarating, I was smugly pleased with myself. “Suddenly I heard a lot of chatter on the radio, but I couldn’t really make out what it was all about. I soon picked up the A1 and turned north for Dishforth. A quick check on Ts and Ps and fuel, and I was thinking about landing. I did my pre-landing checks in plenty of time and switched over to Channel 1. I joined the circuit, landed without incident, but it was then I got the impression that all was not well. The tower told me to report to the senior pilot immediately on shutting down. My heart sank. Had I been rumbled? Could it be something else? That was probably wishful thinking. Was this going to result in my being ‘chopped’ from training? All sorts of dark thoughts crowded in on me as I walked to the squadron building. My instructor was standing at the entrance. A short sentence was stark in its simplicity. ‘You’re in trouble’ was all he said and immediately I knew I had let him down. I just looked at him and couldn’t get any words out so I said nothing. He wheeled me in to the senior pilot’s office. The door shut behind me. “ ‘Where the hell have you been Norman? Do you realise you caused complete chaos at RAF Elvington when you ‘bimbled’ into their extended approach? You caused Lightnings to bomb burst everywhere? I’m assuming it was you as you were the only aircraft airborne at that time. Explain yourself.’ I reached for my chart in my leg pocket. ‘RAF Elvington, where the f **k was that?’ I thought to myself. On closer inspection it dawned on me that Dunnington was indeed close to the approach to Elvington’s long runway, but there were chinagraph notations on my chart which partly obscured the significance of this. My heart began to sink on the realisation that I had indeed f **ked up big time. The senior pilot was clearly not going to accept any excuse that I might proffer, like getting lost or the cloud base came down causing me to divert from my intended track. I told him the truth, there was no way I was going to talk my way out of this one. But I decided not to mention the aerobatics which of course, were completely unauthorised. I was profuse in my snivelling apologies. “The next day I was up in front of the senior naval officer, Cdr Derek Monsell.

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By this time it was generally known that I had indeed been seen doing aerobatics over Dunnington, and there was no point in denying it. I was put on ‘warning’ – if I was caught doing anything like that again I would be thrown off the course, and that would probably be the end of my naval career. I was suitably apologetic and contrite, and lived to fly another day. Of course I didn’t let on to my parents that I had nearly terminated my naval career over this episode. They were naturally thrilled with my flying display, and it was the talk of the village for some time to come. Proud parents that’s for sure. A few weeks later I passed the course, proceeding to the next stage of my flying training – learning to fly helicopters. I returned to 705 Squadron which I had left as a petty officer only 18 months previously.”

DE HAVILLAND MOSQUITO AND SEA MOSQUITO Mosquitos served in a variety of second-line roles from 1945 until 1953; the only fully navalised Sea Mosquitos built as such were the TR.33 torpedo bombers. The sole front-line unit 811 Squadron flew various marks Mosquito TT.39 RV295 of 728 Squadron in Hal Far, 1950. from April 1946 to (Paul Albanese) July 1947 but did not embark. Post-war operating units: 703, 704, 728, 733, 751, 762, 770, 771, 772, 773, 778, 780, 787, 790, 811 Squadrons, ‘C’ Squadron A&AEE, Airwork FRU. Embarked for trials on: Illustrious and Triumph. Basil Nash – pilot “After the war bout 130 Mosquitos were transferred to the navy. However, after carrier trials in Indefatigable in 1945 with ‘Winkle’ Brown and others, it was decided that flying Mosquitos from a carrier would be beyond the capability of the average pilot. The deck configuration meant there was only six feet between the starboard wingtip and the island as you went past, and the port undercarriage leg was only six feet in from the edge of the deck. As the Mosquito was prone to swinging on take-off, this left little margin for error. Apart from these trials the Mosquito never went to sea. “I did the twin conversion course at Ford with 762 Squadron from April to June 1946. We did 20 hours solo and dual on Oxfords plus three hours night flying. Then 20 hours on the Mosquito, flying the Mk.3 with dual controls, and the



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Mk.6 – also three hours night flying – plus single-engine landings. On take-off it was essential to lead with one engine with firm use of rudder to prevent the swing starting. Once the tail was up you could open both engines to full power, lifting off at about 110 knots and gaining safety speed of 130 knots as quickly as possible. As a safety measure you took off on wing tanks (gravity tanks), then switched to the main tank as soon as you gained safety speed. To change tanks the pilot had to reach behind him and move the switches. The passenger seat was set back from the pilot’s, and once a Wren passenger, who thought the pilot was being a bit free with his hands, gave them a good slap. “At that time the navy had virtually no aircraft with a tricycle undercarriage, everything was a tail-dragger and procedure was to do a three-point landing. At shore bases, in single-engine aircraft, you joined the downwind leg at 1,000 feet, and did a curved approach to the runway. At sea you did the downwind leg at 300 feet, with a similar curved approach being guided by the batsman on finals. The approach speed would be about five knots above the stall so, when you hit the deck or runway you stopped there. Whereas with a twin you had excellent forward visibility so you could do a straight-in approach on finals. The Mosquito Mk.6 or 33 stalled with full flap and undercarriage down at about 93 knots, so we’d come over the fence at 97 in a three-point position with lots of power on. When I got to about ten feet I pulled back hard on the stick and did a high-speed stall onto the ground – there I stopped. It may not have been the accepted way but it worked every time! I did it when flying with an instructor at Culdrose, and put the fear of god in him, but he had to admit it worked. “Due to their long runways, the RAF landed Mosquitos at anything up to 140 knots. When landing at RAF airfields naval pilots, as a matter of honour, used to plonk the Mosquito down on the end of the runway and if possible, turn off at the first intersection. This worried air traffic controllers, who had not seen this done before. “On completion of the course in July 1946, some joined 811 Squadron at Ford, but I went to 790 Squadron at Dale, Pembrokeshire. It was a mixed squadron with Seafires and Mosquito 25s. The latter were Canadian-built with Packard Merlins (less powerful than the Rolls-Royce engines, maximum power was +12” boost instead of +18”). Along with the Radar School next door at Kete, the squadron worked to train RN navigators to become directing officers (DO). This meant learning to use ground radar to control aircraft in the air. The operational area was up to 100 miles out in the Irish Sea, to the west of Dale. “The Mosquitos could work singly but, for safety, single-engine aircraft worked in pairs. The Mk.25s were replaced with Mk.6s at the end of 1946, and then TR.33s in early 1947. Without doubt the ’33, with the four-bladed airscrews, was the nicest of all the Mosquitos to f1y. One aircraft in a pair was the ‘bomber’, and the other the ‘fighter’. It was the job of the DO at Kete to vector the fighter onto the incoming bomber. They were supposed to be 500 feet apart vertically, but this didn’t always

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happen – we had some spectacular near misses. It was good that we were able to take the navigators in the Mosquitos as they were able to see what happened in the air, and how quickly it happened. “We normally flew the exercises at 10,000 feet which was in the direct line from Heathrow to Shannon in Ireland, and airliners used to fly over at this height. On occasions, if we were not busy, we used to formate on them – one Mosquito in quite tightly on each side. The passengers found it amusing – I don’t know what the pilots thought. They were mostly ex-service pilots and used to wave us off vigorously, but nobody was ever reported. “Dale was a conventional three-runway airfield. What made it interesting was that four of the six runway ends had only about 100 yards of grass after the tarmac – then straight down a 200-foot cliff to the sea! It says a great deal for the high standard of maintenance (part service and part civilian) that in the 18 months I was there we never had an engine failure on take-off or landing. The area was prone to sea fogs which came in very quickly from the Irish Sea, and meant that, if you were lucky, you flew three days out of six. When airborne, a call could come over the radio that fog was coming in. All exercises were cancelled and you made jolly certain you landed quickly. If you couldn’t get in, it meant a diversion to Cornwall or somewhere, usually for a day or more with no spare clothes or gear – the circuit procedure was not always gentlemanly. Dale closed at the end of 1947 when the squadron was transferred to Culdrose. The training was carried on from there until 1949 until the squadron disbanded. The operation was transferred to Airwork’s FRU; many Mosquitos were taken over by them. “I went to Yeovilton in January 1948 to do the naval maintenance test pilot’s course which lasted three months. We flew Seafire, Firefly, Barracuda, Harvard, Sea Otter (a horrible aircraft), Tiger Moth and Anson. The aim was to have maintenance test pilots (MTP) at all naval air stations so that all new, and aircraft off major repair, could be tested to a set standard before they went to the squadrons. I was asked to move the prototype Mk.33 Mosquito LR387 from Worthy Down to storage at Yeovilton. Worthy Down was a small grass airfield with a hill in the middle, and I was a bit worried if I’d have room to get off. So I put the tail against the fence, 15 degrees of flap, opened up to maximum power on the brakes and let go! Although there was little wind, we got airborne in the middle of the airfield off the top of the hill. After a good beat-up of Worthy Down I returned to Yeovilton. “In April 1948 I was posted to Stretton, near Warrington, as one of the MTPs. It was the home of No.1 Ferry Flight, a storage and maintenance depot, and 1831 RNVR Squadron, who flew Seafires at weekends. Many Mosquito variants passed through. Apart from the 3s, most went to fleet requirement squadrons; most of the 39s went to Malta. The Mk.39 was a specific requirement for the navy and was used for photography and target-towing, mostly converted from Mk.16s. This was



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done by General Aircraft at Lasham, and they came to Stretton before being ferried to Malta. The conversion included a square all-glass nose which totally compromised the flying characteristics of the aircraft. It increased the stalling speed by 10 knots – it was fairly horrible to fly. “I had three accidents in Mosquitos which, with one exception, showed how forgiving it was. In the first I had a faulty airspeed indicator in a Mk.6. Through inexperience I did not realise this and stalled at about 60 feet on the final approach to Heston. The aircraft hit the ground at about 100 knots, the undercarriage came up through the wings and it stopped in about five yards. No fire, no disintegration, and my passenger and I hopped out. My passenger had a bottle of Scotch in a suitcase in the back and it was in one piece! The second one was at Stretton in a 39 when I had engine trouble and did a single-engine landing. Having got too far down the runway, I was running out of ground fast, and there was a large pond at the end into which I had no intention of finishing up, so I lifted the undercarriage – you stop remarkably quickly. “The last proved the point that if you have an engine failure on take-off or landing, and are under safety speed, you shut the other engine and land straight ahead – anything else you will be dead. In my case I was coming in to land, quite normally, in a Mk.16 with undercarriage down and full flap and on reaching round out, I decided to do an overshoot and go round again. As I opened up both engines to full power the port engine stopped. I was about 50 feet up with a speed of about 100 knots. I started to get the undercarriage up and took off some flap, in an attempt to get up to safety speed, but realised very quickly that it wasn’t going to work. I throttled back the starboard engine and sat and waited. I knew the country ahead was mostly farmland, but I didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. “The aircraft hit the ground about two miles from the end of the runway, and started shedding bits. The propellers went first, followed by most of the wings as it went through some trees, the tail, starboard engine, and the remains which consisted of the cockpit and the port engine came to rest about 500 yards from where it hit the ground. The survival of my passenger and me was greatly increased by the fact that we landed in ploughed fields. Once the aircraft stopped, we both bailed out very quickly. It is funny that one’s automatic reactions are to carry out normal routine. I remember holding very tightly to the control column for support, only to find when the aircraft stopped that it wasn’t attached to anything! Apart from a lot of bruises, neither of us were hurt. “I was flying again a couple of days later (no counselling in those days), and I don’t think it affected my flying. There was no doubt that someone upstairs was sitting on my shoulder that day. The accident report said a bleed hole in the block between the high- and low-pressure oil systems was blocked with carbon, starving the low-pressure system of oil and causing the engine to seize – it had done three

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hours since major overhaul! I did about 380 hours in Mosquitos out of a total of 1,010 hours, and of the 130-odd Mosquitos in the navy I flew about 70.” 2 Ken Lambert – airframe mechanic “In December 1947 790 Squadron arrived at Culdrose with Mosquitos, Sea Mosquitos and a Seafire. I was a recently qualified air mechanic (airframes) in charge of the oxygen charging bay, recharging the aircraft’s oxygen bottles. I wanted to get onto aircraft but I was yet to become QS, nor had I been checked out on marshalling. I was passed on both by the workshop AEO Lt Forrest, and got my wish, going to 790 Squadron. Occasionally some of the trainee DOs from Kete came for a flight to Ken Lambert. see our side of their training. “Many of the junior rates were non-regulars counting the days to demob, with just a few regulars. At first I worked alongside an experienced airman, then after a few days I was allocated a Mosquito FB.6. On my first marshalling I had to turn the aircraft 180 degrees. The pilot, Lt Lovegrove, gave me a right dressing-down in front of everybody, as I had moved out of his range of vision – I soon learnt that lesson. When aircraft returned at lunchtime, I parked them all on the hardstanding ready for the afternoon activities. I had my first flight with Lt Lovegrove and was airsick – I shouldn’t have had that shrivelled-up kipper for breakfast! “I was paired up with a regular engine fitter, Bob Rowland. We soon became great mates and were allocated to one of the TR.33s. In time we became the senior partnership, taking care of any front-line visiting aircraft, including the Barracudas and Firebrands of 813 Squadron from Implacable. We also became a floating crew, taking on replacement TR.33s as they arrived. “Squadron manning was increased by general purpose mechanics who assisted us doing refuelling, manning the chocks, and watching the wingtips during aircraft movements. As time progressed, we got them more involved, especially when doing routine maintenance. There weren’t any real maintenance problems. The engines leaked oil quite a bit, so the wheels had to be covered at night to avoid the laborious job of cleaning the tyres each morning. It always felt good on start-up, when priming the engines, to get it right first time and not have to turn the props back in the opposite direction to clear the excess fuel.

2. First published in Slipstream, the magazine of the Fleet Air Arm Association of Australia in June 2020 by Lieutenant (A) Basil Nash, RN (Retired).



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“During October 1948 Bob and I were split up. He was sent on a skilled air mechanic (E) course, whilst I went to Yeovilton to learn the basics of other trades to become a naval airman aircraft mechanic. This was followed by a month at Lee-on-Solent with 703 Squadron, then it was back to Culdrose, joining 762 Squadron the Heavy Twin Conversion Unit with Oxfords and an assortment of Mosquitos, mostly T.3s. “The squadron was split into two flights, one for each type. There were a number of Wren air mechanics on the Oxfords, along with trainee Australian mechanics on both flights. I joined the Mosquito Flight but later worked on both. After I became QS in the other trades, (engine, electrical, ordnance and safety equipment), and was tested by the AEOs, I became a pilot’s mate. Instead of being allocated to an aircraft, I was ‘floating’ for both flights. I also went on an aircraft woodworker’s course at Lee-on-Solent, learning to make flush repairs on Mosquitos, but never had to do one. “Lt Lobb of the Royal New Zealand Navy was doing a single-engine approach when his other engine failed. Sadly, he later died of his injuries and was buried in Helston. The day of the funeral was very wet and, as guard of honour, we had to wear oilskins. On another occasion we lost a Mosquito when it crashed in the Bristol Channel after the pilot, Lt Musgrove, bailed out. He was rescued minus his flying boots.” Lt Owen Lobb’s Mosquito T.3 VT615 crashed on 30 September 1948 when he attempted to go around. Lt F C Musgrove’s TR.33 TW288 suffered an engine fire on 15 July 1948; he was rescued by Sea Otter. “The day of the first Culdrose Air Day (on a Wednesday when the shops in Helston were closed), was a highlight for me. I flew with the CO, Lt Brown, in a Mosquito T.3. After a very fast low-level flypast he told me to feather the starboard prop. We then did a single-engine flypast followed by a single-engine landing. One really got a sense of speed when flying at low level. “All too soon I left 762 Squadron to join 14 Carrier Air Group’s Night Fighter Unit in Glory, heading for the Med. The 762 AEO, Lt Clinch, told me it was a pity I was leaving as I had been chosen to take charge of a batch of junior naval airmen arriving at Culdrose. However, before I reached Malta both 762 and 790 Squadrons had been disbanded. Throughout my service I worked on many different types of aircraft, fast and not so fast, but for me there was nothing to compare with the Mosquito.”

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‘Admiral’s Barge’ XJ319 Sea Devon C.20 XJ319 at Yeovilton on 7 September 1973. (Stephen Wolf)

DE HAVILLAND SEA DEVON AND HERON These two communications types were acquired in modest numbers and served in the role from 1955 (the Heron from 1961) to 1989. Operating units: 727, 750, 765, 771, 781 Squadrons, Station Flights. Graham Peck – pilot “Based at Lee-on-Solent 781 Squadron was, in effect, the Royal Navy’s private airline. Consisting of mainly Sea Devon aircraft, with some Sea Herons, it flew daily scheduled services around the UK linking Yeovilton, Culdrose, Brawdy, Belfast and Lossiemouth with ‘request’ stops at RAF stations and civil airports. Additionally the squadron operated three ‘Admiral’s Barges’ used by the relevant flag officers and other VIPs. “The aircraft remained on constant standby. They were sometimes called upon at short notice for urgent travel across the UK or to European Graham Peck and Paul Jewell. destinations. They were flown by a crew of two; a pilot and a PO aircrewman who operated the radio and Decca navigator (a rolling map airborne navigation system that if set up correctly could deliver quite accurate positioning information). The airfield at Lee-on-Solent had no instrument-approach capability however, it was possible to carry out a very reasonable ‘Decca approach’ when weather conditions prevented



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the normal visual approach into the landing pattern. Fortunately the POs were extremely adept at operating the Decca, and were very quick setting up the system prior to and during flight. “Pilots joining the squadron were generally from jet backgrounds and required a short course to convert onto the piston-engined aircraft. The Sea Devon was a nice aeroplane to fly. It had more powerful engines than the Sea Heron offering better overall performance (two x 400 hp with three-blade props versus four x 250 hp with two-blade constant-speed props but in a larger and heavier airframe). I often wondered why they bothered with four engines on the Heron. However, when I discovered that each engine had roughly the same horsepower as my car at the time, I realised why. Both machines were mostly trouble-free, providing a generally comfortable means of travel. The Sea Devon carried up to nine passengers, whilst the Sea Heron carried up to 15. “The longest route was from Lee-on-Solent to Lossiemouth via Yeovilton, Brawdy, Belfast, invariably Glasgow or Leuchars, before finally reaching its destination. A night stop followed before the return trip next morning. The majority of the flying was in controlled airspace, requiring completion of an ‘airways procedures’ course and a ‘card’ instrument flying authorisation. This permitted flying in instrument flight rules conditions down to a set minimum cloud base and runway visibility. Airways flying was a novel concept to most naval pilots who, when flying operationally, had spent much of their time trying to stay out of controlled airspace and were now required to stay within it. Whilst not as glamorous as flying on a front-line squadron, 781 Squadron nevertheless served an important role. It provided an excellent grounding for those FAA pilots who eventually moved into commercial aviation.” Brian Elphick “Heron XR443, attached to 728 Squadron at Hal Far, was painted in green livery and its primary use being a ‘barge’ for C-in-C Med Adm Sir John Hamilton. It was notable because, just inside the cockpit, there was a small plaque to commemorate its use on a royal visit of Princess Marina, Duchess of Kent to the Middle East. “The navy was leaving Malta and with it the post of C-in-C Med. On the invitation of King Hussein, a farewell visit to Jordan was planned, the highlight of which was to be a visit to Aqaba to see the spectacular underwater reefs and wildlife. Sir John wanted to take the opportunity to visit Petra and the king indicated that if it could be fitted into his schedule he Sea Heron C.20 XR443 of 728 Squadron at Hal Far around 1967. (A Wreford via R Colbeck) would assist.

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“The Heron was to fly from Amman to Aqaba. The route went close to Ma’an where there was an old airfield – possibly an easy staging post for a day trip to Petra. Ma’an had been used in the past during a royal visit, but little else. The overfly found it had a good concrete runway with no obstructions, a building with a few cars in one corner, but nothing else. The king was informed and Jordan military transport to Petra would meet the aircraft – game on. “The Aqaba visit completed we departed for Ma’an. Unfortunately the runway had not been swept recently, small stones flying up and rattling the underside of the fuselage as we landed. As we taxied towards the building a man came out waving his arms. He shouted in English: ‘The airfield is closed’. I asked: ‘What are you then?’ Reply: ‘A weather centre’. I asked: ‘When did an aircraft last use this runway?’ He responded: ‘One of your royal flights with Princess Marina’. At that point two Jordanian Land Rovers arrived and whisked Sir John off to Petra. Our departure from Ma’an to Damascus took place from the grass!”

AUSTER Just five examples of the Auster light liaison aircraft remained on FAA strength post-war with the last one being withdrawn in 1954. Operating units: 777, 790, 791, 1831, 1832 Squadrons. One embarked for trials on Pretoria Castle.

AOP.5 TJ651 at Lostwithiel on 15 September 1948. (Ken Lambert)

Ken Lambert “One evening, in 1948, I was part of the duty watch at Culdrose. Just after tea a message came over the tannoy telling me to report to the guardroom. On arrival I was met by Lt Forrest, the AEO of 790 Squadron. Apparently an Auster AOP.5, destined for 790, had force-landed in a field near Lostwithiel and we were to attend with three others from the duty watch. I collected gear for an overnight stay, plus my toolbox and some other equipment from the squadron, plus sea boots (in anticipation of a muddy field). “Arriving at the site the aircraft looked undamaged, but we left it for a closer look in the morning. We were billeted in a nearby farmhouse, with each doing



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a two-hour watch on the aircraft. We had the pleasure of sleeping in a bed with sheets, a real luxury for us in those days, as we only had blankets on our mess beds. During my watch the moonlight was very bright and very welcome. It wasn’t too bad being able to sit in the cockpit, and having a walk now and again. I had a fleeting visitor when a barn owl ‘landed on’. “The following morning, after a real farmhouse breakfast, along with the AEO we started dismantling the aircraft by removing the wings. In the meantime a ‘Queen Mary’ (long, low trailer) had arrived. We loaded the fuselage first, then put a wing each side, lashed everything down and started on the journey back to Culdrose – with us ratings in the trailer. We created quite a stir as we went through St. Austell. When we arrived, we left the aircraft and trailer at the squadron site to await repair. “The reason for the forced landing was a blocked fuel pipe at the tank end. When all the checks were done and it was serviceable again it was taken on charge by 790. The one thing I didn’t like about the aircraft was that it had a Lycoming engine. This meant that the prop had a left swing, the opposite direction from the Mk.1 we had previously. The AOP.5 was still there when I left Culdrose for Yeovilton to go on a course to become a pilot’s mate. I returned to Culdrose in February 1949 to join another Mosquito squadron.” 3 The Auster was TJ651 and the forced landing took place on 15 September 1948 while being flown by Lt J Bremner. The aircraft went to Airwork at St Davids in January 1950 where it stayed until September 1954. In 1957 it was sold off to the civilian market and still flies today in Australia.

DE HAVILLAND TIGER MOTH A legendary pilot trainer still serving in considerable numbers in the role after the war and lingering on as a Station Flight ‘hack’ until finally withdrawn in 1971. Operating units: 701, 702, 721, 727, 728, 733, 758, 780, 781, 782, 796, 799, 1833 Squadrons, Britannia Flight, Station Flights. Tiger Moth T.2 BB814 leaving Hermes 1966. (Tim Lewin)

3. First published in Navy Wings News.

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Mike Cole-Hamilton – pilot “There is nothing that compares with flying in an open cockpit. You are part of the sky, not separated from it. Anything you look at you look at directly. No Perspex in between. “When we flew the Tiger in 1962 it was perfect mild, early autumn weather. We flew from Roborough (on the hill above Plymouth), with wide-open Devon and Cornish countryside around us. Dartmoor loomed to the east and the south Cornish coast was close by. Coming back from the west at clifftop height slightly out to sea was perfection. Calm sea, rock and sand clearly visible, you could almost Mike Cole-Hamilton. see the fish.” Jim Speirs – aircraft handler “When I joined Eagle she had just finished a four-year refit, we had four different aircraft types plus ‘helos’ on board. The first aircraft we handled was a Tiger Moth; it was the first aircraft I ever saw doing a deck landing. There was a familiarisation flight at Dartmouth for budding aviators who flew Tiger Moths, based at Roborough. Four aircraft flew aboard one day, we had to slow the ship down to enable them to catch up with us. They were so slow that we were able to grab hold of them as they passed over the deck. It seemed very easy, but it was all shattered when we got the big boys on. The first time I saw one of those recover it was quite frightening!”

Jim Speirs.

SHORT STURGEON The Sturgeon started life as a carrier-borne strike aircraft, however by the time it first flew the war was over and things had moved on. Following deck trials on Illustrious a re-think saw just 30 examples delivered. They only served as target-tugs, from 1953 to 1958. Operating units: 703, 728, 771 Squadrons. Peter Hiles “I had never seen a Sturgeon until one arrived on a Thursday night. By the following Tuesday we had to do deck landings in it, me and Lt Tuttle, our US exchange officer. We got TS482 and TS484 direct from Boscombe Down for the purpose of stretching the wires on Illustrious, which was straight out of refit, preparatory to her receiving heavy aircraft. We did deck landings on 30 April and 1 May 1951. Not only were we landing on only a couple of days after we’d first seen the aircraft but



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Sturgeon TT.3 of 728 Squadron, Hal Far. (Paul Edmajo Albanese)

also with 2,000 lbs of concrete in the bomb bay, to make it as heavy as possible (I did 13 and I believe Jimmy Duncan and Lt Tuttle put the total up to about 30), after which we never saw the Sturgeons again. “The Sturgeon was a splendid aeroplane, a gentleman’s aeroplane to fly; very steady, very nice with two contra-rotating props, very close-in with a slab-sided fuselage. Although you didn’t have full manoeuvrability if you did cut an engine, it was still very manageable and you could almost trim it out so that you could fly ‘feet off’. It was a lovely aeroplane but it didn’t go into proper service; it was used as a target-tug. I don’t know whether they did any deck landings in the Mediterranean but I did almost all mine in one morning. For me the testing of the Sturgeon was all compressed into one day.”

SUPERMARINE SEA OTTER

Sea Otter ASR.II RD894 of HMS Ocean Ship’s Flight. (J D Oughton)

Looking rather like a grown-up Walrus, the Sea Otter amphibian entered service in the air-sea rescue (ASR) role in 1946 and lasted until 1953. Operating units post war: 700, 721, 728, 729, 733, 744, 771, 772,

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778, 781, 799, 1700, 1701, 1702, 1703 Squadrons, various Ship’s and Station Flights. Embarked: Glory, Illustrious, Implacable, Ocean, Theseus, Triumph, Unicorn and Vengeance. Keith Cotton “Following my apprenticeship I was drafted to Eglinton, Northern Ireland where I joined station flight. Part of my work was on an ASR Sea Otter that had fabric-covered mainplanes. On inspections we had to remove patches, then do insertion repairs to cover the apertures. To start the Bristol radial engine two of us had to stand on the lower mainplane, insert a winding handle into the engine nacelle and with some effort wind up the inertia starter to full speed, shouting ‘CONTACT’ to the pilot who switched on the magnetos. We then pulled a toggle to engage the starter – the forward one of us was standing within just a couple of feet of the propeller when the engine started. No ‘health and safety’ then. We had two PO pilots for our two Sea Otters, which was unusual in those days.”

HUNTING PERCIVAL SEA PRINCE Developed from the civilian Percival Prince for observer training with 750 Squadron, the Sea Prince also served in various communications roles and as an ‘Admiral’s Barge’ from 1951 to 1979. Operating units: 702, 727, 744, 750, 781, 831, 1830, 1840, 1841, 1844 Squadrons, Northern Communications Squadron, Station Flights.

Sea Prince T.1 WF118 LM-619 of 750 Squadron at Lossiemouth. (Richard Jenkins)

John Keenan – artificer “A 750 Squadron Sea Prince was airborne from Lossie, with trainee observers, when we heard the broadcast from air traffic, ‘Sea Prince precautionary’ then ‘emergency landing’. We all wandered out to witness the event, it had an undercarriage leg stuck



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up. All Sea Prince pilots were ‘old and bold’ naval chaps and apparently he had told the students to ‘bail out’ over the airfield. They had declined and opted to stay with him. “He approached with one leg stuck up proceeding to bounce down the runway on the good leg, trying to shake the stuck one down. It gradually lowered, but it took several approaches and bounces. Eventually it locked down and he landed to much cheering by the huge crowds gathered outside the hangars. Goodness knows what it must have John Keenan. been like for the students. However I expect they ‘dined out’ on that story for years to come. “I was on detachment to Yeovilton from Leuchars. The previous night had been Trafalgar Night in the wardroom and two officers from Culdrose had commandeered their station’s Sea Prince to attend. Very patently they had had a good dinner. As they taxied out to return to Culdrose, the undercarriage retracted and they settled on the deck with a cacophony of crunching noises. I heard in the chief’s mess that lunchtime, that the officer in the left-hand seat had asked the officer in the righthand seat to lower the take-off flap!” 26 October 1978 Sea Prince T.1 WP309 CU-570 750 Squadron Culdrose. Undercarriage collapsed while taxiing at Yeovilton, pilot Flt Lt A Dorey. Aircraft Cat.5 (unrepairable), spares recovery then used for rescue training and struck-off charge. Mike Norman “I was a student observer at Lossiemouth. It was early in 1968, bitterly cold and the Sea Prince had no cabin heating worth speaking of. The 750 Squadron staff pilots were all on second-line tours between front-line squadrons flying Buccaneers and Sea Vixens. This was a doddle for them, bimbling around the Moray Firth and the Highlands with a ‘green’ navigation student behind them in the cabin. For their amusement they would do anything to unsettle the student. Many was the time that the pilot would set off down the ‘peri’ track with the student observer running after him, with large, heavy ‘nav’ bag at the ‘short trail’ and air charts and maps flying everywhere. One had to take this childish and somewhat erratic behaviour on the chin, as part of the wider aims of the course to see if you performed under pressure and didn’t crack up or go into meltdown – it was character-building stuff. “All was going well and we ‘studes’ worked together, sharing information on the finer points of mastering the art of navigation over the featureless sea where

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there are no landmarks. It was my first experience of using radar which, although pretty basic, gave a clue as to your position in relation to the coast. Dead reckoning was probably the most important technique to master – it served me well in later years when all else failed. “The flying programme for the next day was issued at about 16:00 and one had the evening to prepare, making up one’s log with tracks to fly, turning points, minutes to turn and timings. This was fine-tuned after briefing the following day when one knew the wind strength and direction at the cruising level – normally 2,000 feet. One had to provide a running commentary for the pilot – who always acted dumb! It was just a game they played. ‘Don’t let the bastards grind you down’ I kept telling myself. The one sortie in the syllabus that I was really looking forward to was a low-level jaunt around the mountains and lochs of the Highlands. This was a real treat after the tedium of ploughing endless furrows in the Moray Firth. “The day came and I was mortified to find that my pilot was none other than the station commander, Captain Eric ‘Winkle’ Brown. Captains were in the habit of staying ‘current’ on all aircraft types under their command, so this was nothing out of the ordinary. But rumour suggested otherwise – Norman was up for a ‘chop ride’ with the boss! He was without doubt the most famous pilot we had, a legendary test pilot with many ‘firsts’ to his name. Although I was apprehensive about this prospect it spurred me on to carry out my route planning meticulously. “The next morning was bright and sunny with a stiff breeze from the west. Briefing started without my pilot – he didn’t arrive until after it had finished. He asked me to brief him, which I did, but perhaps not as confidently as I would have wished. I was still applying the wind strength and direction using my Dalton computer, reworking my headings to steer and timings. He asked a few questions like safety altitudes, key landmarks at turning points, line features, etc. He made me feel at ease as we walked out to the aircraft, enquiring about my career to date. “We were soon lined up for take-off and Winkle pushed the throttles forward, brakes on, and the whole aircraft began to shake as the Leonides engines roared to be let loose. Brakes off and trundling down the runway we soon lifted off into a bright blue sky dotted with occasional puffy white clouds. I could hear and feel the undercarriage retracting which was the cue for me to give the pilot his first heading to steer and time on the first leg, on clearing the circuit. “This navex was mainly an exercise in following line features like roads, railway lines, rivers and lochs at low level, mainly at 500 feet. I had to watch that carefully, noting the highest elevations on each leg. I had to keep up a running commentary to the pilot on what to look out for, altitude to fly, heading alterations, etc. I was struggling to keep the commentary going. There was a small window to check where we were with regard to my intended track and timings. If I dried up for more than 30 seconds, he would make some helpful comments as to what he



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could see using the clock code. We settled into a rhythm which, surprisingly, I was beginning to enjoy. “We were starting to get buffeted about somewhat as we skirted the western side of the Cairngorms in a westerly breeze. My concentration was interrupted by Winkle asking if I had yet experienced the wonders of Speyside malt whisky, to which I replied I had. We spent a few minutes discussing which distilleries were the best to visit for a few ‘wee drams’. I was not sure whether this was a deliberate distraction to see if I maintained concentration, or a genuine wish to have a chat. I felt very at ease, did a fuel check informing him how much we should still have left in the tanks and he said I was ‘spot on’. “We arrived at Spean Bridge on schedule – the furthest point west before turning for home. As we turned to the north-east the boss complimented me on my skill in navigating overland at low level and said we would end the formal part of the sortie here, inviting me to join him up front in the co-pilot’s seat. I was surprised to say the least but did as I was told, unstrapping just as he pulled on the yoke, yanking us up to at least 1,000 feet. With a tailwind we were fairly nipping along. Invergarry swept by on our port side and we were soon overhead the Caledonian Canal and River Oich, at which point we eased into a descent. Now at the southernmost end of Loch Ness, Fort Augustus whizzing by on the port side, I glanced at the altimeter. We were at 400 feet and still descending. I felt I should say that our minimum height should be 500 feet. Was this another test? I decided to say nothing. We continued on down passing 200 feet, 100 feet and eased up at 50 feet. Wow! This was quite exhilarating, even in this flying bus. He glanced across at me and smiled. He could see I was excited and a bit apprehensive. I said nothing, realising this was Winkle’s way of momentarily shaking off the responsibility of ‘command’ and having a bit of fun. “Urquhart Castle rushed by on our port side – then it happened. My stomach was in my boots as Winkle pulled back on the yoke for a max ‘g ’ climb. There was a hell of a noise like a very loud machine gun going off under our feet. All the controls seemed to be fine and I checked behind for signs of fire or smoke – nothing. The loud racket persisted as we levelled off at 3,000 feet. “I suggested we should tell ‘Lossie’ we had a problem. ‘How do we do that?’ he asked. Was this another test question? ‘I think we should send out a Mayday call, Sir, informing them of our problem and where we are.’ ‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s way over the top. But just to keep you happy, we can put out a Pan call with our position. You can do it.’ I gathered my composure. ‘Pan, Pan, Pan, this is Navy 739, five miles south-west of Inverness at 3,000 feet.’ I paused for a moment to await a reply from ‘Lossie Approach’. They replied straight away. ‘We have a very loud noise coming from somewhere underneath the cockpit. There is no sign of fire and we have full control of the aircraft.’ Winkle looked across at me in a casual way and

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gave me a thumbs up. ‘Must be doing something right,’ I thought. “We had 40 miles to run, about 12 minutes flying time. The noise persisted but Winkle didn’t seem to be concerned. He had seen it all before and I was in good hands. Five miles out he handed me the Flight Reference Cards to do the pre-landing checks, which I called out. He selected the undercarriage – would we get ‘Three greens?’, we did. Just to be sure, he asked the tower for permission for a close pass so they could check the landing gear visually. The rattling noise seemed to get worse! “We flew past the tower and all seemed to be well. We lined up and with some apprehension we ‘kissed’ the runway, trundled down to the intersection and turned off. On arrival in dispersal a crowd had gathered. Winkle shut down and we climbed out. There was some clapping coming from the lads surrounding the line hut. It was all too obvious when we inspected the area under the nose. The nosewheel door was hanging loose and had been flapping in the wind, causing the banging and rattling. It had become detached from its operating rod, but how? Winkle pointed out a dent in the door with evidence of blood – we’d had a bird strike at low level. At the debrief I got a good report for the exercise. Nothing was said about unauthorised low flying and the bird strike – clearly he was going to deal with that himself. A few weeks later I passed the course.” Jim Milne – observer “It was 25 October 1960 and I was nearing the end of 49 Observer Course at Hal Far. The morning had been spent on a map-reading exercise in Sicily’s low fly area and I was being briefed on the final night sortie of the course. “Unusually there was a young Wren in flying clothing attending the briefing. Once the briefing was over my course officer, Lt Arthur White, introduced my pilot, Lt Cdr Proyer and the Wren, saying she would be sitting in on my sortie as part of her introduction to operations at Hal Far. My mind was focused, I was not the best student, and needed to get good marks from this sortie. Jim Milne. “The take-off and initial parts of the sortie went smoothly – everything including my brain was working normally. The Wren sitting alongside me had not said anything, and I was too busy to talk to her. My nav chart was unusually neat and tidy, not too many extra lines or crossings out. Suddenly she picked up my navigational compasses and appeared to say something to me, it was difficult to tell behind the oxygen mask. I indicated to switch her microphone on – it didn’t help. I retrieved my compasses from her grasp, but she had taken my nav computer. We were approaching a turning point – I could have done without the



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distractions! She was twiddling away on the nav computer setting, indicating she would like to know how it worked. “I wondered if I should make use of the compasses by stabbing her hand, or would a quick stab in the leg get the message through. Luckily for her I remembered this was a short leg, and needed a radar fix before the next turning point. I turned away and squinted down into the radar screen. Back to my chart – where was my pencil? And so we continued through the two-hour sortie. Her headset and microphone were u/s, so in order to keep her hands off my equipment I wrote notes on my chart informing her what was happening. I failed night navex 4 because I had an untidy chart, not because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time or uncertain of my position. I passed my observer training part two more by luck than judgement and certainly not helped by the Wren whom I never met again. “My lasting memories of Sea Prince flying in Malta are of Lt Chris Blanchett flying up a sea inlet. The wingtips grazed the tops of the cliffs whilst the fuselage was still beneath the tops – I wondered if he was going to pull up in time. Also a trip to Idris in Libya on Exercise Scatter. The aim appeared to be to get as much brandy in the aircraft as possible for the return trip.” John Ford “In the early 1960s navy squadron pilots were a close-knit band of young men, and nearly all bachelors. However one of their number was breaking ranks with his wedding shortly taking place in a small village in Hertfordshire. A return journey by car from Lossiemouth to Hertfordshire, in the days before motorways, was not one to undertake over a weekend if you wanted to be fit to fly on Monday. Close friends in the squadron were keen to support the prospective bridegroom so thoughts turned to the alternative possibility of air transport; after all they were airmen. “Lossiemouth kept a Sea Prince for communication duties, capable of carrying five or six passengers. It was normally flown by an ancient aviator who had been a ‘sprog’ pilot at the time of the Swordfish attack on the Italian fleet at Taranto. The aircraft could not be made available until Saturday morning due to other commitments, but the ancient aviator adamantly refused to fly this task. The airfield was normally closed at weekends but special dispensation could be sought for a Saturday take-off given no support other than the duty fire crew. “All the squadron pilots were jet qualified but one had also gained some limited twin piston-engine experience several years earlier. This particular Sea Prince did not have dual controls, with very basic navigation equipment, consisting of one VHF radio, and a radio compass which the pilot in question had never learnt to use. Pilot re-familiarisation on this aircraft was conducted by the ancient aviator handing over a copy of the Pilot’s Notes, followed by a quick demonstration circuit before he went to lunch. The aspiring twin-engine pilot was then left to

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try it out for himself. In those days asymmetric flying and single-engine landings were practised by actually shutting down one engine. A single-engine approach with flaps down became a committed landing; you had better get it right first time. Under pressure from his mates the seriously inexperienced pilot was persuaded to volunteer for the job, and submitted to the rigors of the re-fam programme. The flight time available for this was strictly limited. “Come the day the happy band of brothers wearing best uniforms, medals and carrying swords, bundled into the aircraft. The intended destination was Bovingdon, a joint RAF and USAF transport base. No internet weather briefing was available and being Saturday the Met Office was closed – oh well! A Sea Prince had plenty of fuel and the weather looked pretty good at Lossiemouth. First there was the long climb out over the Cairngorms, in perfect winter weather, a place where ice would often start to build – but not today. “Over the borders and droning on south a change was taking place, overhead a hemisphere of limitless blue but far below lay an unbroken layer of cloud stretching to the hazy horizon. The passengers in the back were asleep by now wrapped in a cocoon woven by the deadening roar of the Leonides engines. In the cockpit the only conversation an occasional exchange with border military radar suggesting a minor change of course. There was no hint of doubt at this stage, a long way still to go to Bovingdon and surely the cloud sheet would soon start to break up? In any case there was fuel enough to divert to one of the master airfields with no expected problem provided the VHF radio did not pack up. “The cockpit was warm in the sun, the fuel gauges slowly unwound and the scene remained exactly the same, a flat cloud sea unbroken as far as the eye could see. On enquiry border replied that it had no weather information for airfields beyond its immediate area, but the local ones were reporting sky obscured and very limited visibility. The thought of a 180-degree turnback was never really an option, this was the ‘can do’ navy and anyway the wedding would then be short of its promised guard of honour. Border gave a final position in relation to some feature which could not be found on the map and suggested calling Bovingdon. “It took a long time for Bovingdon to respond, and there was surprise at the request for a let-down and landing from some unknown ‘limey’ aircraft. The operator added that no other aircraft had been able to land that day, and the field was considered closed due to weather. Hmm, the plan was not exactly working out. Bovingdon thoughtfully followed this up by saying that all airfields in the south of England were experiencing the same conditions. Suddenly the state of the fuel gauges did not look quite so happy. The American voice, now slightly apologetic for an apparent lack of hospitality, suggested trying some other country, in the belief that, like most US transport aircraft, this Sea Prince presumably had a transatlantic capability.



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“A rather more positive radio transmission assured him that the Sea Prince did not have the ability to divert anywhere beyond the nearer Home Counties even in a terminal glide, so what could he do about it? The reaction was encouraging, if the Sea Prince would not mind waiting a bit the GCA crew would be alerted, with a controlled descent to minimums then available. The question of what minimum, and where the aircraft should go if forced to overshoot, was not explored. By this time the rather languid squadron pilot sitting in the front-cockpit seat had woken up and started to take notice. “Soon the voice of the GCA operator came on and the reassuring litany began, giving headings to fly and clearing descent to lower levels. It crossed the co-pilot’s mind to wonder whether his brother aviator had ever flown a GCA in the Sea Prince, but thought better of asking. He had some of the ‘right stuff’, and was not going to show any emotion which might question his sangfroid. The cloud layer crept nearer as the aircraft turned inbound. All was now set for landing, gear and flaps down, and the pilot had even remembered to advance the pitch levers causing those in the back to wake up and look around. There was little more they could do in the event of an ‘unscheduled landing’ except stow their swords more securely. “The aircraft first touched the cloud tops at 900 feet and then sank into the mist. The co-pilot was ordered to look ahead and report anything seen, rather like seaman lookouts at the Battle of Jutland. GCA called passing 500 feet, then 400 with no break in the gloom. At 300 feet the situation was unchanged, on the glidepath but still nothing in sight. Some fleeting memory of a 250 feet minimum height passed through the pilot’s mind, but it also occurred to him there was good precedent for overlooking orders – had not Nelson himself done just that? Turning a blind eye here was perhaps not quite the perfect analogy! “Somewhere about the 150-foot level an extremely controlled voice from the right-hand seat reported he could see cows ahead. Well cows had to be standing on Mother Earth, and almost immediately lights and a wide expanse of black tarmac appeared close ahead. During the ensuing landing the Sea Prince, with its long springy undercarriage, leapt back into the air, before finally settling on the runway. As any aviator knows when an aircraft is returned to earth the result can be judged either as a landing or an arrival. No independent judgement was needed to classify which this one was. The wedding got its guard of honour.” Mervyn Jones “I trained at Culdrose in Sea Princes but was not an observer by choice (they’d got enough pilots at the time). I was hopeless at Morse code, but I’d had perfect reports for what I’d sent and what I’d received back – the PO who was in charge never had anything from me at all – I think there was a fix going on. Halfway through my training we were doing a wind-detection training exercise over a smoke

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‘A life of bliss’ the three who joined Sea Venoms. Mervyn ‘Oboe’ Jones on the right. (Mervyn Jones)

buoy. I picked up on the radar that there was another aircraft doing exactly the same exercise in close proximity, I warned the pilot of a potential collision. When we’d finished training I got the top academic award. Three of us opted for Sea Venoms, which had been having a recent spell of bad luck at the time – we were considered to be absolutely crazy.”

CHAPTER SIX

JETS ASHORE In Chapter Five we met a selection of piston-powered shore-based aircraft. Over the years there has also been a significant fleet of jet aircraft in similar supporting roles.

GLOSTER/ARMSTRONG WHITWORTH METEOR Despite not making the grade as a carrier-borne fighter, the Meteor saw widespread service with many second-line units for pilot training, communications, target towing and as a pilotless target drone. The last exMeteor TT.20 WM159 FRU, Hurn, 21 October 1968. (Stephen Wolf) amples left the FRU at Hurn in 1971. Operating units: (F.4, T.7, F.8, U.16 and TT.20): 700, 702, 703, 728, 728B, 736, 759, 764, 767, 771, 778, 781, 806, 813 Squadrons, FRU and Station Flights. Tim Thorley – engineering officer “I got my Meteor time in as an air mechanic on 728 Squadron at Hal Far. If there wasn’t a qualified aircrewman I sometimes did the Meteor winch operations. I also used to jump in the back and go on detachments. There was always a spare seat, and I spent a lot of time going around the Mediterranean bases. I flew with Jock Gunning, my divisional officer, quite a few times. “Jock and I were returning in a Meteor from Andravida, on the Greek mainland. We were at cruising altitude when he noticed the oil pressure was falling on the starboard engine. He called the boss, who was in formation with us, and said he was shutting the engine down. We landed at Tim Thorley. Hal Far to be met by the boss. He came out with a copy of the Pilot’s Notes which said ‘Sometimes at altitude the 125

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oil pressure will stagnate because there is a fault with the gauge’ – there was nothing wrong with it at all. “Another exciting time was a target-towing trip. The engines took fuel from the internal tanks which were fed initially by the external tanks. The first thing you did was select the drop tanks, then the fuel gauges came down and steadied as it transferred to the internals. You watched the gauge all the time and when it started to drop again you selected ‘ventral’, 175 gallons ventral tank. When you’d gone through that you were on internals. That was it, time you were home. Out over the sea, switch to ventral, but the bloody fuel gauge still carried on going down; there was no fuel in it! Talk about get back to Hal Far pretty damn quick. The enquiry decided it hadn’t been filled, but had been signed for (not by me!). “I did a detachment to Gibraltar. The star prize there was a Kenwood Chef food mixer; they were ‘giving them away’. So I got two and stuffed them in the back hatch. The pilot asked what it did to the centre of gravity. I said I didn’t know, but it didn’t look too bad – on take-off the nosewheel came up at 40 knots! He flew back to Malta with the trim wound fully forward. He said: ‘You and your bloody centre of gravity calculations nearly cost us our lives.’ We could also get litre bottles of whisky at Idris. With just a little push you could fit six litres of Johnnie Walker in the Meteor’s ammunition bay – brilliant. “The TT.20 had a Rushton target winch on the side. The Libyans asked what it was. I said it was a secret weapon, a propeller-driven flying bomb. ‘But,’ they said, ‘it’s got wires coming out the back’. ‘Yes, if you miss, you can wind it back in again.’ ” Mike Norman “As an aircraft artificer apprentice I was learning my trade and gaining experience. I volunteered to operate the target-towing winch on the Meteor TT.20, as 728 Squadron was short of aircrewmen. What they didn’t tell me was that if you had an engine failure the aircraft was very difficult to fly on one engine, due to the asymmetric loads imposed by the engines being positioned out on the wings. It was controllable above 140 knots. Below that speed landing was not for the fainthearted, requiring superhuman strength in the legs to hold it straight. “It had a wind-driven ML Aviation G-Type winch, with 6,000 feet of steel cable, and was situated on a pylon above the inboard starboard wing. It could deploy a variety of sleeve targets, depending on the type of gunnery practice, reeled from a centreline fairing under the belly. This was at the beginning of the missile era in ships’ weapon systems where a radar reflective target was required. “Before my familiarisation flight, the boss Lt Cdr ‘Monty’ Mellor, sent for me. He questioned my motivation, whether I was up for the job, and was I aware of the risks? ‘You can get shot down you know!’ I assumed he was joking, and being a youthful, happy-go-lucky chap, I dismissed his reservations. “I was briefed by one of the experienced aircrewmen, Tim Ridgway. He took me through the operation of the wind-powered winch, it’s laying gear, braking



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system, test panel and the important cable cutter which was operated from the back seat. Safety aspects were covered in detail. Above all I must always be aware of the ‘droop’ of the wire when deployed, especially at lower altitudes. The droop depended on aircraft speed and one should allow about 100 feet per 1,000 feet of cable out. I was given a ‘bone dome’, inner headset with earphones and face mask for oxygen and comms, a green flying suit, with high lace-up flying boots completing the ensemble. It was all very exciting. I just had to wait for the day when there was a no-sleeve sortie scheduled, after which I would be able to operate the winch and deploy a target for real. “A couple of days later it was bright and sunny as Lt Wooff and I walked out to our aircraft for a radar-tracking serial with HMS Chichester. I had done the before-flight inspection first thing and had it signed off by the line chief. Naturally I had a vested interest in doing a thorough inspection. As part of my training, I had been ‘boning up’ on the aircraft systems and familiarising myself with Pilot’s Notes. There was little or no duplication of aircraft systems, so I was Meteor TT.20 WM292 041 FRU Hurn, at Luqa. (Dennis Robinson) mindful that if we lost the port engine we would lose pneumatics for the wheel brakes. If we lost the starboard engine we would have no hydraulics for airbrakes, flaps and undercarriage. No ejection seats were fitted – something I didn’t dwell on – I had had the ‘abandon aircraft’ briefing. “Start-up went smoothly and I read out the check list before we were marshalled out. Lining up on the threshold the hood was closed – I did the challenge and reply pre-take-off checks. Winding up the engines slowly to full power, holding on the brakes, Lt Wooff called the tower ‘Rolling.’ – we were off! As this was a heavy aircraft acceleration was slow; it was a warm day with a full load of fuel so we used most of the runway. We crept into the air as the white threshold markings flashed by beneath us. We banked to starboard over the cliffs and were soon climbing above a very deep blue sea, contrasting with the brown dry landscape of the island. “Lt Wooff changed frequency, and on making contact with Chichester we got our instructions. As the ship set up its gunnery tracking system we laboriously ploughed up and down at 250 knots in a straight line at 5,000 feet – this wasn’t going to be a hugely exciting sortie. Once this was over we climbed to ‘Angels 10’ [10,000 ft], and I streamed and recovered the target without incident, keeping a close eye on it in my rear-view mirror when close to the aircraft. More engine power

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was required to maintain the correct speed, and my pilot said the flying controls were distinctly less responsive when the target was deployed. We landed back and I returned to my ‘day job’ of maintaining the aircraft and working towards my ‘certificate of competence’. “I went on detachment to Cyprus with Lt Wooff. Cyprus was in the middle of an insurgency with the Greek and Turkish Cypriots inflicting retribution on each other. Our detachment of four TT.20s and two T.7s took off heading east not knowing what lay ahead. We were to be based at Akrotiri providing support to the Med Fleet which had gravitated to the eastern Med as part of a UN resolution to monitor the situation – a UN peacekeeping force was already on the island. As well as providing targets for gunnery practice, we were also there ‘to show the flag’. “The first sortie was to fly a target for ships’ gunnery practice, and all went well. The next day a sortie was programmed for the RAF Regiment whose job was to protect Akrotiri from air attack with their AA batteries. Lt Wooff established comms with the range safety officer and we received our instructions for ‘towline’ and altitude. All was well until I noticed in my rear-view mirror that the AA break-up shot seemed to be getting closer to the aircraft, ‘climbing up the wire’ so to speak – I told the pilot. Immediately he called the RSO and said, ‘Just so you know, I’m towing this f **king target, not pushing it!’ That was the end of that and I recovered the target. Back on the ground I heard that the range safety net had been broadcast ‘live’ on loudspeaker and the ‘Rock Apes’ quickly got the message and thought it was hilarious. After five weeks having flown some 200 sorties without further incident, the day came for our return to Hal Far. We crewed up with fuzzy heads as we’d had an almighty send-off the night before to say goodbye to our RAF hosts. I think we had given a good account of ourselves with our ‘can do’ attitude – there was mutual respect on both sides. “At first the trip home was quiet. I nodded off to the quiet whistling of the Derwents, only awakened by buffeting as we flew round the edges of cumulus clouds. I made the odd observation on the intercom to my pilot to make sure he was not nodding off as well. About 50 miles east of Malta our quiet little world was suddenly thrown into chaos as the starboard engine wound down. We slewed to starboard momentarily and were losing height. Lt Wooff was one of the more experienced pilots on the squadron and was ‘cool as a cucumber’. He re-lit the engine and we slowly climbed back up to ‘Angels 20’, putting out a Pan call. He was not sure what had happened, we still had sufficient fuel to get home and all the instruments were ‘in the green’. Could it have been an ice build-up in the intake? Perhaps some icing up of the fuel system somewhere? We needed to maintain altitude to increase our glide range in case it happened again. On the other hand, if the aircraft was icing up somewhere a lower attitude would increase the outside air temperature and lower the risk. He discussed the options with the detachment CO and the formation closed up, beginning a descent, to ‘Angels 12’. We were



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now about 20 miles out, on Luqa Area Radar. “The boss assigned one of the T.7s to close up on us. We detached ourselves from the formation and prepared to land first, with our ‘wingman’ on our starboard side. It would be a straight run in, we commenced our descent and switched to Channel 1. The tower said the fire truck was standing by. We did the pre-landing checks and all was OK. The landing gear showed ‘three greens’ and our wingman confirmed it. We continued, passing 1,000 feet in a slow descent. I tightened my harness and kept quiet – there was enough R/T chatter going on. We were now on ‘long finals’ to land, still over the sea but nearly home. “Then it happened again. The aircraft slewed to the right and the engine noise changed. Suddenly there was a lot of noise, rushing air and shouting on the radio and intercom which I could not decipher – the pilot had jettisoned the canopy as a precaution but we were well below bail-out height and committed to land. He was fighting to keep the aircraft straight with the rudder and keeping the nose up to increase our range. The port engine was now at ‘full chat’, making the yaw to starboard even worse. The cliffs and runway threshold were coming up fast! The wingman called out our speed – I heard ‘120 knots’. The pilot was using speed to help keep the aircraft as straight as possible, but at some point he would have to throttle back the port engine. The runway threshold rushed up to meet us – we were down with a large bounce then down again. Swerving violently we used the whole runway width, trying to keep off the grass. Our wingman screamed past us to go round again. As the general noise diminished, I could hear expletives from the front seat as the pilot wrestled with the rudder. Thank goodness we still had air pressure for the brakes. “We came to a halt at the side of the runway shutting down the port engine. Save for the fire truck which was speeding towards us, it was suddenly very quiet. We unstrapped and climbed out; ‘We got away with it then,’ he said with a wry smile. I asked if he had any clue as to why the starboard engine failed twice? ‘Not at the moment. Might be something to do with the fuel cross-feed valve but the AEO will organise an investigation.’ The fire crew put a blanket of foam around the aircraft; everything was very hot as evidenced by the metal tinkling noises as the jet pipes cooled. “We walked back to the line hut to be met by the AEO. ‘I’ve impounded the Authorisation Sheets and the A700,’ he said. That was normal procedure pending an investigation. ‘Monty wants to see you right away.’ Lt Wooff asked me to record my recollections of the flight as soon as possible as he would have to fill in an A25 (accident report form). ‘Your input would be useful. Did you put out a Mayday call?’ I said I had not in the confusion; ‘I was dreading you flipping the aircraft over onto its back so we could bail out.’ ‘Well, we were too low anyway.’ “As I walked back to the squadron building, some of my mates joined me eager to know what had happened. One said, ‘You know, no-one gets out of the back seat.

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No wonder nobody wants to fly in the back – you’ve got a death wish.’ Thanks to the exceptional flying skill of Lt Wooff, I’d had a lucky escape. I decided I would quit this volunteering; I wasn’t getting flying pay anyway!” John Ford “In 1957 two jet squadrons found themselves on deployment to North Front, Gibraltar. Sea Hawks from their parent carrier, alongside in harbour, joined RAF Meteors from Germany. All aircrew were billeted in the Bristol Hotel. Bar time conversation found each extolling the superiority of their own aircraft leading to a challenge ‘well then let me have a go in your aircraft’. Naturally the response was ‘OK but only if I can fly your Sea Hawk’. Both flights took place the following afternoon. “This was where I learnt about the ‘Phantom dive’, an unfortunate Meteor flying characteristic. A fatal loss of control would result if the undercarriage was lowered while the airbrakes were still extended. A yaw was created as the gear came down asymmetrically which could not be held due to the effect of disturbed airflow from the airbrakes over the rudder. Fortunately this information came with the pre-flight briefing and not an airborne experience. “Any chance of a short trip in your Lightning II?’ ‘You must be out of your tiny mind mate.’ What gloriously uncomplicated days.” Roger Meecham – armourer “In 1959 I was working in the armoury at Hal Far, which was considered to be a cushy number. We didn’t have much work on, it was close to Ronnie’s Bar for stand easy. Every now and again we had a bit of excitement with offers to go flying, and I had a number of flights in Station Flight Meteors. Sadly requests for armourers to fly in the back seat ceased when Station Flight suddenly had a full-time airRoger Meecham. crewman who did all the back-seat jobs that we armourers had formerly done. “One day a Meteor with the new aircrewman in the back went up to do radar calibration for a destroyer situated south of Malta. About halfway through the exercise the Meteor suddenly had a double flameout, both engines stopping simultaneously. The pilot pushed the stick forward putting the aircraft into a dive to try to restart the engines, and called ‘flameout, flameout, flameout’. Apparently the aircrewman either thought the pilot said ‘bail out’ or that a double flameout was a good enough reason to leave the aircraft as they were going to crash. The pilot managed to relight one engine, pulling out of the dive so close to the sea that his port wing took out the radio aerial strung on a destroyer, and he nursed the aircraft back to Hal Far. A search was initiated for the missing aircrewman, whilst



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the aircraft was impounded. It was found that, as suspected, the aircrewman had pulled the hood jettison lever, however it seemed he did not carry out the correct bail-out procedure. On the top of the tailplane were two distinct skid marks caused by his flying boots, indicating that he had gone up and over the tail, but not collided with it. Whether this was caused by his incorrect drill or by the ‘g ’ force as the ’plane dived was never established. Sadly he was never found.” Colin Morris – pilot “I was drafted to 750 Squadron in Malta, in common with several ex-Scimitar pilots … for a rest! I was not Meteor qualified. However ‘Little F’ at Hal Far was a QFI. The Meteor squadron (728) was a bit light on pilots so, hey presto, I was converted using their T.7. From then on I doubled on both squadrons. If anything juicy came up, I was usually the one picked. “The RAF had a Javelin squadron in Cyprus with a hot little single-seater Meteor F.8 to play with. The CO of the Colin Morris. Javelin squadron rather fancied having a go in my TT.20, so I borrowed his F.8 and went for a little whizz around Cyprus. This was just the basic aeroplane without the ventral tank, drop tanks, or any of the towing equipment. After 30 minutes of aerobatics, I was very impressed. For an aeroplane designed and conceived in the 1940s it was really fast – it went like a rocket. After 35 minutes, all the fuel was gone so a return to the officers’ mess for lunch was called for.” Sandy Saunders – air traffic controller “In 1956 Sub-Lt Gilbert Stanley was carrying out some night-flying training in an Airwork Meteor at St Davids. On approach to the north/south runway at Brawdy it struck the roof of a farmhouse near Llandeloy. Out of control, it crashed through electricity power lines and several fields before disintegrating, leaving a trail of aircraft parts across three fields, with the fuselage ending up in a field of young corn. “I was on the midnight watch in the control tower when the lights went out, and the airfield was in total darkness. Immediately the stand-by generators clicked Sandy Saunders. in, and the runway and taxiway lights showed up again, like torches in an otherwise black landscape. The fire crews and ambulance set off down the lanes towards the crash site, and found a very distressed farmer’s wife in her night clothes, trapped in the barbed wire. She only spoke Welsh and the crash crew had some difficulty in pacifying her, in the course of which they learnt

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that one of the aircraft wings had come through the ceiling of the bedroom where she and her husband were sleeping. She had run out of the house in shock, scared out of her wits. “Meanwhile Stanley, who had been thrown from the cockpit onto the surrounding grass, found himself uninjured, save for some bruising and a sprained thumb. In a rather dazed state, he stumbled towards the airfield, arriving at the boundary where he was spotted by the ambulance driver and taken to the sick bay.”

Sea Vampire T.22 XA107 681 Lossiemouth Station Flight, Odiham, September 1966.

DE HAVILLAND SEA VAMPIRE T.22 The navy’s equivalent of the RAF’s Vampire T.11 was the Sea Vampire T.22, and similarly served primarily as a pilot trainer together with other second-line duties. It served from 1953 until 1971. Operating units: 700, 702, 718, 727, 736, 738, 750, 764, 765, 766, 771, 781, 809, 831, 890, 891, 1831, 1832 Squadrons, ‘C’ Squadron A&AEE, FRU and Station Flights. Mike Cole-Hamilton “A cloudless, early autumn, Saturday afternoon in Scotland. I was looking forward to dozing after lunch in a sunny window near the fire … and the telephone rang. ‘Are you still current on the Vampire?’ ‘Yes, why?’ ‘We need a Buccaneer part flown to Yeovilton this afternoon, to be ‘choppered’ out to the Ark. Trouble is, after last night’s mess dinner, we don’t have anyone to fly the Vamp. You weren’t at the dinner, were you?’ ‘No, and you want me to do it?’ ‘Well, yes … ’ ‘OK, I’ll be at station flight within the hour.’ I drove in from Findhorn, got my gear from 750 Squadron and went across to Station Flight. Mildly narked at having Saturday afternoon disrupted, I had to admit it did look a nice day to go to Yeovilton and back. A small package was loaded and I was ready. “I liked the Vampire. Elderly even back then, and a bit primitive, it was a joy to fly. I’m tall and it’s small – I always felt I didn’t so much strap in as wear it on



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my back. So off we went. My route had a slight dogleg, straight down the middle of the UK with a turn to the south-west somewhere around Oxford. Climbing out from Lossiemouth I could see there wasn’t a cloud over Scotland, or the entire UK for that matter. I levelled off at 30,000 feet and went into that strange state where you have no sense of motion but, in fact, are going somewhere very quickly. “Over north Yorkshire it really struck me. I was seated in a comfortable quiet cockpit in warm sunlight and I could see everything. The North Sea was a bit indistinct, but there was the Humber, the Wash, all of East Anglia, the Thames Estuary and the darker mass of London. The south coast was visible from Ramsgate to Plymouth and beyond, with the shadow of the French coast in sight across the Straits of Dover. The Bristol Channel, bright with reflected sunlight, was thrust deep between the West Country and Wales like a sword. Lundy Island stood out in silhouette. All of Wales was clearly visible with darker ranges of mountains. I could see the Isle of Man and just make out the Lake District over the starboard wing. The east coast of Ireland was indistinct, but there. “It was a sensation and a view I have only experienced the once. But I will never forget it. Time and motion were suspended, as was I. Motionless, as though on a pinnacle above Britain, and yet in motion. An almost dreamy turn to starboard and an abrupt return to reality, I realised I must start my descent into Yeovilton. Soft, gentle, sunlit Somerset, so unlike the Scotland I had left only 45 minutes ago, came closer and I landed. Very soon I had handed over the package, been re-fuelled and was on my way back again. “The sky was still unclouded, the view still splendid, but somehow it didn’t have quite the same magic this time. Even so, I once again had the sensation of being alone above Britain in a sunlit, motionless near silence. By 17:00 I was back beside the fire having tea, as though the afternoon had never happened. “849 Squadron made regular use of Brawdy Station Flight’s Sea Vampires to train observer students in directing interceptions and raid reporting. Being small and partly made of wood, they were quite difficult to pick up on the Gannet’s radar (‘Can’t see you, waggle yer wings! OK, thanks!’) – ideal for the job. “Being a two-seat trainer, a steady stream of hopeful right-hand seat passengers was available. But, after a Wren asked for some aerobatics and was overcome by the preliminary wingover, most of us were cautious about anything more than straight and level and gentle turns with an unknown passenger. However, the CO suggested I take NAM Don Weetman up in a Vampire and see if he could tolerate some fairly strenuous handling. He was keen to become a helicopter pilot, had the right qualifications and attitude – he looked a really good bet. He was also a thoroughly nice guy. Occasionally a potential pilot would find he was chronically airsick with no remedy; it had happened to a good friend a few years earlier. “So, in a ‘goon suit’ and Mae West, he joined me in the cockpit. I’m six feet three inches and was a bit heavy in those days, Don was a similar height and build and it was not a big aircraft. It was a perfect day and we climbed out over St Brides

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Bay, and up to 30,000 feet over St George’s Channel. Oxygen mask and visor obscured his expression, but enthusiastic noises on the intercom told me he was really enjoying himself. “A few steep turns to check our bit of airspace was clear and a wingover to set the scene, ‘OK, are you ready?’ ‘Yes sir!’- off we went into a loop. A steep clearing turn before the next manoeuvre and then ‘Sir, I feel really queer!’ Right! Standard procedure – max rate descent, throttle closed, pressurisation off, airbrakes out, get his mask off as soon as safe, sickbag out and ready, open the direct vision panel in front of him, meanwhile going downhill like a brick-built ‘outhouse’. “Poor Don sat beside me in visible discomfort, his face contorting. Then it happened. Over all the ambient noise and without any intercom I heard the most earth-shattering burp I have heard in my life. He deflated visibly, clipped his mask on, turned on the mic and said: ‘Much better now sir, can we go back up and try again?’ ‘Not this time.’ We went home. But we did go up again, several times, and he did just fine. He passed for pilot training and vanished from the squadron. Two years later, in the autumn of 1969, one of the last things I did before leaving the navy was see Sub-Lt Don Weetman get his Wings – a good moment.”

HAWKER HUNTER The Hunter served with distinction in the pilot training and operational training roles at both Lossiemouth and Brawdy, and in many ways the most important, and much-loved shorebased jet. The two main variants were the T.8 two-seater (one or two of which were also used as an ‘Admiral’s Barge’) and Hunter T.8 WT755 BY-807 759 Squadron Brawdy over the GA.11 single-seater, a Pembrokeshire coast. conversion of the RAF’s F.4. In its later years it carried out fleet requirements tasks, with the last examples being retired in 1995. In addition to these roles the Hunter’s excellent handling qualities were put to good use by a number of aerobatic teams, including 738 Squadron’s ‘Rough Diamonds’ and FRADU’s ‘Blue Herons’. Operating units: 700B, 736, 738, 759, 764, 766, 899 Squadrons, Airwork FRU, FRADU.



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Mike Layard – pilot “I was an air warfare instructor (AWI) and one of the best jobs I had was as senior pilot for the ‘Top Gun’ school at Lossie, which was terrific. You spent your life pulling huge amounts of ‘g ’ and dogfighting in a Hunter. My collar size went up about three inches! This was just for the navy. Although we had RAF exchange people in the navy throughout my time they were not in that unit. It was a very rewarding time of flying with that lovely aeroplane – the Hunter at its extremes.” Michael Layard.

Mike Garlick – pilot “At Brawdy we trained on the Hunter T.8 (759 Squadron) and GA.11 (738 Squadron). The Hunter was a lovely aeroplane to look at and to fly, with plenty of power. It handled beautifully and was just like the sports car you always wanted. I also flew the GA.11 on the AWI course at Lossie (764 Squadron) where you were pushed to the limits, but had fantastic low flying over the Scottish Highlands. Whilst there my aircraft suffered a flame-out during a one-v-one exercise over the Highlands. I sank into cloud and was not far above safety height, but managed to relight the engine and recover to base. Not Mike Garlick. long before this a Hunter T.8 had flamed-out during one-v-one combat practice with myself in the other aircraft. The pilot was unable to relight, and although he made a forced landing at a satellite airfield, he was killed after ejecting. Following my flame-out I had a very chilly interview with the station CO, Captain ‘Winkle’ Brown.” Jonathan Tod – pilot “I did the AWI course at Lossiemouth. When I was three quarters of the way through it, and was leading four aircraft on an air combat sortie in a GA.11, I had a mid-air collision with my No.2 – both of us successfully ejected. My No.2 was an Indian on the course with us, Lt Shan Varma an absolutely delightful guy. We had to be rather quiet about what we were doing, because we were actually training several nationalities and at the time there was an Indian-Pakistan conflict going on. The unfortunate thing was that I was born in India, so the headline was: ‘Two Indians in collision over Lossiemouth. What’s going on?’ ”

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This occurred on 25 October 1965 involving 764 Squadron GA.11s WT712 and WT810/694, over the Buchan coast, with one aircraft crashing into the North Sea off Scaurs of Cruden, while the other came down near Auchanabo Slains. Jonathan Tod continues. “The Hunter was very strong. On one occasion while flying in a two-seater, we pulled over 10.5 g and bent the rear end of the aircraft. Apart from that it was fine! The guy I was flying with was a maintenance test pilot; he wanted to get his hands on a little bit of air combat so came along for the ride. Unfortunately we ‘fell in’ with a Scimitar and he was determined to get the better of it. He was actually looking at the sea as we were diving to gain speed – it was coming up fast. I had to pull extremely hard on the control column causing jack stalling on the elevators. We got away with it, but you can never trust a test pilot!” Henry Parker – engineering officer “In 1970, as deputy AEO, I went to 764 Squadron with 18 Hunters. An unusual compass problem was reported by pilot ‘Carbo’ McLean. He kept coming in at the wrong point over the coast. Swings on the main compass proved it to be accurate. Eventually we identified he was flying on the standby E2B compass (not the main), and steel screws in the canopy arch were strongly magnetised, perhaps by a lightning strike. We set up a degaussing rig using Henry Parker. a powerful welding transformer, 250 amps AC and a ring of heavy cabling – sorted! “We detached to Hyères on the French Riviera. After landing I stayed to check that all the turnrounds and minor snags were in hand before walking up to the officers’ mess for lunch. I noticed a small bowser attached to the wall. ‘Fuel oil?’ I asked my liaison officer, ‘No – that’s the red wine delivery!’ he replied. After the afternoon sorties I went to the mess perhaps an hour after the aircrew. I found them watching French officers pouring ‘fizz’ into a tower of ‘Babycham’ glasses; the deal was, if it spilled they drank it. After several goes our guys responded with Glenmorangie! “We were cross-operating with a French Étendard squadron. For the first two days their pilots were saying, ‘ooh zee Étendard, zoom zoom’, but by day three it became ‘ooh! Zee Hunter … zoom dagadagadaga!’ with appropriate hand signals. A couple of days later the boss landed in a strong crosswind. A fractured oleo resulted, and I watched about 50 French conscripts holding steadying lines, whilst singing in an absolute downpour, as the Hunter was carried in a lash-up of rope strops under a mobile crane back to the hangar. A team from MARTSU (mobile aircraft repair and salvage unit) were happy to have a French holiday too.”



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Mike Cole-Hamilton “I was on the Hunter T.8 on 759 Squadron in the spring of 1964, enjoying the excitement of flying a two-seat version of a fabulous and well-known aircraft. As the powered controls had no ‘feel’ it was stunningly light to fly, regardless of speed. One adapted fairly quickly, but the fourth familiarisation flight (before first solo) included a Mach run. One of my contemporaries, Mike Jermy, was up with the CO of 759, ‘Arfer’ Milnes. At Mach 1 plus a smidgen, Arfer remarked on the controls getting heavier as the shock wave attached to the trailing edges, encouraging Mike to feel for himself. Very tentatively, he did. ‘Oh! More than that!’ said Arfer. So Mike made a firm control movement to port, and did a couple of inadvertent twinkle rolls. ‘Hmmmm! Not something we normally do during a Mach run, but never mind,’ said Arfer and continued with the sortie.” Andy Copeland “I joined 764 Squadron at Lossiemouth in February 1961 as their QFI and instrument rating instructor. We had Hunter T.8s; a year later we added GA.11s, quite the finest aircraft I ever flew. Our main task was to train AWIs, one of whom was attached to each naval fighter squadron. We also ran courses for squadron COs and senior pilots prior to them joining their new squadrons, along with weapons training for pilots from foreign air forces. Air warfare was changing; wartime dogfights using cannon giving way to air-to-air missile attack and defence strategies, ground-to-air missile evasion, and new bomb delivery methods such as ‘lob-bombing’ for small nuclear bombs. “We generally worked a five-day week so there was lots of time to enjoy Scotland. Fishing, sailing, rugby, deer stalking and general fun was had by all, interrupted occasionally by the need to chase away a Soviet aircraft that wandered too close to our coast. It was the height of the Cold War and it was assumed that a real shooting war was probable. There were regular exercises with naval ships, the RAF and NATO allies; such as attacks on Norway to test their air defences and our skills against their pilots. “The Hunter was a very rugged aircraft with excellent serviceability and I recall only a couple of dicey incidents. The first was in September 1961 in a T.8 when I took a pilot on his first flight in a swept-wing aircraft. Instruction included high-altitude/high-Mach stalls, normally routine in this well-behaved aircraft. My student climbed to about 45,000 feet, levelled out and accelerated past Mach 0.8 then, as instructed, pulled back firmly on the control column. The ’plane stalled as expected, then promptly flipped into a very fast inverted spin. I had never experienced one before. It was certainly very disorienting, but on taking over control and applying full rudder to oppose the spin the rapid rotation slowed and, stick fully back regained us control, although we had lost a considerable amount of height. The instruments were not functioning logically. We soon found the reason … the

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pitot tube on the wingtip was pointing backwards! Further inspection revealed that we only had one underwing fuel tank. We concluded that the other had detached during the stall, crushing the pitot tube as it departed. The asymmetric wing loading, caused by the loss of the tank, induced the spin. “I had by now a considerably alarmed student whose first experience in a Hunter had not gone to plan. Getting down involved volunteering a squadron mate to join us so that we could do a formation landing as we had no airspeed indication, but first we had to check that no other systems were damaged. All worked well and we went home to find our CO on the telephone to an upset farmer who had lost one of his cows, a direct hit by our errant tank (a bullseye, so to speak!). “In September 1962 when returning to the airfield in a GA.11 I found, after lowering the undercarriage on the downwind leg, that the brakes appeared to be jammed ‘on’. Clearing the circuit, I fiddled around to no avail so, getting a bit low on juice, I opted to land wheels down and hope for the best. With the runway lined with fire trucks and ambulances I floated in over the threshold and touched down. There was a sharp deceleration but the aircraft stayed dead straight as it ground to a halt; leaving two parallel grooves in the concrete that are probably still there to this day. According to watchers there was a loud bang as the tyres exploded, and a spectacular shower of sparks as the wheel rims wore down. The aircraft was flying again two days later. “I managed to get myself ‘logged’ (officially reprimanded). On one of my last Hunter sorties before leaving the navy I decided to beat up the airfield. This was strictly a no-no but a blind eye was usually turned by the brass. The only house near the approach was the air station CO’s, but I assumed he would be in his office or at lunch in the wardroom. A Hunter at 500 knots and 100 feet is awesome and the shock to anyone nearby considerable. Captain Baldwin had a lunch guest at home, a very senior WRNS officer up from the Admiralty – apparently the soup got airborne. I was duly summoned for my dressing-down. He tried not to laugh as he told me how distressed his guest had been. My reprimand was entered in the ship’s log and he spent the next half-hour trying to persuade me to stay on in the navy.” Terry McDonald “The 764 Squadron Hunters used Tain range to fire live rockets. We’d point the aircraft in a line, outwards from the airfield, so if anything went wrong the rockets would go straight into the butts. When the armourers had loaded the rockets, and everybody had done everything ready for the sortie, the line was cleared and the armourers went along again to ‘plug in’ the rockets. A leading armourer killick was in the cockpit, and another armourer was plugging them in. The killick operated the master switch and when it was plugged in one rocket fired. It bounced on the concrete, just missed an oxygen trolley and disappeared into the distance. The armourer went to the sick bay – he was a nervous wreck for about a week.”



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Graham Peck “I was an instructor on 759 Squadron at Brawdy; the routine was great, Monday to Friday. The Hunter was such a lovely aeroplane and the flying was some of the best I did. It was a beautifully harmonised aeroplane with superb handling. After the Vixen, which was such a brute, the Hunter was just so nice – instructing in it was a joy. A lot of my students ended up in the Falklands on the Sea Harrier. “We had up about nine or 759 Squadron instructors at Brawdy, February-March 1964. ten students on a course, with (Mike Cole-Hamilton) about the same number of instructors. The squadrons weren’t massive, we had approximately ten Hunter T.8s at any one time. Having finished the 759 course the students then split. Fast jet went to 738 on the GA.11s and those going to Gannets went on to 849. “The T.8 was similar to the RAF’s T.7, but had arrestor hooks. They were only for the arrestor wires at the end of the runway, and you had to have lost sufficient speed to pick them up. It also had TACAN (tactical air navigation), and some at Lossie had the same flight director system as the Buccaneers. We used to climb at 420 knots to Mach 0.85 – it was a pretty quick aeroplane and very manoeuvrable. The controls were delicate, but not as twitchy as the Gnat. The T.8 was an excellent advanced trainer, in some ways I think it was probably better than the Hawk. “A typical day might involve two training sorties. Each exercise was structured around a one-hour briefing session, a 50-minute to one-hour training flight, followed by a 30-minute debrief. During the briefing the instructor went through each item of the exercise discussing the handling and technical elements in detail. Then the student went out to the aircraft and began strapping in whilst the instructor checked and signed the A700, and did the pre-flight walk-round inspection checking that the undercarriage ground locks and pitot covers were removed. He then climbed in and the flight began. All aspects of the flight were discussed at debrief. Whilst the instructor wrote up the student’s training file, the student was able to relax and reflect on the exercise. “The curriculum covered items that built on the basic ‘wings’ course preparing the student pilots for conversion onto their respective front-line aircraft types. This included formation flying, high- and low-level navigation, aerobatics, introduction

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to air-combat manoeuvres, air-to-ground weaponry and ground subjects such as high-speed aerodynamics. Although the Hunters had cannons originally, we didn’t fire them. We did fire rockets, which was done on the range just down the coast at St Brides Bay. The range was in the sea and WRNS range assessors were in the range hut on the cliffs logging the rocketing, triangulating, marking and assessing all the firings. We gave the students an introduction into air-to-air combat; a bit of tail chasing and built-up tactics, continued and polished on 738. “738 Squadron were next door to us. One lunchtime an engineer was doing an engine run on a GA.11 when it jumped its chocks and headed straight into the offices. You heard the engine running up, and then there was a huge bang. I saw it just as it went into the building – all you could see was the tail sticking out. The spine, cockpit and air intakes were buried in the building – fortunately everyone was at lunch. The seat fired and, as it went up, either the lintel, one of the windows, or part of the roof came down. Quite how the engineer managed, I don’t know. The seat just flipped him over the canopy, then hit the roof – all the tiles flew off in a great shower. The engine was going full-bore, and every so often it sucked in a brick – there was another bang and a huge cloud of red brick dust flying out the back. One of our instructors, a canny little Scot and a good friend, thought he could get in through the rubble. Even though the engine was still going he managed to worm his way through to the cockpit and shut it down.” Anthony Stephens “As any of the ‘cab’ drivers who flew aircraft fitted with the Mk.8 gyro gunsight (GGS) are aware, they had to recognise the target aircraft and set the span of the target on the sight. Flying with right hand on the stick, finger on the trigger, head down to GGS, they would clip the target with the GGS graticules (a circle of diamond lights in the GGS screen) and keep clipped by means of a twist grip on the throttle lever in the left hand. When in range, squeeze trigger … goodbye target. “On 764 Squadron at Lossiemouth the Hunter T.8C had no twist grip, and no means to fit one. The wiring loom was also deficient. I was in charge of port electrical watch. Over the course of a maintenance period, I fitted a double pole, double throw, centre-off rocker switch to the end of a throttle lever and wired the fused supply to the GGS plug – we had facility in the T.8 to use the GGS. My boss put the idea forward, the CO recommended trials, and I was given the task of working out the details. Eventually the idea was approved and the modification was fitted to our T.8s. “The Hunter was also prone to ‘runaway tailplane’, a fault caused by a sticking contactor in the electrical control system of the tailplane. The problem was exacerbated by high ‘g ’ forces. Sadly this happened to a T.8C in which my cousin Lt Cdr Leon Chester-Lawrence was killed when his aircraft crashed on 6 August 1958.”



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FLEET REQUIREMENTS AIR DIRECTION UNIT (FRADU) Derek Morter – pilot “Each year Yeovilton holds an open day. In the 1970s there was no participation by FRADU despite the fact there were some 30 or so aircraft just sitting there, except maybe for a single pass by a Canberra. In a conversation with OC Flying, ‘Wings’ Cdr David Howard, I told him that we had some very experienced pilots in FRADU and instead of just watching others perform, we would like to participate in the coming Air Day 1975. When asked what, I said, ‘an aerobatic team’. After the colour returned Derek Morter. to his face, a bit more conversation and a couple of beers he said that he would speak with Captain Abrahams, who was Yeovilton’s CO. “The captain agreed, allowing a four-ship and a spare, but wanted to see the team perform before giving us clearance. I selected a team of ‘eager beavers’ and we managed several practices at the end of our normal sorties. The captain watched a performance, and gave his approval – ‘The Blue Herons’ were born. Blue because we were three light blue RAF pilots plus one dark blue FAA pilot, and Yeovilton was HMS Heron. “For my No.3, and deputy leader, I grabbed Jerry Gosnell well known to me in the RAF. On return from sorties when conditions were right, we experimented in formation – most fighter pilots will seize a chance to do some aerobatics. Godfrey Underwood was offered the No.2 slot and Lt Cdr Pierre Cadoret was No.4. He was our chief pilot, having only recently left the FAA – wanting a quiet life, how could I refuse? We performed in the 1975 Air Day, and did one other show at Lyneham before the end of that year’s air show season. “During that winter and the following spring, we had a few more practices to perfect our routine, remaining in tight formation throughout. We started with a four-ship take-off, coming back ‘Blue Herons’ in 1977. From left to right: Brian at high speed from behind the crowd Grant, Godfrey Underwood, Captain Abrahams, in battle formation, doing a flick roll Derek Morter (holding the Shell trophy) and then pulling up and easing into formaPierre Cadoret. (Derek Morter) tion for our first wingover. For the rest of the show we kept it tight, close to the airfield and the spectators. Rolls, loops, wingovers in box, diamond and swan, line astern and finally on the last loop, putting the undercarriage down at the top of it and landing in box formation.

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“In 1976 we displayed at many Navy Air Days. Most important was the International Air Tattoo at Greenham Common, where we competed against teams from all over the world for the Shell Trophy for the best overall flying display – we came second. Afterwards Jerry competed for and won the Individual Aerobatic Trophy, presented to him by Douglas Bader. Later that year he left us with Brian Grant replacing him as No.3. The following year – 1977 Jubilee Year – we won the Shell Trophy outright! Brian Grant thought that could claim to be as good as, if not slightly better than, anyone else. Asked by BBC TV how we compared ourselves to the ‘Red Arrows’ I said, jokingly, ‘probably better because we did not have their very large amount of practice time’. “We continued to display each year at many naval and RAF bases, USAF Mildenhall, etc., but we had to make several changes to the original team. In particular Martin Holloway as No.4 when Pierre left in 1978. Then Mike Todd, Mike Sharp and Nigel Charles in the No.2 or 4 position; I continued to lead and Brian remained as my No.3. After a break Godfrey returned, and as I had retired in July 1985, he led the team for the Yeovilton Air Day 1986. All these changes verified my original statement to Cdr Howard that ‘we had some very experienced ‘Blue Herons’ team over Yeovilton in 1976. pilots in FRADU’. (Adrian Balch collection) “With the Royal Navy’s financial cutbacks, our intended last show was in September 1980 at Coltishall. However, we did a show for a Families Day at Yeovilton in June 1984 and two more that August for navy press days. We always enjoyed great public response; this reaction extended to air show organisers in our six years as a team. I also believe we helped to keep Royal Navy aviation in the public eye. I immensely enjoyed the great companionship, respect, and enduring humour of flying with Brian and Godfrey. “As for flying one of the most beautiful aircraft that Sir Sydney Camm designed, I do not have the words to describe it; it was the GA.11 which gave me the greatest pleasure. Flying it sedately, or turning it inside out, it had well-balanced power controls and the lighter weight made the aircraft so delightful – it always felt



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right. It was the Spitfire of my generation. It was comfortable, like a favourite pullover; a partner that never let me down – thank you Rolls-Royce for your Avon engine. “I must express my gratitude to our mechanics who made sure the aircraft we needed were always there, whether it was a working weekend or not. There were very few where we needed to have or take our mechanics with us, so for them it was all the hard work and none of the glory. Thank you all so very much for your time, hard work and great support.” Pierre Cadoret – pilot “We flew sorties from Yeovilton for the Air Direction School. We did a lot of flying, not terribly exciting or demanding, but we would occasionally go low level over the sea. I ended up with 2,000 hours on the Hunter – approximately mid-20s to 30s flying hours every month. The Hunter wasn’t that complicated with no advanced kit in it. However, as I got stuck once and couldn’t get my wrist out, I hated changing the starter cartridges. “Over the years of talking to the crews you’d get the urge to do something a bit different, stick the odd loop in, Pierre Cadoret. or go off as a pair and practise formation – Derek Morter was the prime instigator. You couldn’t find many people who’d do formation aerobatics with you; not until they knew you very well. Derek was a natural leader; he really was the smoothest chap I’ve ever flown with. “When we won the Shell Trophy for the best team at Greenham Common we were a bit speechless. ‘Do they mean us, or are there other Blue Herons here somewhere? Cor blimey governor, what happened there?’ We had the odd pint or two, that’s for sure. We enjoyed Greenham Common because we were up with the big boys. We had so many to watch and keep up with. Once, landing in box formation, with a very strong crosswind, I needed a lot of rudder, aileron and full power to stay safe – but it worked out all right. I suppose it was just instinct, but it was great.” Godfrey Underwood – pilot “I joined the unit in March 1971 having been an RAF Canberra pilot. Brian Grant did my conversion training and passed me out. I really was the ‘boy’ of the outfit, which was equipped with Hunter T.8Cs. Late in 1972 the FRU at Hurn, Bournemouth (flying single-seat GA.11s) moved to Yeovilton and the unit became FRADU. Just before that I was asked to go to Hurn, join a three-ship formation and fly to Malta. I had not flown the GA.11 before but it was just another Hunter, what could possibly go wrong?! “On 13 October we set off to fly Hurn-Hyères-Luqa to arrive at our destination in good time, well before dark (we had been forbidden to arrive at night). The weather at Hyères was somewhat inclement so we had to divert to Nîmes, and for some

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reason this necessitated a stop-off at Decimomannu. The ‘Deci’ stop was probably to consult some Buccaneer navigators there as to when sunset was in Malta. After consulting their almanacs they decided that we could get there before dark, so we set off – somewhat behind schedule. “Cruising along at 40-odd thousand feet I noticed the sun was starting to touch the horizon, and we still had some way to go. With my sharp incisive intellect, I started to suspect we were not going to make it before dark. My senses now finely attuned I realised I was going to need the cockpit lighting – but there were no switches where the T.8C had them. I was well into the descent before I found them hidden away in a recess on the left-hand side. Be still my beating heart. “I think we all assumed we would land in formation to speed up proceedings, but we were soon disabused of that notion and told we would land singly. Our gallant leader then asked us all how much fuel we had. Looking back on it I think the ‘old hairies’ lied because, in my naivety I told the truth and was thus nominated as the last to land. But all was well, no-one ran out of fuel. When I taxied into dispersal I was greeted by a wing commander who climbed up the ladder, as it was fitted to the side of my aircraft, demanding to know if I was night qualified. I was able to reassure him that I was now! “Both breeds of Hunter were a delight to fly and my Hunter days were the best of my life. The GA.11 felt a little lighter and more responsive while the T.8C was slightly better at high Mach numbers due to its conforming more to area rule. During my time in the RAF, I had never got below 250 feet, but in my time with the navy I rarely went above 50 feet when working with Her Majesty’s ships. I was given guidance in air combat by Jerry Gosnell, who did the best solo aerobatic display in a Hunter I have ever seen – after he had beaten me repeatedly in onev-one. I asked why I could never match him; he said I probably never let my airspeed drop below stalling speed, which was true. ‘It’s just a question of getting your attitude right and unloading the aircraft, and you need very little airflow over the wings to manoeuvre it. You just need to have it in the right attitude to drop down and onto the tail of the aircraft you have just forced to fly past you.’ “Our groundcrew did a wonderful job. Having flown about 4,000 hours on the Hunter before I finished, in all that time I only had one major engine problem. I was coming out of Lossiemouth in a T.8C passing about 15,000 feet when I suddenly got harsh engine vibration, and an increase in JPT (jet pipe temperature). I throttled back to keep the JPT within limits but could only maintain about idle. I couldn’t return to Lossiemouth as it had become shrouded in fog. Prestwick wanted me to go to Leuchars. I pointed out that I couldn’t make it, however I could see Wick airfield ahead. Despite it being closed, they accepted it was my only chance. Only two of my four drop tanks jettisoned due to an electrical fault, so that gave me a threshold speed of 150 knots +10 for the engine out on a 6,000-feet runway in still air. I crossed the threshold about 5-10 knots fast – cowardice I guess. The limit speed to deploy the brake parachute was 160 knots – it seemed to take forever



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for the speed to drop to that figure. I didn’t want to wear the brakes out before the ’chute was out, so I was quite relieved to stop before the end of the runway.” Fleet requirements work continues to be a part of the FAA and in 2021 was being served by 736 Squadron at Culdrose, flying the Hawk T.1, with a mixture of service and civilian personnel.

ENGLISH ELECTRIC CANBERRA

Canberra TT.18 WJ614 846 FRADU Yeovilton. (via David Rye)

The first Canberras to get into the navy’s hands were the T.17 ECM versions operated by the joint RAF/ Navy 360 Squadron. The type then arrived with the FRU at Hurn, then FRADU at Yeovilton, in the T.4, TT.18 and T.22 variants. These were finally phased out in 1992. Operating units: 360 Squadron, FRU, FRADU.

Adrian Tuite – observer “I was involved with target-towing Canberra TT.18s on FRADU. We towed several types of target, including the traditional banner for pilots to shoot at to practise their air-to-air gunnery and the sleeve-shaped target (rather like a windsock), which was used chiefly for small-calibre surface-to-air gunnery from ships. Then there was the Rushton target which came in many guises. One was just a tube with a Luneburg lens on the front which had a very good radar signature, particularly for high-frequency radars. The height-keeping target was a towed-winged target. It required precise calculations, precise tow lengths Adrian Tuite. and very good flying by the pilot. There was only a certain bracket in which the wing could command the target up or down; if it went too slowly, eventually it would stop flying and drop into the water. It was designed after the Falklands, because of any future Exocet threat. “We were towing up to about 18,000 feet behind the aeroplane. It went up to 23,000 feet, particularly with the advent of the low-level target with the close-in weapon systems – eventually we were doing 30,000-feet tows. There was a winch

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under each wing with a cable drum; they were bloody heavy, about 2,000 lbs. The cable was spliced so it started off very thick closest to the drum, then it was spliced down until it became very fine at the target end. The tension at the target end was clearly much lower than the tension at the winch. “When it was first trialled against either Phalanx or Goalkeeper automatic ships’ defence systems they engaged when they were in range. They knocked the target off in the first burst, but then started to track up the cable, shooting it off in great chunks! Fortunately we never lost anyone – it never reached the aeroplane. Our main area for towing was mostly Lyme Bay. There were ranges all along that coast – Frazer was one, to the east of Portsmouth with another one at Portsdown Hill. There were also live ranges at Plymouth, and sometimes we used the ranges in Cardigan Bay. “As a consequence of the drag towing, these targets used a lot of fuel. The ship was trying to get a weapon off, and you were running out of fuel. We were always being asked if we could give the ship one more attempt – ‘We’re going south tomorrow and we’ve got to get this shoot away’. It was our decision in the end – ‘Oh. All right!’ The cable was a valuable resource, you had to bring it back – getting it in took eight to ten minutes. “On one occasion I had a new pilot and he said, ‘Come on, let’s give them another run’. I told him we needed the fuel but he talked me into it so we did one more. Then we turned north, started to climb and I started to wind the target in. It was usual to stop it about 20 feet below the winch. Particularly if it had been shot at, we needed to check its stability using a mirror about the size of a packet of fags. We weren’t going to have time for this because we were fast approaching Chesil Beach, running on vapour. I said, ‘You’ve got to fly an orbit here because we’re getting too close to the land’. He said, ‘Keep it coming, we’ll be all right’. Our only indication was a tension gauge and it looked stable. ‘Keep it coming, keep it coming and take it straight on.’ I said, ‘We’re not supposed to do that’. I let it keep coming right up to the winch. Then before it got onto the cradle ‘wack-wack-wack-wackbang’ and it had gone – it broke off and flew. I don’t know what height we were at, probably about 4,000 or 5,000 feet and I said, ‘Great! Watch that go down’. He could see it. Just as it hit the surface, I got a view from my little window as it hit the water just off Chesil Beach. Five metres further and it would have been on the beach – we were lucky to get away with that one. We didn’t know whether to say anything or just keep our heads down; a bit of a tricky one. We didn’t tell anybody and got away with it. It was a problem being a back-seater – he was inexperienced and I couldn’t talk him out of it. “The Canberra T.22 was an interesting ‘animal’ fitted with the Buccaneer’s Green Parrot radar. It had great Avon 208 engines and, particularly at altitude would go forever. It would also go like hell on the deck, I think the book speed was 580 knots but I certainly did well above 620 at sea level. You could flip the Buccaneer



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Canberra T.22 WH803 FRADU Yeovilton August 1982. (Richard Andrews)

radar’s electronic signature in various modes and mimic an air-to-surface missile within certain parameters. One or two Hunters flew with you in close formation – as one unit. You’d only be one radar target, and at the appropriate moment you ‘launched’ the Hunters. You slowed down, they accelerated and then called you at whatever range they were, and you changed the radar mode to mimic them as missiles. When they were in the last ten miles you locked on to the ship giving them a missile radar lock, inbound. “I’m a bit biased but I would say the T.22 was the most handsome of the whole stable – a two-seater, with a ‘dickie’ seat. Operationally there was just the pilot and observer. They were so good but they were being flown by hooligans. We were doing 620 knots out of Gib, looking for a target out in the Atlantic. We had a position and an intended movement, but it was lousy and inaccurate – about 300 or 400 miles out. There was only a very small window for the attack. They were a lot further west than they should have been and when we arrived we didn’t have any Hunters with us – we were on our own. I was doing the nav and said we needed to go faster, another 40 knots. So we did, we got it right on the button. It was a wonderful aeroplane.” Catherine Davies van Zoen “I used to love doing the turnaround on the Canberras, except for the awkward crouch to get the starter cartridges in. We had to get up on the mainplanes to refuel them. It was really cold when they had been flying at altitude, covered in ice. You stuck to the wing if you stayed still in one place for too long – so bitterly cold!”

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Mike Maddox – pilot “RAF and FAA aircrew, and maintainers, integrated into a harmonious and effective force in the RN-RAF squadron – 360. Professionalism and mutual respect overrode the antagonism in higher echelons – we were joined in the aim of providing a first-rate electronic warfare training service. 360 Squadron was unique – every fourth commanding officer was RN (I was fortunate to be one of them); it was manned 25 per cent by Mike Maddox. Royal Navy aircrew and maintainers operating 18 Canberra T.17s. It performed a vital role in training the Fleet and RAF air-defence system operators to combat electronic countermeasures (ECM). “The squadron was created at Watton on 1 April 1966 from the merger of 831 Squadron, and B Flight 97 Squadron RAF. The first Canberra arrived just before Christmas. 360 Squadron moved to Cottesmore in April 1969, and to Wyton in September 1975, where it stayed until disbanding in October 1994. “The threat posed by the Soviet forces during the Cold War was extremely significant. Defence forces needed to be able to respond to large-scale raids by aircraft and ships launching air-to-surface, and surface-to-surface missiles (possibly tactical nuclear), under cover of extensive electronic radar and communication jamming. The threat was posed by strategic bombers, guided-missile cruisers and destroyers. It was vital that air-defence system operators in shore-based radar stations controlling air-defence aircraft, and NATO warships, gained expertise in ECM. Realistic training in the face of intensive electronic and mechanical jamming was essential – it was 360’s role to provide that training. It provided a variety of threat training including launching eight to ten aircraft attacks in air-defence exercises against the UK’s air-defence radars (and intercepting aircraft), also against NATO naval task forces. “The Canberra T.17 had a variety of electronic jamming equipment – including noise jammers, chaff/window to jam AD radars, and deception/repeater jammers to jam fire-control systems in SAMs and AI radars. A profusion of aerials and radomes destroyed the graceful lines of the Canberra, but it proved to be most effective in replicating any threat and provided realistic training. It carried a crew of three: pilot, navigator and an EWO. The enthusiasm and technical expertise of the senior EWOs was impressive. It was this expertise that was called upon to counter the Exocet missile threat in the Falklands campaign when, in 1981, the Argentine navy acquired them for their Super Étendard aircraft. The Exocet is launched at about 150 kilometres from its target, flying just below the speed of sound at 150 metres above the sea. As it gets close to the target area it switches on active radar, locks on to the biggest target and delivers a 165-kg warhead through the ship’s hull. “The Falklands Task Force urgently needed a defence against Exocet, and 360 Squadron EW leaders were called to get together, with RN air engineers from the Naval Aircraft Trials Installation Unit (NATIU) at Lee-on-Solent, to design a counter



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to it. Within a very short time a ‘black box package’ was designed, constructed and fitted to a Lynx helicopter. A radar-warning receiver was coupled with a spectrum analyser (electronic test equipment) from RAE Farnborough and an I-Band jammer from the Canberra T.17. The decoy system required the helicopter to hover at 600 feet in the vicinity of the targets when an Exocet attack was expected – the observer would detect the Exocet radar as it searched, and precisely input a false signal causing it to home towards the helicopter rather than a warship … passing harmlessly under it. The French supplied two missiles for a successful trial on the Aberporth range, and the ECM package was sent south for operational use.”

Canberra T.17 WJ625 360 Squadron Cottesmore at Coltishall 10 September 1969. (Steve Bond)

John Keenan “The Canberras of 360 Squadron were modified with new wing and tailplane main spars to give them increased fatigue life. The bomb bay was turned into a ‘pack bay’, and racked all the highly classified avionics equipment. The squadron regularly did detachments, Gibraltar, Norway, Germany, etc. Jamming and generally snookering the avionics of the Soviet warships in the North Sea and Med was just one of the tasks. “I ran the 360 minor servicing team, and dealt with any major defects and

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modifications. My team comprised two POs, one LAM, three corporals and two J/ Ts. I always asked for newly arrived apprentices from Halton, and used their dual trade skills to the full. A grand team we were too; every Friday lunchtime we went to a pub and played pool. We came back at two, cleaned the tool board, tidied up our publications, cleaned the work area (that took about an hour), then stood them down for the weekend. This p****d off a few of the senior NCOs and the engineering officer, but they never stopped me. Perhaps being a Falklands man made me a bit stroppy! The Canberras were under the care of BAe at Samlesbury, near Warton, carrying out all major servicing and modifications. “We lost a Canberra off Gibraltar on a misty, poor visibility morning when the aircraft crashed immediately after take-off into the sea – all on board were killed. As we were a close-knit unit it upset us all.” This accident occurred on 3 August 1983 to T.17 WJ625. The pilot was believed to have become disorientated in cloud over a glass-like sea. The other crew members were Fg Off William Edward, Flt Lt Peter Ford and Fg Off Andrew Beynon.

Last Gannet launch on Ark Royal 27 November 1978. (Steve Shirley)

CHAPTER SEVEN

EYES OF THE FLEET – GANNET AEW With 849 Squadron’s Skyraiders fast approaching obsolescence a replacement was needed to be found quickly. Fairey’s came up with a substantially modified variant of the Gannet to house the AN/APS-20 radar in an under-fuselage radome, requiring a length849 Squadron moves to Brawdy. One of ‘PAF’’s ened undercarriage to prosuperb cartoons. (Lt Cdr Paf Grant MBE) vide ground clearance, and with a modified cabin arrangement for two observers sitting side by side. First flown in 1958, the AEW.3 entered service in the winter of 1959/60 and lasted until the withdrawal of Ark Royal, 849 Squadron disbanding on 15 December 1978. Operating units: 700G, 849 Squadrons, ‘C’ Squadron A&AEE. Embarked: Ark Royal, Centaur, Eagle, Hermes and Victorious. Mike Cole-Hamilton “Pilots coming to the Gannet had, at the very least, got their brand-new wings. Some were reluctant experienced jet-jockeys who found conversion to this turbo-prop quite an experience. We first learnt to fly the T.5 dual-control trainer with the instructor in the centre cockpit. Dual controls and instruments were straightforward, but what about the view ahead? The answer was simple, a periscope. It sounds comical but it worked very well. The instructor had a mirror straight ahead at eye level, just above the flight instruments, with an upper mirror about 15 inches higher. “From the student’s point of view this worked very well. He was in a single cockpit for the first time (no empty seat beside him), very good for morale. He also had things like the engine starter cartridge controls and the radio, so everything essential was up front for solo sorties. The instructor had all that he needed and, on the whole, good forward vision. This was a bonus for the instructor when it came to instrument flying, which Gannet pilots did a lot. In a two-hour sortie it wasn’t unusual to log one hour 55 minutes ‘on the clocks’. “For instrument-flying instruction you changed cockpits, and the student flew from the centre cockpit. The exterior of the entire canopy and the upper mirror of the periscope had been liberally coated with Bluebell metal polish, so you were closed into a bright white world with opaque Perspex all around – you were in thick 151

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cloud with no external visibility. Your instructor started the aircraft and taxied out to the runway. Once lined up on the centreline he handed over control – from the moment of releasing the brakes you did your take-off on instruments. You might sense an occasional touch on the rudder pedals from up front, with a comment on your alignment soon after leaving the ground. “Up into all the standard manoeuvres, things like 360-degree turns at 60 degrees of bank. You had a tremendous feeling of pride if you hit sudden turbulence as you rolled out into level flight – you’d hit your own entry slipstream, no height loss or gain. Then it came, ‘OK, cover up the horizon!’ This is where he had to trust you to cover the artificial horizon – we did, despite the temptation not to. Limited panel flying began. That usually went OK but all too soon the voice on the intercom said, ‘Right! Look down until I tell you!’ The worst trick played was in unusual attitudes. The instructor hurled the Gannet around the sky, then suddenly rolled out of a violent manoeuvre into straight and level flight while saying ‘OK, you have control!’ The result was invariably an immediate, wild, unnecessary control deflection by the student, whose balance organs had him 100 per cent fooled. Not a nice trick, but one we learned from and were ultimately grateful for. Again, this was where you could cheat by uncovering the horizon, but we all knew how important accurate instrument flying was. “ ‘Double Disc’ was a situation where both of the Gannet’s props were in fine pitch while airborne; effectively resulting in reverse thrust. Not a good situation to be in during flight – but the recovery could be even more dangerous. The various marks of Gannet all had a pitch control unit (PCU) that automatically adjusted for best efficiency in relation to airspeed and fuel flow. The engine and prop worked at a constant rpm once the throttle was above the flight idle gate (significant in view of what’s to come). Thrust (and therefore variations in speed) was achieved by increased fuel flow from the throttle being converted to max torque by the PCU. This combination made life much easier for the pilot and, I’m sure, made for a lower fuel consumption. “A Gannet in flight, with wheels up, had pitch stops that operated automatically. Even if the pilot chose to bring his throttles back through the flight idle gate, the props could not fine off beyond 19 or 21 degrees according to the mark of the aircraft. Lowering the wheels withdrew the pitch stops – indicated by a momentary kick on the engine oil pressure gauges which was clearly visible. Ideally, the pilot would not pull back through the gate until safely on the ground. Doing so resulted in a fining off to six degrees, producing a significant reverse thrust effect down to about 25 knots. “Part of Gannet training was a demo of double discing. Get to a safe height, at least 5,000 feet, reduce speed to below 120 knots, lower the wheels, check the oil pressure kick, set a steady low speed (about 100 knots), and pull the throttles back through the gate to ground idle. It was like hitting a soft wall – RPM dropped, pitch fined right off and the aircraft slowed violently. The nose went down about



Eyes of the Fleet – Gannet AEW153

40 degrees, the airspeed fell below stall speed and the rate of descent was horrific. There you were with almost no forward airspeed, going vertically downwards like the proverbial brick, and the stick instinctively pulled right back for recovery from the attitude and descent – it didn’t work. The immediate reaction was to put on power to gain airspeed. But you had applied full up elevator, so the sudden thrust and massive airflow over the tail made the aircraft pitch up violently and stall completely – falling out of the sky! The correct recovery, totally against your instincts, was to apply power steadily while pushing the stick forward – it worked. “The AEW.3 was a delight to fly with one exception – if you touched down nosewheel first (which wasn’t difficult) it bounced. I became acutely aware of this on a black Mediterranean night in 1965. High overcast, no moon, no stars, no horizon. Centaur was on her final cruise, a few summer months in the Med that included getting all her aircrew day and night qualified. I was one of those who needed to qualify by night. “We were non-diversion flying, that added a slight edge to the sortie. At the end of a three-hour trip, we would be the last land-on of the night. Carrier controlled approach (CCA) picked us up and brought us to one mile out at 400 feet, I called ‘Four greens, on sight’ and was clear to land on. 200 feet, through the wobbly bubble of the island’s turbulence and hot funnel fumes – 100 feet, through the slight downdraft of the round-down and correct for it with power – a bit too high now. Then the cardinal sin of pushing forward on the stick instead of a slight power reduction – we bounced. “No wire, and now a night bolter. This was my first experience of one – unexpected and unnerving – off the angle into a black night 60 feet above the water with everything down and full power. Eyes down onto the instruments, establish a positive rate of climb, wheels up, ease the flap up and tell the controller – he’s aware anyway – and back into the full CCA procedure, no quick 400-feet visual circuit. The two observers in the back were terribly nice about it. By day they see nothing but water beside you getting closer until the SAR chopper, a flash of deck and then the arrested landing. At night you see nothing until you hit the deck. “Around we went through the full, somewhat reassuring, procedure. Back again at 400 feet and one mile – ‘Four greens, on sight’. I took over visually – and did it again! I now had a good dose of ‘getaboarditis’. Again, the two observers were so calm and reassuring. I blessed them and cringed simultaneously, shuddering to think what was in their minds, their lives really were in my hands. CCA delivered me to the 400 feet one-mile point again, I took over and did it again! Now openly furious with myself I piled on full power – and then realised. Yes, we had bounced but we had picked up a wire and were airborne down the deck at about 15 feet, slowing rapidly, and the flight deck floodlights had come on. THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! We seemed to come down on each wheel separately. I put on the brakes, took off power and said a silent prayer. A quiet voice on the intercom said, ‘Thank you!’ The marshaller in front of me signalled ‘cut’ and I happily shut down the engines.

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“It’s a long climb down the side of a Gannet and my legs were feeling wobbly. I was about halfway down when the squadron AEO bounced out of the island, his ginger beard bristling with fury. ‘Bloody typical! We’ll have to jack it up and do a full retraction test! I’m amazed you didn’t drive the bloody legs up through the bloody wings!’ Not an unreasonable reaction, fairly typical of Dougie Richardson. I mumbled an apology to him, another to the two observers and slinked away to sign in the aircraft as unserviceable, then face the senior pilot and the CO. As a tribute to Fairey’s, Dowty and naval aircraft design specifications, she came through with flying colours and was airborne again within 24 hours. “Again on Centaur. The end of a two-hour sortie and time to relight the stopped engine (we routinely shut one down to conserve fuel) en route back to ‘Mother’. So, having bumbled along at about 85 per cent power on the port engine for the last hour, starboard LP fuel cock ON – two, three, starboard HP fuel cock ON – two, three and press the relight button. This released the brake on the stopped prop and un-feathered it, while starting fuel flow and igniters. When rpm stabilises, match the throttles, check power available on relit engine and set power on both as appropriate. This usually went flawlessly – not this time though. Power available on the starboard engine was only 90 per cent. OK, tell the guys in the back, shut it down, pause of two marching paces and re-start it again. Just over 80 per cent power. Keep it running this time, tell ‘Mother’. We would be the last to land on anyway, so we ambled back and did a straight-in approach with throttles increasingly staggered to ensure even power on both engines. I was told to stay where we stopped in the wires and shut down. I climbed down and was confronted by an indignant Dougie who clearly thought the new boy on the flight had got it wrong, again. “At this point one of Dougie’s crew peered up the starboard jet-pipe as a passer-by, idly moved the lowest blade of the starboard prop and a handful of turbine blades fell out at his feet. Suddenly all was forgiven, at least I’d got back on both engines. A single-engined landing is perfectly feasible in a Gannet, but Pilot’s Notes strongly advised against overshooting below 300 feet, so better get it right first time!” “Ditching an AEW.3 was regarded with trepidation by everyone. The aircraft tended to nose down abruptly, and although the observers escaped the pilot didn’t always. The real problem was the cockpit hood. It was wonderful under normal circumstances, a huge Perspex dome, but it was hydraulically operated fore and aft, and was heavy. With no hydraulics after ditching, the pilot had to pull it back by hand, not everyone managed it in time. “Many thought the radome was responsible for tipping the aircraft on its nose. This was possible but the radome tore off immediately on contact with the water. The big oval scanner inside it was parked in the fore and aft position by the observers, reducing the tipping forward risk to the minimum possible. The weight of the Double Mamba engine up front caused the aircraft to nose down fairly soon, then head straight down. “Pete Frame ditched in 1964 making a flat as possible glide onto the water, with



Eyes of the Fleet – Gannet AEW155

the cockpit open. The aircraft did a quick nose-down and then settled, floating more or less level. Finding himself sitting up to his chest in water, Pete made a rapid, euphoric exit. He climbed onto the port wing and saw both observers were already out and inflating their dinghies. Unbelievably pleased with himself he shouted ‘Hey! I did it! I ditched a Gannet!’ and lowered himself over the leading edge of the wing into the sea. At this point the Gannet took charge, the nose dropped abruptly and the aircraft headed down at speed. He struggled to get free from being jack-knifed around the leading edge, but was held there by the onrushing water. ‘How bloody stupid to get out and then die like this!’ He pulled the toggle of his Mae West; it inflated, pulling him up over the edge of the wing. “Meanwhile the observers were sitting in their dinghies wondering what had happened to Pete, he was there a moment ago – the aircraft was gone and not a sign of him! Like a champagne cork, he erupted from the sea. They swear he went up about 20 feet before falling back, tearing off his mask and gasping for air. Within a few minutes the SAR chopper had rescued them and they were soon back aboard Centaur. Pete was convinced the open hood had saved him – we all took notice.” “One September day in 1965 Tony Darby and I were taxiing back in after a training sortie at Brawdy. As we rounded the corner, before the long lines of Hunters, Tony suddenly said, ‘I can hear the hook dragging on the ground!’ The arrestor hook is held up hydraulically so it drops in the event of failure. I looked for the gauge, conveniently hidden by my left knee, to see the needle drop to zero. It had been fine a minute before as we turned off the runway. We were only doing about 15 mph – but no longer had brakes – we could neither stop nor steer. We were pointing down a long stretch of straight taxiway, slightly downhill at first and then sloping up again on open ground. But to reach that open ground we had to pass between two rows of Hunters and a hangar on our left, with hangars and parked cars on our right. To add to the fun, the ground also sloped gently to our right. “In a propellor-driven aircraft you can steer with rudder on the ground, this was at the risk of steadily increasing speed and possible control difficulties. Faced with the possibility of hitting any of the hardware either side of me at 30 knots or more I rapidly decided on a safer course. I shut down both engines while simultaneously telling an incredulous controller in the tower what was going on. Momentum and a bit of gravity kept us going ahead in a straight line and I began to be hopeful. Then, very gradually, the Gannet began to wander off to the right. Slowing we went across the grass in front of 759 Squadron, and into the parked cars! We picked up the AEO’s almost-new Sunbeam Rapier with the starboard oleo, and a green Minivan with the radome, and were stopped abruptly by a static water tank. “Everything on board was turned off. No signs of fire or anything like that, Tony and I rapidly left the aircraft. I climbed the 14 feet down the side, still masked and helmeted, to be faced by the civilian owner of the mangled Mini who I knew well (see photo next page). As I tore off all my headgear Dai looked at me and said, ‘I might have bloody known it was you … Sir!’

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“Hermes’ air group was chosen to do the FAA’s display at Farnborough in 1966, repeating the performance for the ship’s Families Day on 9 September. Hermes was at sea, somewhere off the Nab Tower. On this occasion we performed above the flight deck but didn’t actually use it – it was full of families. “Our display at Farnborough was all action and variety, very carefully co-ordinated and controlled. Farnborough was in a narrow area clear of control zones and airways, but very close to Heathrow and the Southampton control zone. Manoeuvring around the Farnborough area was interesting enough with about 25 FAA aircraft, let alone those in the displays before and after us; the trip to Spithead simply added complications, mainly for Southern Radar. The various controllers that week, and especially that day, had my profound admiration. “The Hermes air group was Buccaneers (809), Sea Vixens (892), Gannet AEW.3s (849B Flight) and Wessexes (826) and our display began with a combined air group flypast. This was followed by individual squadron performances – Royal Marines abseiling from Wessexes, Sea Vixens refuelling each other, Gannets doing a formation re-light, Buccaneers at really low level, Sea Vixen aerobatics – a non-stop seven minutes. “The flypast axis was Runway 06/24, with our initial combined approach up 06, heights and speeds on the approach were carefully worked out, timing and accuracy were everything. The choppers were at 200 feet and 90 knots, Gannets at 300 feet and 180 knots, the jets (six Buccaneers and ten Gannet AEW.3 XP224 849 Squadron Bawdy, 29 September 1965. Sea Vixens) at 500 feet and 360 knots, all converging as a vertical stack of aircraft as we passed the president’s tent – it worked every time! However, the hill of Tweseldown Racecourse is immediately south-west of the airfield and more than 200 feet higher than the runway. So the choppers had to be over it and down to 200 feet before we came over the treetops in the Gannets – the jets were safely out of reach at 500 feet. “Flying in close formation and so missing some of the bigger picture, you are concentrating your position relative to the lead aircraft 100 per cent. Paul ‘Bloggs’ Bootherstone was our SP and led the formation each day with the CO, Lt Cdr Cobb, in his rear cabin as timekeeper/co-ordinator. Loose formation from Yeovilton to Odiham, then tighten up and orbit Odiham airfield while the CO checked timing and all the other Hermes aircraft joined us on the Farnborough frequency – which was busy. We set the Farnborough QFE (altimeter setting) so we were all working on the same scale of height above the runway. There was a countdown and, at the precise moment called out by the CO, we all set off.



Eyes of the Fleet – Gannet AEW157

“We left Odiham in a southeast direction to do a very specific dog-leg intersection with the extended centreline of 06/24, calling out passing a timing checkpoint. Speed absolutely constant, we slowly lost height and passed over Tweseldown at 300 feet relative to the runway ahead. We weren’t much above Gannet AEW.3 XL454 H-331, XR433 H-330, XL500 the trees, or the army officers H-332 849A Flight HMS Hermes, Farnborough September 1966. exercising their horses on the hill. One horse clearly didn’t like Gannets and threw its rider into a bush. We flew on, and were suddenly over the airfield. At the edge of my field of vision the choppers passed below and the jets above, bang on time. Now we had to get clear and set up for our party piece in about four minutes. “Lots of familiar voices in our headsets as the action continued over the field. We climbed to 1,000 feet and flew a big clockwise oval so we could approach again up runway 06. A view of Guildford Cathedral on the hill and the line of the Hog’s Back and, on a count from Paul, each of us shut down one engine. We were going to do a formation relight. The Gannet’s relight in flight sounds really good from the ground, somehow reminiscent of a Merlin running up to full power. Three at once is even better, with the addition of the visual factor when done in unison in tight formation. The prop rapidly windmills up to speed, the engine lights up and produces power. So, around onto the extended centreline, very specific timing and over Tweseldown again. The unfortunate army officer was chasing his horse, but he paused long enough to shake his fist at us. “Amid all the RT chatter, Paul came through strongly ‘Gannets, stand by to relight! One … two … three.’ Away we went, each leaving a Gannet’s signature puff of black smoke behind us. We were now directed southwards by Southern Radar. Bob Humphries, in the back of my aircraft, was kept busy changing frequencies throughout, while I stuck to Paul’s starboard wing across Hampshire. Then we were over water and there was Hermes with a flight deck full of people and splashes of colour amongst the blue. We used the ship’s head as our display axis. We did most of the Farnborough display, we Gannets certainly did our relight party piece and the jets had a high old time at high speed and very low level. The flight deck, we would so soon be using in earnest, was happily occupied by families, who looked as though they were having a great day at sea. Sunshine, calm sea, it looked like a perfect day for a party on the roof. “We said farewell to the ship, contacted Southern Radar again, and flew back to Yeovilton across soft, green and gold sunlit Hampshire, Dorset and Somerset in

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loose formation. It had been a great day. The final, and by far the nicest memento of that day, was the welcoming message and cartoon each of the air group found on arrival on board ten days later. Thank you, Hermes! “In autumn 1966 Hermes was working up in the Moray Firth and beyond. We launched on a sunny morning to ‘control’ Sea Vixens. Because the radar took a good while to warm up we were launched 15 minutes ahead of everyone else. Even for a big bloke like me the Gannet’s cockpit was comfortably spacious, and the canopy gave a great view of the world. Warm sun, blue sea and sky, mountains on the horizon, what a nice morning. “There was no physical connection between the cockpit and the rear cabin, where the two observers worked their radar, but you could smell if they were pouring coffee or smoking. Two or three minutes into the sortie it was quite clear this was neither, I put my mask back on and switched to 100 per cent oxygen. A strained voice on the intercom said, ‘Was that you?’ ‘No! I thought it was you.’ ‘Well, it wasn’t me!’ We came to the conclusion that nobody was guilty, or prepared to admit it, but we had an unpleasant smell in the aircraft. “Smells usually have an electrical source, so we started turning things off. We realised the source was the radar which was essential to the launch about to take place. Hermes would have to know, and soon. But how on earth to tell the ship, and which of us would do it? Of the three lieutenants on board, Rick was the senior – Tony and I instantly delegated it to him. The exchange went: ‘Charlie, this is 330.’ ‘330, go ahead.’ ‘Roger Charlie, 330 requests return u/s.’ Audible sigh – ‘Roger 330, report nature of unserviceability.’ ‘330 has a strange smell in the aircraft.’ ‘Roger 330, report nature of smell.’ Rick, in a strangled voice: ‘We really don’t think it would help you to know!’ ‘330, your AEO present, says essential report nature of smell.’ ‘OK Dave, it’s a strong farmyard sort of smell!’ Long pause, then sigh and resigned voice ‘Roger 330, return to overhead Charlie and wait.’ “We did. Orbiting overhead we watched the chaos we had caused on the flight deck, and imagined similar activities in the hangar. Hermes had to delay this launch and get another Gannet airborne asap. So push back the Vixens that were ready to launch, some already had engines running, get another Gannet out of the hangar and up the lift, crew manning it at the rush. Start and launch the Gannet, move all the Vixens back to catapult readiness positions, wait 15 minutes for the new Gannet’s radar to be OK, start and launch the Vixens. Clear any remaining aircraft for’ard beyond the safety line, and let us land on, an hour and 40 minutes after we had launched. There was total silence from everyone – the NAM who helped me unstrap – the squadron flight deck crew – all the flight deck party – the FDOs



Eyes of the Fleet – Gannet AEW159

– the entire population of the aircrew refreshment buffet – none of them said anything, they just looked at us. “Lunch was a strangely quiet meal. We three lepers ate more or less alone. Our AEO, a gentle and placid bloke, was overheard to say, ‘Other squadrons bring them back u/s, only my crowd bring them back smelling of s**t!’ At end of the day’s flying our Gannet was set up on the flight deck, engines were started, the radar warmed up to run under dummy load and the smell was there. It was traced to a transformer burning out, but the three of us had a hard time living it down. “Simon Askins and Bryn Moore were up over Pembrokeshire in an AEW.3 when they found themselves without both engines. Too far from Brawdy to glide home, how about Withybush to the north-east of Haverfordwest, disused at the time but with a good long runway in fair condition – but could Simon stretch the glide? ‘What d’you think Simon? Can we make it?’ ‘No … hang on, we just might’. “However, at the word ‘No’ Bryn jettisoned his door and went out without touching the sides – he was big and wearing a ’chute. ‘Yup, I think we can do it, hang in there!’ and Simon cleared the hedge and touched down neatly on the numbers. The Gannet rolled to a stop and Simon was down the side and away like a shot. Nothing happened, no fire, no smoke, nothing. “So, where’s Bryn? ‘Bryn, Bryn?’ No response as Simon walked back to the aircraft and peered up into the hole where an aft cabin door had been. ‘Bryn?’ A muddy, dishevelled figure burst through the boundary hedge, dragging a parachute … ‘You rotten sod!’ “People ask, ‘Is piloting a military aircraft all excitement?’ The answer must be ‘No, it can sometimes be very boring’. For example, a prolonged session on instruments requires continuous concentration, but is also very boring. This has sometimes become a fatal combination. Quite often much of a Gannet sortie was spent in cloud and ‘on the clocks’. The presence of two other human beings, albeit on intercom and not actually in the cockpit, did much to relieve the tedium – unless they were hard at work. “Low flying over land was tempting and exciting – and could be dangerous if you hadn’t planned. An unexpected power line could ruin your whole day, so could a bird in an engine – for which you couldn’t plan. Over the sea was a different matter altogether. Not the same visual thrill of following contours, weaving through a narrow valley or a vertical bank to pass between trees, but there were ships. Ships never complained, unlike farmers. Merchant ships were fair game, warships of any nation (except, perhaps, Soviet) were absolutely guaranteed a really low-level beat-up. Passengers in liners were regularly treated to spontaneous air shows. In the mid-1960s I beat up the new Cunard liner Franconia; pulling tight around the stern at deck level I could see the grin on the face of the excited young junior officer who ran to the rail and waved. “With a carrier the low pass to try for was ‘under the hockey sticks’; the aerials along the port side of the flight deck which were lowered to the horizontal when at

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flying stations. Gannet pilots, in the AS and Courier versions, could try for the ‘Rainbow Club’, low enough for the props to create a rainbow of spray around them. NOT a good idea in the AEW.3 with its pregnant belly. “When shore based most sorties in the AEW.3 were with instructor and observer student in the Low pass of Ark Royal in the Mediterranean by ‘Bomber’ Brown. rear cabin. Conversation between them was audible, usually polite, sometimes heated and/or profane and only occasionally directed at the bloke up front – ‘OK Mike, turn 180 please’. So if a view was available there was plenty of time to look at it. The view was normally of St George’s Channel, between Pembrokeshire and the south-east tip of Ireland, a major shipping lane and in the 1960s there were lots of ships. Warships, freighters, liners, tankers, fishermen and the Fishguard-Rosslare ferry crossing them all at right angles. “You kept an eye on interesting ships, taking a much closer, lower look at them before returning to Brawdy when the exercise was over. Unauthorised low flying was forbidden and could lead to an enquiry or court martial, but ships never complained. A low-level ship beat-up was, without question – fun! One perfect sunny day in 1967 a grey ship, that looked like a freighter, came into distant view. As I got closer, I saw that it was a Canadian Fleet Auxiliary. “ ‘OK, Mike. We’re done,’ came a voice from the back. ‘Right, we’ve got a ship to look at.’ Approach from astern and fly past about 100 feet away at deck height. She had a helicopter platform and hangar aft. So, just for the hell of it, we flew around again and did a proper carrier join. Up the starboard side at 400 feet, and ten seconds later turn 180 degrees port onto a (theoretical) downwind leg. Wheels down, flaps down, hook down. Turn finals and make as near a carrier approach as possible on about the correct glideslope, 95 knots with everything down – and then it happened. The hangar doors burst open and out came the complete flight deck party. To cap it all, a man with bats stood at the port side of the flight deck batting me in! I obeyed him almost all the way down until I had to break off. We pulled everything up again, and did one more pass to waggle wings to the waving guys aft – and went back to Brawdy.” Martin Bartholomew – observer “Sitting in the back of a Gannet AEW.3 landing on in the dark. No forward vision,



Eyes of the Fleet – Gannet AEW161

a tiny window sideways with nothing to see except red instrument lights inside. Smell of fuel. Listening to the engines’ clattering note, audio speed indicator, radio from the carrier, and sometimes pilot’s heavy breathing. Oxygen 100 per cent, mask double tightened with a snap lock that pulled it so tight to the face that it would provide a watertight seal … for non-bearded aircrew anyway! Straps tight (sitting on the dinghy strapped to the life jacket) and a parachute below that with your four parachute straps across the chest as well as the belt and shoulder harness. A quick practice hand and arm movement to remember the position of the handle that would blow off the hatch beside you. A last sight of the carrier and its amazing four-propeller 25-knot white churning wake as you came around on to finals. ‘Friendly vulture’ SAR helo hovering off the port side … tighten sphincter … heart rate up. Thinking sometimes about the carrier’s fearsome progress if you were to end up in the water ahead of her … except she does have an angled flight deck doesn’t she, so that couldn’t possibly happen. “Then it was all attention on the audio airspeed indicator. In perfect conditions a steady whine, too fast ‘tee … hee … hee’, too slow ‘aargh … aargh’. Suddenly, lights to each side. Until a thump onto the deck, waiting to learn whether or not you had caught a wire, then the fierce braking and happy stop … or ‘Bolter, bolter’. An involuntary intake of breath. Your now-sweating pilot has gone into double overtime. The much more than sub-second wait for the engines to run back up, and for your trusty Gannet to float back into the air. Gentle turn to port, and back into the circuit. Keep trying till you get it right … or divert ashore Martin Bartholomew. if possible, or ditch! “It wasn’t always daylight, was not always clear, sometimes driving rain, maybe the wind was not optimum over the deck, maybe there was a pitching tail-end of the flight deck. Everyone up top on the carrier was watching out for you, and concentrating their greatest possible professionalism into the next 45 seconds for you. Stays with you forever, thank you Mike and all the pilots with whom I flew. “After my Gannet conversion I went to 849D on Eagle. The observer’s role was to operate the early warning radar, for warning and control. Predominantly this was for air defence, looking over the carrier’s horizon to detect and control fighters, in order to intercept incoming bogies. Our secondary role was search/strike, where we would vector an attacking aircraft, such as a Buccaneer, on to a surface target obviating the need for it to use its own radar, and therefore increasing the level of surprise. The original idea was for the aircraft to pass its radar picture to a ship for in-depth analysis. This concept never offered sufficient accuracy in a timely fashion, so we were trained to analyse the radar picture whilst flying. “Although underwing tanks increased our endurance, they partially blanked

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the radar – very few sorties were flown with them. On many routine missions we controlled two Vixens or two Phantoms, running as fighter and target against each other – occasionally a singleton would use us as the target. At Brawdy we flew with Sea Vampires for detection training, a difficult task because the Vampire’s wooden fuselage didn’t show on radar until much closer range. If you were simulating an intercept where the fighter’s radar was u/s, or it was switched to standby for a covert intercept, you would aim to set up a 180-degree fighter heading vs target heading but offset. Conversely a 90/90, turning the fighter in at the appropriate range so that it rolled out about two miles in the target’s six o’clock. A mortal sin was to roll it out in front of the target. The other sin was to ‘miss’, rolling the fighter out too far behind the target. In the situation where the fighter assumed control, you set up and controlled the same intercept but with the fighter observer calling ‘Judy’ when he was ready to take over control. It was all done manually, using a thick chinagraph pencil to mark the scope. Imagine a seven-inch-diameter circle on a piece of paper representing the entire airspace of an exercise area or war zone comprising an area about 100 miles across and you understand the difficulty. “On average the AN/APS-20 was not very reliable. About 20 per cent of sorties were aborted because of a u/s radar, and even when working it often suffered problems or degradation. On one occasion we were airborne from North Front to carry out a basic surface plot of Spanish ships during a period of tension between Spain and Gibraltar. A ‘heat’ warning indication appeared on the radar system when at low altitude, but extinguished when we climbed above a certain height. The radar was unusable at low level – a major limitation. Observers were meant to be able to fix certain radar problems in flight by replacing valves and circuit breakers, a remarkable feat especially given that the latter were almost out of reach and aircrew wore a ‘bone dome’, a ‘goon’ suit, a ‘Mae West’ and were attached to a parachute! “There is one unique mission when our Gannet intercepted a Bear. It occurred on 17 September 1968 during Exercise Strong Express in the North Atlantic near Iceland. All Eagle’s aircraft had recovered except for us when a large airborne contact was detected. It was agreed with the ship that it should not go unchallenged so we were vectored by a DO (he did a cracking job) towards the contact, and turned in behind a Soviet Bear. It promptly re-started a couple of engines, which it had shut down whilst cruising, so we only managed to close to within about a quarter of a mile astern before it moved away. He was no doubt having looked at us, thinking ‘What on earth is that!?’ Our crew was pilot Ian Maccabe, left-seat observer Cy Beatty with myself in the right-hand seat.” Tim Goetz – pilot “Flying the Gannet was a bit like driving a double-decker from the top deck. I enjoyed it and although it had no power controls it flew and handled well. Compared



Eyes of the Fleet – Gannet AEW163

with the earlier A/S version, which was lighter and more manoeuvrable, the AEW.3 was a bit of a tank. But it had a re-designed cockpit and instrument layout and the pilot had a very good view – a real treat. On landing, the flight deck could disappear under the nose at the critical moment in some aircraft, but in the Gannet you had sight of it right to the end of the landing run. One snag was that it would weathercock out of wind, unlike most aircraft. In confined spaces this necessitated fitting a steering arm to the nosewheel. This was manned by an aircraft handler who bravely steered the aircraft while walking backwards, only feet from two whirling propellers!” Manning the nose arm was one of the most dangerous jobs for the aircraft handlers, and still figures large in their memories. Bryan Craggs “I slipped over with those big props coming at me – never jumped up so quick in my life.”

Gannet nose arm on Ark Royal. (Michael Garforth)

Robin Winter “One of the nose arm men got hypnotised by the prop and started to walk towards it. The waist catapult director had to run and grab him.” Maurice Atkins “Mac MacLauchlan and I were lining up the Gannet on the Robin Winter. catapult when the stoker in the howdah retracted the shuttle whilst I was standing on the track. It took my feet from under me, I went under the towing arm which Mac managed to lift just enough for me to roll clear. It could have been very nasty if the towing arm had hit the prop, but like all good ‘chockheads’ we just got on with the job.”

Maurice Atkins.

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Tim Goetz continues:

“I was appointed to 849B Flight on board Victorious in March 1961. The flight comprised four AEW Gannets and five crews. We also had a Gannet COD.4 which Tim Goetz. flew mail, passengers or stores. This was fitted with extra navigation systems, a large pannier in the bomb bay, a container under each wing, and had its own nominated pilot. “There were no carriers in home waters during my conversion, so I carried out many mirror-assisted dummy deck landings (MADDLs) at Culdrose, but had never landed on the real thing. I joined the ship in Aden and was soon in the air (with no crew in the back) to do my first deck landing in the middle of the Indian Ocean – with a diversion airfield somewhere in India. Another pilot rode shotgun, remaining silent throughout the sortie while I had my first catapult experience, got used to the sight of Victorious from the air, did several touch-and-go landings, a first arrest, another catapult launch and a final arrest. “Later back in home waters Victorious went into refit, and the air group transferred to Hermes. She was smaller, slightly slower, but with all the same equipment as Vic. In the Far East the ship’s top speed could become a limiting factor if there was no natural wind as the jets needed a minimum wind over the deck for take-off and landing. On one occasion this became critical when both catapults were unserviceable, necessitating repairs in Singapore. To allow aircrew to remain in flying practice, the jets were landed by crane, and towed by road to an airfield. It was decided to let the Gannets perform free take-offs and fly ashore. This involved the ship steaming at full speed round the Straits of Johore to find enough natural wind to achieve the minimum required over the deck. Take-off used the whole length of the axial deck, rather than the shorter angled deck. The minimum reading on the ASI was 45 knots. This was still showing as we reached the bow, but to our relief jumped to 90 knots just as we ran out of flight deck! “A routine sortie was about three hours of AEW and control. One of our problems was persuading the jets to act as targets, because they all had other tasks like bombing, rocketing, photo-recce, etc. All we wanted to do was practise directing them and intercepting another fighter, to which end the crew in the back were DOs. We had a fairly competent radar, and for anti-submarine work, if the sea was calm enough, it could detect a periscope or snort mast. For search and rescue we carried a G-type Lindholme kit under one wing. We had 4.5-inch recce flares and/ or smoke markers in a bay inside the fuselage, and could carry another four under each wing instead of long-range tanks. “From height our radar had a 200-mile range. Being a pulse radar, the higher you got the sea return from the surface increased, blanking out more and more from the screen. You had to descend to minimise the sea return and, if it was rough, that reduced the detection range so there was constant juggling. The observers



Eyes of the Fleet – Gannet AEW165

849A ‘The Eyes of the Fleet’. (Tim Goetz)

were really efficient at asking us to go up or down 100 feet to try and obtain an optimum clear area for detection. The sea return increased if the wind got up, and they had to juggle it. “The two guys down the back shared the same role. The left-hand one would be the more experienced and the other would be junior, basically learning; he was very much in the hands of the guy on the left. They could split tasks and screens; each had a seven-inch PPI and could look at different parts of the airspace. One scanned north and the other south. As our task was to defend the carrier, we knew what the threat direction was, and we flew a barrier patrol in that direction. Acting as a long stop in the direction of the threat, we tended to look in one sector. The Gannet was also fitted with AN/ART-28 ‘Bellhop’ radar relay, allowing the aircraft’s radar picture to be seen on a terminal in the aircraft direction room on a carrier, air defence frigate or destroyer. However it had limitations as a weak signal could be lost in transmission. The radar was upgraded throughout its life, eventually being designated AN/APS-20F(I). The aircraft also had two UHF radios, one HF SSB radio, and an IFF interrogator. “To extend endurance it was standard practice to shut down one engine. We would climb to say 5,000 feet, shut down one engine, and then try to keep the engine hours even. As there were two engines in one unit you couldn’t replace a single engine; you had to replace the whole unit. It was the pilot’s job to keep

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the engine hours even on both. We cruised at endurance speed, about 135 knots, switching engines every hour, having told the observers what we were doing, otherwise they’d get into a bit of a tizz. “After a number of ditchings in which observers successfully escaped but the pilot failed to, the pilot’s seat was modified to automatically detach even if he was unconscious. At a depth of 15 feet the cockpit canopy was automatically jettisoned by compressed air, and at 25 feet the pilot’s harness was released allowing him, plus dinghy, to float to the surface with his life jacket automatically inflating. “We did a lot of flying. After a minimum of hours, and daytime deck landings, you had to night-qualify. We needed to have made a substantial number of day deck landings (in my case I started dusk deck-landing practice after 30 daytime landings). We always tried to start at dusk so you had the perspective of the ship and its shape combined with the deck lighting, then we slowly went up to fully dark. In the Far East it was very humid and there was seldom a natural horizon, unless there was a moon. It was like flying in a goldfish bowl and when you returned to the ship on the first true night-flight arrival it was quite interesting. It looked much smaller than it did by day, and at night all aircraft flew a standard CCA. “The aeroplane had all sorts of sophisticated bits of equipment like full anti-icing, and air conditioning for the pilot (which seldom worked). As we spent a lot of time in the Far East one chap designed an air-ventilated flying suit. It was a perforated nylon suit with tubes running all the way through it, which you put on under your flying suit. This was next to your skin and you plugged it into the air-conditioning system, which was fine if the system worked. If it failed, you were on a three-hour sortie in a tropical climate with a nylon suit next to your skin. You couldn’t remove it so we all stopped using it. They put a sun blind in the pilot’s cockpit to keep the direct sun off, but it could be very hot and uncomfortable. “There was a Thermos flask stowage behind the right elbow, so you could take up a flask of lime juice or something. Otherwise you were on your own for three hours, and the only comfort thing you had was a pee-tube. I once got into trouble with that in the UK when we were wearing immersion suits. I was desperate for a pee, felt down under the front of the seat – the tube wasn’t in its clip! I found it on the floor, didn’t take my gloves off, undid my goon suit, plugged my appropriate piece of equipment into it, only to discover that it had been under the seat in front of the hot-air heating system – it was white hot. I nearly did myself a very serious injury – there was a yelp from me up front – from the back came ‘Christ, what on earth is going on up there?’ I explained there was nothing to worry about, but I might have to go and see the doctor when we got down. “The Gannet was a bit like sitting in an armchair, driving two chaps around, trying to keep them happy so they could do their job in the back. To keep the C of G within limits you could not fly without at least one aircrew in the back. If you flew with no-one you had to put lead ballast on the seat to compensate. Some pilots referred to the crew as ‘commissioned ballast’, but not out loud. We quite often



Eyes of the Fleet – Gannet AEW167

had to collect VIPs for example but you always had to have one qualified aircrew in the back, apart from anything else to keep the C of G within limits.” John Keenan “I was on 800 Squadron in Eagle, and eventually I got onto the flight deck. I was QM and QS (qualified to maintain and qualified to sign), but I wasn’t allowed to sign for anything until I was 18 – I was teamed up with ‘Tug’ Wilson on Buccaneer 103. The first time I was there during flying ops, I exited the island and faced for’ard at the same time that a Gannet was being launched off the bow catapult. It faltered, tipping over the bow as it reached the end of the catapult, and going straight down – I was horrified. The crash-on-deck alarm sounded like a referee’s whistle, accompanied by the tannoy ‘Crash, crash, crash on deck’, which I thought was silly because the aircraft was in the sea. Everyone rushed to the port side, looking down to where the aircraft had hit the water. A white helmet bobbed to the surface; it was one of the aircrew and I thought the other two had drowned. The diver from the SAR helo picked up two of them, and we were ordered to carry what I thought was a dead body on a stretcher to the bomb lift for transportation to the sick bay. He wasn’t dead in fact – they all survived. One of the observers had sunk to such a depth that his eardrums burst; he was medically discharged from the navy. “During that rescue Geordie, the SAR diver, followed the aircraft as it sank – Eagle’s hull had cut the back end off just behind the observers. The Gannet was full of fuel and heavy so it was going down fast. The pilot had difficulty getGannet XL478 going over the bow after launch failure. ting out of the aircraft but Geordie managed to release him, then crawled aft to make sure the observers got out too. He then swam to the surface to await pick-up; when he arrived back on the flight deck he was given a tot of rum. We then went back to flying stations as if nothing had happened.” The Gannet accident was on 12 October 1965. The bridle detached during the launch of XL478. Its crew were Lts R G F Jackson and M W Miller and Sub-Lt M J Hitchings. ‘Ut Fulmina de Caelo’ “A recovery to Ark Royal was aborted when FlyCo noticed sparks from the nose oleo position on a Gannet, and after a searchlight-lit ‘fly-by’ diverted the aircraft to Hal Far for a barrier landing (at night!). A subsequent daylight search of the ship’s launch position recovered a pair of nosewheels floating in the sea. It emerged that added down-force on a catapult launch with a heavy aircraft had created a greater

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extension shock on the oleo prior to re-bound before retraction. This had shattered part of the sleeving mechanism in the undercarriage leg. Subsequently I was told the leg had been changed to a lighter design as part of an overall weight-reduction programme. If true this was a wrong call which ought to have been shown up on catapult-launch trials at Bedford.” John Stevens – aircraft handler “One day in 1968 at Brawdy while sat on the end of runway 03 in Rescue One, I checked a Gannet coming in over St Brides Bay to land. He had called ‘finals three greens’ I looked at him through my binoculars, and could see all three wheels down, then looked away. Suddenly the tower came up on the radio to ask if I could see the Gannet on finals. I looked again – he was gone. He had crashed into the bay and was killed. It was hard to believe that in the few seconds from me looking at him to check John Stevens. his wheels, and then looking away, that a catastrophe could overcome him so quickly – we later heard that it was a propeller failure.” This was caused by a propeller ‘double disc’ as previously explained by Mike Cole-Hamilton. David Brown – pilot “I had a total hydraulic failure and did a deliberate wheels-up landing in a T.5 at Culdrose on 22 October 1964. When one has hydraulic failure, the bomb bay doors open, no flaps and the hook comes down. Why the gear did not come down was a mystery – fortunately no fault of mine. I had to make a flapless approach at a much shallower angle, and as I crossed the boundary fence the tail hook engaged the fence. The result of this for the ‘goofers’ standing on the fence was, as one can imagine, quite comical! A few weeks after this all Gannets left for pastures new at Brawdy, never to return.” David Brown.



Eyes of the Fleet – Gannet AEW169

Gannet T.5 XG884 849 Squadron after wheels-up landing Culdrose 22 October 1964. (David Brown)

Noel Pinder – pilot “The Gannet’s wings were spread and folded hydraulically being held in place by bolts, which were also hydraulically activated. The action of locking extinguished warning lights and silenced an audio warning in the cockpit. Full and free movement of the ailerons was another check. If you were about to take off you did this very enthusiastically (an AEW.3 had a wing-fold on launch and the crew Noel Pinder. were lost). The Gannet required a catapult launch, accelerating to well over 100 knots in about three seconds, it was quite a sensation! One ran the engines to full power; the aircraft being restrained by a frangible link. On checking all OK the pilot held the back of his hand against the canopy, the FDO lowered his green flag signalling to the stoker to turn a valve – in just under two seconds you were off. Once the flag was down you were committed to go. “On 21 January 1973 (a year or so after the above tragedy), Lt Martin Bartholomew, Sub-Lt Mike French and I in XL473, were all powered up ready to go. As the FDO lowered his green flag the warning bells rang, and the wing-fold lights came on. After what seemed like an eternity, off we went. Once airborne I eased the aircraft towards the sea, levelled off, and she seemed to be flying OK. After a discussion with the crew about whether to ditch or climb gently to a safe height to bail out, we decided on the latter. Once we were at a safe altitude I asked if they would like to jump out. On hearing that I intended to land back on (the record of pilots successfully bailing out was not good) they elected to stay with me. After an uneventful landing a defective microswitch was changed. “Watching aircraft re-joining was a popular pastime for the ship’s company, particularly on a sunny evening. On 21 July 1972, in XL480, I was with my usual

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crew, two RAF officers, Flt Lt Al Bruyn and Plt Off Max O’Connell. It was usual for the Gannet to land on after the ‘heavies’, however in this case they were far to the east of the ship (which was to the east of Singapore). Our request that we land first was granted and we zoomed in giving the assembled ‘goofers’ a good view of our distinctive machine. As we turned in on finals to land one of my crew mentioned that the flaps did not look quite right (due to a broken torque tube), so while continuing my left turn astern of the ship I reached down to recycle them one notch. The effect was dramatic as the aircraft rolled uncontrollably to the left. Unable to contain it I allowed the roll to continue (the only time I was ever upside down in a Gannet!) and then caught it with application of full power, rudder and aileron and settled down level heading west at about 20 feet above the sea, benefitting from the phenomenon of ground effect. While we worked out what to do, I attempted to balance the flaps using an emergency system but failed. Slowing down with a view to ditching or climbing to bail out, both led to us rolling to the left. By this time Al and Max had plotted our track; we were heading to the north of Changi. Meanwhile the physical strain on both the aircraft controls and me was heavy. “The two observers were well behind and below the pilot, and there was no way to physically communicate. In the event of communications failure between pilot and crew, they could tap on a bracket that linked the ailerons to the ‘joystick’. It was this bracket that caught Al and Max’s eyes; it was slowly bending! Eventually Singapore came into view and Changi took over from the ship to help us. The runway came into sight on our left and I allowed the aircraft to turn left and plonked it on the runway. Just after that there was a crack as the bracket finally gave way, and the controls failed. We made our way to the officers’ mess bar. But not before Al took a photo of a weary pilot, aged 22, looking at the offending flap. All you can see is a tiny tear where the flap linkage was forced up into the wing. Quite a few beers later we were taken back to the ship in a helicopter.” Bill Covington – pilot

Bill Covington.

“After flying training three of us went to Gannets at Lossiemouth – a big step. First impression was that it was a big aeroplane. It had huge contra-rotating propellers, and climbing up the side to get to the pilot’s cockpit was an adventure in itself. It was an old-fashioned cockpit with very little other than basic flying instruments and a myriad of controls for the two engines and complex propeller system. “The squadron was made up of experienced operational pilots, observers and engineers; they were hard core and wouldn’t give us an inch. The conversion was relatively brief, the training very good. Having completed ground school, I first flew the



Eyes of the Fleet – Gannet AEW171

T.5, on 27 January 1977 along with Flt Lt Jackson, and Lt Cdr Lamb, the senior pilot. I did five sorties before going solo. I did my first AEW.3 sortie on 31 March, there was a noticeable difference in handling between the two marks. “The conversion was quite short, 11 sorties including an instrument rating. For me, as a junior pilot, the captain of the aircraft was normally the senior observer in the left-hand seat in the back – he was both mission commander and area controller. He handed off targets to the other observer, in the right-hand seat who was the fighter controller – they did all the work handling the radio, radar and the mission. The pilot just flew the aircraft, managing the aircraft systems and keeping it on station at the AEW barrier. If we were on a low-level air-intercept mission, which was really the Gannet’s raison d’être, we were looking for low-level targets over the radar horizon of any ship-borne radar. We would be at whatever height gave the observers the best radar picture, often 500 feet. “We flew single or double aircraft carrier cycles, fitting in with Phantom and Buccaneer launch and recovery times. We could double-cycle, resulting in sortie lengths for low-level work of between two hours 15 minutes and two hours 25 minutes. Typically we would transit to the AEW barrier position, at a set distance from the carrier, to control a pair of Phantoms. They could either extend by air-toair refuelling or recover aboard and be replaced by a second pair. We then recovered with the second pair, by which time another Gannet would have launched to replace us. “On joining 849B Flight, I went to Bedford on 23 June 1977 for catapult launches on the dummy deck, after which I joined the rehearsal for a six-ship of Gannets taking part in the Queen’s birthday flypast. My first arrested deck landing was on 5 July on Ark Royal. The previous day I had flown out to the ship in Lyme Bay, with the CO Lt Cdr Martin Rotheram, and did deck landing practice. On the 5th we did two practice approaches, then heard the fateful words ‘put the hook down’ – this was for real. The deceleration on deck threw you forward on the straps, but there was no time to relax. Immediately a handler appeared to signal put the hook up, fold wings and taxi to Fly 1 – known as the ‘graveyard’. “Then down, with the crew, for an LSO debrief in the small Gannet briefing room. Up to FlyCo to get a welcome onboard from commander (air) and the captain, and then to the main brief for the next sortie. There was little time for niceties, the briefs are matter of fact, only the details required, ending with any questions. After a crew brief the unforgettable walk out across the flight deck to ‘man up’ the Gannet. There are few sensations that match sitting on the bow catapult, as the ship accelerates with deep vibrations and turns into wind onto the flying course. Then power checks, wing checks, before the FDO signals to wind up to full power, warn the observers, the FDO checks in front and behind then down goes his flag. Moments later you are pinned in your seat by the explosive acceleration. If the LSO gets the timing right the bow is level or rising when you leave the catapult, if wrong you accelerate towards the sea and have to avoid it! They said that for junior

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pilots’ first landings and take-offs, a spectator seat in ‘goofers’ was worth 50 ‘quid’. For the pilot, the sense of achievement was immense. “Another type of sortie was SSSC (surface search surveillance and control), looking for ships over thousands of square miles of sea, or in coastal inlets and rivers. Then we might fly at 20,000 feet or more. It was fantastic how experienced observers were able to analyse the raw radar picture to see targets. There was also a data link which could pass info back to the carrier. You could be airborne for three launch and recovery cycles if you were doing SSSC. The radar had a range of about 20 miles at low level or at high level, 80-100 miles. “For the pilot it felt like a single-seat aeroplane. You were separated from the observers by an intercom, radar equipment and fuel tank between you. Although it was old, the aircraft was reliable, and getting the radar to work was a trick but when running it was superb. As an inexperienced pilot it was interesting; you were flying in weather that was far removed from that in RAF Training Command. The FAA had a different instrument rating system; you were all the same. So if you returned to the carrier on a CCA you had to get down the glide slope to a 300 feet decision height, with a 180-foot mast somewhere ahead on the ship. “Quite often we would hear a ‘pipe’, ‘Cancel fixed-wing flying – launch the Gannet’. The Gannet was easier to land on the carrier than the jets and was less critical on take-off. It had big straight wings, large Fowler flaps and lots of blow from the propellers over the control surfaces for controllability. It had governed engines with constant speed, variable pitch; on approach you always had your propellers running at the right RPM, so the thrust from them was very responsive to throttle movement. We were able to fly in more demanding conditions. “Datum approach speed was about 94 knots. We didn’t have an angle of attack gauge; we calculated a datum speed against the weight of the aircraft. You then set the ‘bug’ on the ASI to that speed, and when you were on speed plus or minus one knot you got a constant tone in the headphones, a fast ‘beep’ meant fast, a slow ‘beep’ meant slow. So you flew on speed by holding the pitch attitude of the aircraft to that speed, using the throttles to control the rate of descent. That technique was important. If you got it wrong, you got tailhook-to-pilot’s-eye distance wrong, and the hook could either hit the deck early or miss the wires altogether. As you approached over the round-down your eye should be on the meatball for the correct glideslope, and with the right aircraft attitude the hook should be at the right height to engage the arrestor wires. The aim was to catch the third wire. It was really important to fly a constant speed, constant approach angle and aircraft attitude. The Gannet proved to be very good at it. “You get a big ‘air effect’ over the ship. On a good day, with the wind down the angled deck, as the aircraft approached the ship on the glideslope you’d get some sink, then lift from a rooster tail effect, sinking again near the round-down. For a perfect ‘Blue’ approach, which meant you were on glideslope and centreline throughout, you had to anticipate the effects and adjust the throttles accordingly. If



Eyes of the Fleet – Gannet AEW173

you ended up ‘chasing it’ you quickly lost accuracy, and could finish with a score of yellow, or worse still red – a dangerous approach. If the wheels were touching the deck before No.1 wire – which the LSO did not like – it was getting too close to the exceptionally dangerous risk of a ramp strike. Sometimes you’d get ‘hook skip’ where the hook bounced off the deck and jumped over the wires. This was especially likely if the hook hydraulic damping accumulator was at low pressure, so you thought you’d made a perfect landing but in fact had missed all the wires. For this reason it was essential to maintain power until you felt the retardation as the hook caught a wire. If it didn’t you immediately went to full power. The engine took time to wind up and you didn’t have very long before the aircraft left the deck. It was very uncomfortable at 60 feet, having left the deck, with the engine still spooling up and the aircraft barely above stall speed. “On a nice day, with the ship steady and 25 knots down the angled deck, it was a relatively safe environment. The aircraft flew nicely, everything was working, and confidence for a good landing was high. But that was rarely the case. Normally the deck was pitching to some degree. You flew a constant, correct-attitude on-glideslope approach, and although the mirror sight was good the pitching deck would appear at different aspects to you. Then you might get ‘heave’ where the whole ship is moving up and down. This meant you might be on glideslope and then suddenly off it – the danger was either not responding or over-controlling to try and catch it. The next thing might be the ship weaving because of the waves or swell, but the worst thing was a corkscrew, resulting in a circular movement of the stern, and a constantly changing line-up to the flight deck – very testing. It was important not to chase the ‘up and down’, but to fly that meatball through to touchdown, and keep the aircraft tracking within the landing environment defined by the white safety lines on the flight deck – not very wide compared with the wingspan of a Gannet. You had to ensure that your aircraft was tracking towards the exit point from the angled deck. Hopefully it was not lined up too far right otherwise you would hit other parked aircraft, or too far left and drop into the catwalk. It was always exciting when the flight deck was pitching out of limits – for a Gannet +/two-degree pitch. On these occasions we could fly as long as the ship was steady for a decent period within the two-degree limits. The approaches were flown normally, and you had to hope the ship would be steady when you reached the flight deck. If not you had to ‘wave off’ and go around again. “The Gannet was such a superb carrier aircraft they normally arrested successfully every time, you just had to wait your turn. In my time there was only one deck accident. A corkscrewing deck caused a Gannet, that caught the fourth wire but was tracking to the right, off the centreline, to hit Buccaneers parked by the ship’s island with its starboard wing, before being pulled to a stop by the wire. No-one was injured, and the unrepairable Gannet was craned off at Gibraltar. “I was far more inexperienced than normal for new Gannet pilots when I joined B Flight. Some of the observers were uncomfortable with this – their caution was

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justified! Early in my time onboard the weather was too poor for the Phantoms and Buccaneers to fly, but we were launched in the Gannet. The cloud base was about 300 feet and visibility was poor, as it often is in the Northern Atlantic. After twoand-a-half hours in cloud, and never having done a CCA, I flew the approach. At 300 feet I looked up from the instruments expecting to see the carrier. All I could see was the sea surface, everything else was grey. In the gloom I heard the LSO say I was slightly low; although I could see a grey shape I could not see the landing lights. The LSO called that I was going low and to add power, then called ‘Power! Power!’ As I reacted and slammed full power I realised I was looking at the plume of the splash target being towed 200 yards behind the ship, and not the carrier! Now very low I should have waved off, but I was totally fixated on landing on. At the limit of my embryo flying skills, and probably with a dose of luck, I selected full power, then idle, then power, then mid-setting and we landed on the flight deck aft of the wires, perilously close to the ramp. As we came to a halt the observers in the rear were very quiet. In the briefing room the LSO took me by the scruff of the neck, leaving me in no doubt I was never to make such a dangerous approach again, and to wave off if told to. My mistake was that at an airfield when you look up at decision height you would normally see the runway approach lights, a carrier does not have lead-in lights. Not surprisingly, I found myself practising many CCAs in the days afterwards and thankfully never made another dangerous approach. “We did familiarisation flights. One lucky chap was a young stoker and after getting airborne all was going well until I shut down one of the engines as normal. On this occasion the propeller wouldn’t feather, and the propeller brake wouldn’t engage. When I tried to relight the engine that wouldn’t work either. I was now stuck with a wind-milling prop which, even with full power on the other engine, resulted in the aircraft descending at 3-400 feet per minute. I discussed with Pete Hulett, the observer, the prospect of bailing out or ditching. Pete was clear that the chances of the stoker surviving a parachute jump into the sea would be very low; they were going to stay onboard for the ditching. For the pilot, bailing out of a Gannet was not easy; the HF aerials along the fuselage and the vertical fin on each side of the tailplane could strike you as you passed it. I don’t think any pilots bailed out of a Gannet without injury. If you ditched you could at least swim out or use the underwater escape seat. We continued to descend, and our young stoker had gone very quiet. I remembered an old pilot adage – if electric systems fail try banging the circuit breakers. I banged the circuit breaker panel repeatedly really hard. As I did so I momentarily glimpsed a red light on the left side of the throttle quadrant and hit the relight button – the engine started immediately. Everything returned to normal, what was all the fuss about? There were completely separate port and starboard engine and propeller control systems, but with the essential electrical supply going through one single circuit breaker. This had come apart causing all the engine control systems on the selected engine to fail. When I banged it



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hard enough the wires touched, and it all came back to life, if it hadn’t, we would have been going for a swim. “I loved my time on the Gannet, operating from the carrier, and the whole complex high-risk system of operation. I enjoyed every minute of it – working hard and playing hard – with great emotions and memories. Above all the people were lively, fantastic characters. Nothing was more emotional than Ark Royal leaving Malta for the last time. The people of Malta, with my wife Penny somewhere amongst them, crowded along the battlements with flags and in tears. It was thought then that this would be the last time a British carrier would leave Valletta Harbour, so severing the link established with great sacrifice between carriers and Malta in World War 2.” Martin Rotheram – observer “Gannets played a central role in carrier operations and were, except for ASW, in effect the ‘quarterback’ for air operations. What the aircraft lacked in the equipment performance was more than made up for by the skill and dedication of Gannet aircrew, along with the maintenance and support personnel who kept the show on the road. This was recognised on at least two occasions. In 1966, 849C Flight was awarded the Boyd Trophy for outstanding performance during the Beira Patrol, and in 1976 849B was awarded the Australia Shield Martin Rotheram. as the best operational squadron of the year. “The observer’s cabin was cosy – about the size of the original Mini. The main equipment was the APS-20F radar and each observer had a nineinch diameter radar scope. It displayed raw radar, and had a maximum detection range of 200 nautical miles, with ships and aircraft displayed as a radar blip – land showed up like a map. It also had an APX7 IFF interrogator; it was then down to the skill of the observers to interpret the radar picture, and particularly to look for movement which indicated an aircraft. If the aircraft was designated as hostile an observer would direct a Sea Vixen, later a Phantom to intercept. Intercept control and directing to a missile-firing position was a skill that required regular practice. “One accident involved a bail out by the observers, and the pilot then ditched, otherwise most survivable Gannet accidents were ditchings. I was involved in one on 10 May 1966 when Mike Jermy, Myles Cullen and myself had returned to Ark Royal for a night landing, having completed a long Beira Patrol search. The nose gear failed on landing, we didn’t catch a wire and ditched off the angled deck – the impact was not severe and the aircraft floated for some time. Mike stood on his pilot’s seat and saluted as Ark sailed by, and each of us then escaped from the aircraft. Luckily the sea was reasonably calm, it was not cold and there was a moon. Myles was rescued by a helo, but Mike and I were rescued after about 30 minutes by boat. After a medical we retired to the wardroom to celebrate our survival

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– Gannet XL475 rests at the bottom of the Mozambique Channel. “All AEW Gannets were operated by 849 Squadron, with 849HQ responsible for training and support. There were four flights – A to D – 849B Flight was the last one, onboard Ark Royal. The complement of each flight was five AEW pilots, one COD pilot, ten observers, one AEO and 95 maintenance and support ratings. Each operated four AEW.3s and one COD.4. The last fixed-wing arrested carrier landing was made on 18 November 1978 by Gannet XL472, flown by Hugh Slade with Geoff Cass and myself in the back. 849B launched for the last time on 27 November 1978 to return to Lossiemouth, and was decommissioned on 15 December 1978. 44 AEW.3s were built, and 19 were lost in accidents.” With the passing of the Gannet the FAA was left without any airborne AEW capability until a small number of Sea Kings were fitted with Searchwater radar in the summer of 1982.

849C winner Boyd Trophy 1966. OC Lt Cdr John Barbour. (Martin Rotheram)

CHAPTER EIGHT

TWIN-BOOM FINALE – SEA VIXEN

Sea Vixen FAW.2 XJ581 E NASU Brawdy 2 June 1970. (Steve Bond)

The Sea Vixen was included at length in Volume One, primarily covering its air-defence role. It also had a substantial role as an attack aircraft, one which proved to be particularly hazardous for the crews. The sheer volume of contributions received from Sea Vixen people has provided coverage of all aspects of its operation. Operating units: 766, 890, 892, 893, 899 Squadrons, FRADU, ‘C’ Squadron A&AEE. Embarked: Ark Royal, Centaur, Eagle, Hermes and Victorious. John Ford “ ‘Two people in an aircraft is one too many.’ This had traditionally been the centre piece of a fighter pilot’s belief. It took some time to convince me of the benefit of having a second crew member. My first introduction to the twin-seat world came during conversion to the Sea Vixen. The designer had entombed the second man below decks, so depriving the fighter of its most valuable asset – good lookout. This transition was a major heretical change. However the strongly rooted fixation that our hero could conquer the skies alone was swept aside by the obvious advantage that came from a shared task, mutual support and the extra range of equipment that only a second person could handle. In my view the present move back to single-seat fighter/strike aircraft, in spite of the sophisticated help available to its pilot, is a retrograde step.” 177

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John de Winton “I took on the Sea Vixen QFI role, on 766 Squadron, before joining the third squadron 893. Flying the Sea Vixen was exhilarating, and I remember my first take-off, leaping, rather than trundling, into the sky with a view in the mirror of this vast expanse of shimmering wing. I spent a month on loan to 890 Squadron on Hermes, for a big NATO exercise in the Norwegian Sea. 893 flew out to Malta and joined Ark Royal in November 1960. We continued working up in day and night interception at high and low level. Weaponry included tossing 28-lb practice bombs in the LABS (low-altitude bombing system) manoeuvre, and quite a bit of Glow worm night sorties. “After Christmas Ark Royal crossed the Atlantic and spent time in the Davis Strait, west of Greenland, doing an Arctic trial. It was bitterly cold with the deck covered in snow and ice in the early morning. We were non-diversion flying, and as one of the few Sea Vixen FAW.1 XN698 V-458 893 Squadron HMS Victorious night-qualified crews my ob1963 or 1964. (Steve Bond collection) server and I were glad to have two engines. One night launch my aircraft was late being spotted, and I had great difficulty getting strapped in as the canopy could not be closed and spray and ice were coming in. After various problems including failure of the Palouste starter and of the wings to lock after being spread, we were finally all set to go. We were at full power on the catapult, waiting for the FSO’s flag to drop, not the best time to hear FlyCo on the radio saying ‘Stop the launch!’ Seething with pent-up adrenalin and frustration I was all set to storm up to the bridge to have it out with the captain who, I thought, had reckoned it was all my fault; fortunately my CO intercepted me on the way. The next night I had a fire warning light and landed back on one engine; the next day I landed in a snowstorm! The trial finished when my aircraft with my observer, but another pilot, couldn’t lower the hook and had to go into the barrier. “After returning to Yeovilton I became senior pilot. We then embarked Centaur, working up again in the Mediterranean. Whilst in Gib we were told that trouble was brewing in Kuwait so we went through the canal. At this time, after returning from a night low-level sortie, I got a signal to say that my house in Yeovilton had been hit by an aircraft, but my wife and children were safe and had been moved to a married quarter [see Chapter Three]. This coincided with Centaur being despatched to Kuwait with all speed and a security blackout of all non-essential signal traffic – there was not much I could do about it. During the Kuwait crisis in July



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1961, we were flying at the top of the Gulf in very high temperatures, watching eggs being fried on the flight deck – a considerable change from the Arctic trial six months previously. When the crisis ended I managed to get a flight home; 893 returning about a month later. We re-embarked Centaur in the autumn spending time in the Indian Ocean. I left the squadron in Hong Kong early in 1962.” Keith Abnett – artificer “Like many other new ‘tiffies’ I was sent to 766, the Sea Vixen training squadron for both aircrew and maintainers, and immediately put into a ‘watch’. We did days only, while a reduced-manning volunteer shift worked permanent nights from 23:00 until 07:30. “Work was varied ranging from structural repairs, modifications, to fault diagnosis on all kinds of airframe and engine defects. I did both unscheduled and scheduled servicing, enjoying the spontaneity of unexpected defects. I cannot remember a slack period as the Sea Vixen was a difficult aircraft to maintain, and sometimes we struggled to get 8/9 Keith Abnett. aircraft serviceable for the first flights on a Monday morning. The Vixen was designed when ‘maintainability’ and ‘reliability’ were unheard of. It was said that it took some 100 maintenance man-hours to get one flying hour out of it. “In 1967 I was the line PO (glorified petrol station manager) for 766 Squadron when it was temporarily based at Brawdy. Along with the ’plane captains, we were seeing off three Sea Vixens for a sortie. The pilots, two sub lieutenants and a flying officer, were about halfway through their conversion course. The object of the sortie was to do carrier approaches on Eagle, which was in the vicinity of St Brides Bay, doing two or three approaches with the hook up. The aircraft duly departed and the lads wandered back to the crew room; 20 minutes later one of the Vixens suddenly appeared back in the circuit and landed. We rushed out to marshal it in, naturally assuming the pilot had returned early because of a defect. “The pilot was the flying officer; when he climbed down the cockpit ladder, I noticed his flying suit was dark and soaking wet with sweat. I asked if the aircraft was OK, and had he been successful seeing the deck-landing mirror on any of the approaches? He replied in a shocked tone, ‘See the bloody mirror? I could hardly see the ship! When I flew over at 10,000 feet and looked down, I saw this postage stamp floating on the sea and said to myself, I’m bloody well not landing on that!’ The poor lad was severely stressed and scared. It was at that point that aircrew went up 200 per cent in my estimation, and I got a far better understanding of what they had to go through. It takes guts and courage to land 20 tons of aircraft on another

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lump of metal tossing and turning on the high seas. He was withdrawn from the Sea Vixen course and I never saw him again.” Mike Layard “I loved the Vixen it was a great ‘can-do’ aeroplane. It was big, unwieldy and quite complex, but reliable. If you talk to a maintainer, they will tell you it was a fearsomely complicated aeroplane, particularly within the confines of the ship’s hangar or moving round on deck. One of the issues was the size of the carriers, which were suitable for operating Sea Venoms or Sea Hawks, but unfortunately not so suitable for something a lot bigger and landing a lot quicker. For instance, you had very little room for manoeuvre if you were off-line – wingtip safety lines and so on, with the deck parks all so close – the margin for error was miniscule. You had to be very accurate. It wasn’t always easy when the back end of the carrier was corkscrewing up and down and it’s at night. We lost a few aeroplanes because of that complexity. “Landing on board in rough weather was a huge test for the aeroplane, with corkscrewing, turbulence off the superstructure – particularly as you go past the centreline on the angle deck. Approach was across the line of the ship, and hence produced a built-in crosswind. In the Far East the ship had to do at least 30 knots which increased the induced crosswind. On a carrier, unlike shore approaches, there is no decaying airspeed approach; you didn’t have the complications of reducing power and then having a sink rate. You would be coming round the corner within 10 knots of your land-on speed of 130 knots. “I was lucky not to have operated from Centaur – the smallest of the carriers. I was on Eagle and Ark Royal, which were noticeably bigger and less challenging. Not least because the bigger the carrier is, the more stable it is in the water. I was on 890 and 899 with the Vixen, I was a ‘sprog’ on 899, and became the boss – two incarnations! I was on 899 – ‘the bunch with the punch’ – on the last commission on Eagle, and in 1970-71 was the penultimate boss of that squadron. Despite the treatment we gave it, the Vixen held up right to the end. It was a pretty solid aeroplane.” Mike Garlick “As a strike-fighter the Vixen could deploy rockets and bombs, adding to the variety and interest of the flying. Glow worm and Lepus flare attacks were extremely challenging, especially when leading a four-ship at low level at night over the sea. You ran in low level, pulled up, released the Glow worm or Lepus flare, then peeled away with more than 90 degrees of bank to arrive behind the other three aircraft, as they made their attacks, to deliver your rockets or bombs. It was easy to become disorientated during these attacks especially as weaponry switches needed to be changed whilst manoeuvring, and this may have been a factor in some aircraft losses. Then again, a night deck landing was very demanding and was probably the hardest aspect of carrier flying. It is said that every night deck landing is engraved on a pilot’s soul.



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“During a visit by the Queen Mother I was in a four-ship formation conducting a ten-degree divisional dive attack on the splash target. After running in low level we pulled up and turned into the dive, but the ship had turned and as ‘tail end charlie’ I was thrown wide and ended up in a much steeper dive than planned. I carried on and fired, but the pull out was late and low – very low. We were firing half pods of two-inch rockets with HE heads in order to make a nice lot of noise and smoke, which they did very well, and I flew right through this and the debris over the target. I remember the moment of blackness, and the relief as we emerged the other side. After landing-on I had to explain why the nose cone of my aircraft had lots of shrapnel holes in it! Instead of being introduced to the Queen Mother I was in the doghouse, but frankly just glad to be alive. There was a very big apology to my ‘looker’ in the bar that night. “Another time an undercarriage leg collapsed during a deck landing, but as I’d caught a wire the aircraft was brought to a halt OK. I once had to shut down an engine due to a fire warning, and made a single-engine recovery. Normally the Vixen could easily ‘float’ over the wires if only a little fast on recovery. With only one engine I was certainly not going to be slow. I went to full power on my one engine as soon as I hit the deck, but perhaps this was slightly too early – we ‘bolted’. With two engines a bolter was no problem, but on this occasion I was very grateful for the extra 50 feet above the sea as we sank off the deck before slowly regaining speed. A number of causal factors can be attributed to accidents. Sometimes something went wrong with the aircraft or it was some aspect of ship operation. Luckily I was never a victim. “During my eight years’ service I flew from Ark Royal, Hermes and Eagle with all the front-line Sea Vixen squadrons; 890, 892, 893 and 899, as well as time on 766 training squadron. As I was still enjoying myself, I remained on my last squadron (899) as AWI for as long as possible. On my last day in the RN my observer and I launched from Eagle in the Mediterranean. We landed at the French naval air station at Hyères where we refuelled, and as you do, had a nice lunch with wine before flying on to Yeovilton. No RDP! (run down period.) “I knew which second career I wanted to follow. FRADU offered an opportunity to continue in a paid job flying the Vixen whilst I was studying to get the qualifications for university entrance. Typical sorties included acting as target for a ship’s gun-tracking exercise, or conducting a simulated missile attack against a ship. The sorties were mostly routine, without the excitement of front-line flying from the deck, though occasionally there was the opportunity to ‘beat up’ a ship or carry out a simulated deck landing on a frigate! I flew with FRADU for about 18 months, and although the flying wasn’t very rewarding it was certainly convenient to have a paid job as I was preparing myself for my future career as a vet. “There were many fatalities connected with flying the Vixen. One I was close to was when I was aboard Ark Royal on 890 Squadron. We were tasked to drop 500lb bombs fitted with a VT (variable time) fuse; I had flown a sortie early that day

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where we dropped these on a smoke float a couple of miles from the ship. We were onboard later that same day watching more bomb drops when one of the aircraft exploded. This was followed by the eerie sight of a parachute, without anybody attached to it, which had deployed and was drifting downwards. It seemed that somehow the fuse had become active, and the bomb had exploded as soon as it was released from the aircraft. I shared a cabin with the pilot of that aircraft and I had to clear his effects. His death was therefore very close to home. “It’s hard to explain how one felt about these losses. Somehow they were part of the game, but they were your friends and colleagues, and it was always very personal. We would usually have some sort of wake, which might look casual, but it brought us all closer together. It’s impossible to summarise all of this, but having followed a completely different career for many more years than I spent flying in the FAA, that period remains important in my life. I still have many friends from that unique time. Would I do it again? … if only I could have the chance.” Jonathon Whaley – pilot “I flew Sea Vixens operationally for two tours. Then in 2014, after a lapse of 44 years, I again flew and displayed a Sea Vixen – XP924 one I had last flown 47 years previously. As a result, I have the honour of being the last ever pilot to fly a Sea Vixen who had flown them operationally. The Vixen was useless as a weapon of war, but an absolute blast to fly, especially from a carrier. “Before the 1980s it might be said, that one of the primary attributes required if applying to join the Royal Navy, and in particular as aircrew, was to have a sense of humour. The saying ‘If you can’t take a joke, you shouldn’t have joined’ must have come from the senior service. If your sense of humour was slightly warped, then a) you were a survivor by nature and b) destined for great things. At the time I joined in 1965, the FAA was losing between one or two crew members Jonathon Whaley. a year per squadron. Of all Sea Vixens built 38 per cent were lost. By the time I left in 1973 there were 11 names in my logbook that were no longer with us. “Standard operating procedures (SOPs) were tightened up in about 1971, and ‘job’s worth’ criteria added so that losses were dramatically reduced. In 1969 when we lost a Vixen which flew into the sea at night, the papers never mentioned it. Today, such rare accidents are front-page news. I was lucky enough to fly (and survive) in the last few years of the ‘Please try not to kill yourself or anyone else’ regime. “From 766 Squadron I joined 899 Squadron in Eagle. We were briefed for a



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multi-role op; a dummy Red Top missile on one side, a pod of 36 two-inch rockets on the other along with 200-gallon drop tanks each side. Form 700 signed, you walk out onto the deck. The safety Helo has just lifted, and the Gannets are taxiing with their wings doing the bizarre unfolding routine peculiar to them. There’s not much wind over the deck as the carrier is steaming downwind, prior to turning into wind and to get 30 knots over the deck. It’s wise to be strapping in by the time the carrier heels over in a hard turn into wind. The Vixen is started using high-pressure air delivered from a Palouste, and there are two on deck alert plugged in ready to start both engines at the same time. All manoeuvres on the deck are carefully choreographed. There’s no fuss about the start, and you’re soon ready to taxi up to the catapult. On the way forward the observer has been watching the fuel and calls the AUW to FlyCo. Knowing your weight and the speed of the wind over the deck, those down in the catapult bunker calculate how much steam pressure they need to get you off the end. You line up with the catapult spreading the wings, (the observer can do this for you) stopping when directed. The hold-back is attached; a device held together with rings that break when the catapult fires, hopefully but not unheard of, not just as you reach full power. The catapult strop is attached and tensioned. FlyCo then clears you for launch and gives you a figure, normally something like ‘Plus two’ (meaning the steam pressure will give you flying speed +2 knots). On a bad day, with no natural wind, it’s tropical and one of the carrier’s boilers or the desalination plant is on the blink, the call might be ‘minus two’. That means you’re need to pick up those extra two knots during the inevitable descent off the end – you’ve got about 60 feet to play with. That’s fine unless it’s night and there’s no moon. “For the first few seconds the pressure instruments do not require attention, the VSI has hit its stops, and the altimeter has a negative reading. The ASI has gone through 200 knots, is now going back down past 100 knots but will shortly come back to around 130 knots. As you leave the catapult, you ‘gather’ the aircraft and aim for about 9 ° nose up. This entails a rotation of about 9-11 ° nose up – depending on the tensioned attitude. The air direction detector (ADD) may reach 23 units, but any more than 24 and you’ve over pitched; the aircraft will pitch up and drop a wing, leaving you no choice but to eject. The command ejection system fires both seats, so if you decide to eject there’s no need to waste time telling the observer – you go, he goes too, ready or not. The cautious observer took off with his hand grasped on the ejection D ring, just in case. Pilot’s Notes state ‘some sink will occur at or near minimum launch speed’. The gear is brought up as soon as possible, and once you are both happy, speed 140 knots, the flaps are raised to 20 °. If you are still accelerating the flaps are raised fully. Speed rapidly builds and the nose is pulled up to settle in the climb at 430 knots until Mach 0.83 is reached. A clean aircraft will climb at about 8,500 feet per minute, but normal rates were about 6,500 feet per minute. If you’re one of the first off, you orbit the carrier while the rest of the section launch, synchronising the orbit to pick up No.4 as he climbs out.

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At night you climb out on the designated heading, jinking as required to let your No.2 catch up. As he launched only seconds after you, he won’t be far behind. We split into two pairs for some mutual AI. “The Vixen manoeuvres best at 380 knots where you hit the 5.5 g limit. In a dogfight you’ll ‘yo-yo’ and ‘scissor’ at speeds between 140 and 620 knots. It would flick on you fairly easily but the rudders were very effective, so much so that sometimes you could end up with masses of back stick and turning to port, full left rudder to hold off the flick and it’d gently start rolling right, telling you to ease off the back stick. Any incipient spin was quickly stopped with rudder and unloading. You’d think that if you are going to put flaps on a fighter aircraft, with the necessary weight penalties, you’d design the system so that it could help you during combat, and not just taking off and landing. The Sea Vixen’s Fowler flaps at half and full had limiting speeds of 220 knots and 175 knots – as I discovered to my cost. That sort of waste of weight and lost opportunity for operational effectiveness would be unheard of in this day and age. “Use of flaps during air combat manoeuvring (ACM) was not permitted, yet their use was advised in the tactical manual. The problem was that the lever was down and behind the throttles, tucked away from view, as was the indicator at the bottom of the panel. The trick was to tell the observer you were dropping flap, hoping that one of you would remember, as the speed increased, to raise them. ACM against a Mk.9 Hunter was a sobering experience, and if you let yourself fight on his terms, you’d lose every time. Luckily they only had cannons – you just had to keep him 800 yards away. When Iranian soldiers landed on Lesser Tunb in the Persian Gulf, it was the only time I had to seriously contemplate how to take on MiGs. Our run ashore to Mombasa was cancelled, and we steamed north in true ‘gunboat’ fashion. Our foe was going to be MiG-15s and MiG-21s both with guns and the MiG-21 reputably had impressive air-to-air missiles. We decided our best armament fit would be four pods of 36 two-inch rockets. Get within 250-1,000 yards using best guess to sight. The rocket warhead had a self-destruct timer; if all else failed, flak would be going off all around him. “We had a pilot attack sight (PAS) Mk.1, it remained Mk.1 for the Vixen’s life. It was basically an air-to-air gyro gunsight, tweaked to give some missile lock information, and further tweaked to provide some form of datum for air-to-ground use. Despite the totally inadequate sighting system air-to-ground action was enjoyable, especially at night. There were two types of attack I favoured; Bravo by day and Lepus by night [see Mike Garlick’s account earlier]. “The Bravo was an attack on an opportunity target. The most exhilarating was when the carrier was towing a splash target 1,000 yards astern. Your section would be in echelon formation, 450 knots and very low level. Coming in from the carrier’s five o’clock position you racked the aircraft around the stern of the carrier, below flight-deck level, pull up and dumb-bell reverse with aircraft giving themselves displacement for the dive. Then fire or drop on the splash target.



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“Fuel management was one of the highest workloads for the crew. There were 14 tanks if you were carrying two drops, a total of 13,500 lbs. You had two fuel gauges, one for each side. To pump all this about, there were ten main booster pumps and six auxiliary pumps. Fuel management was critical. One often flew on one engine to increase endurance. If possible, you alternated engines to ease the fuel balancing problem. If carrying only one drop tank plus a flight refuelling pod and you were handing out fuel, judicious cross-feeding and tank contents management with the pumps was essential. It was possible to end up with fuel in a tank that you couldn’t get at. In the event of a single or double generator failure there was a lever on the fuel XP925 E-125 Sea Vixen FAW.2 refuelling XS579 E-130 899 Squadron. (Kim Sharman) booster pump panel which took offline all the pumps except the No.1s. Any electrical emergency automatically brought on a fuel management problem. The complexities of the system were such that if you intended to stay up for the duration of the fuel available rather than land ASAP, you needed someone to sort things out while you flew the ’plane. “As a generalisation when low flying in fast jets – the lower, the faster, the better. When cresting a hill or ridge you don’t push forward to descend, you roll on your back, letting the nose drop down and continuing to roll until upright, pulling the nose back to level flight. We had been briefed to coast out over the cliff at Hartland Point, north Devon. As the observer’s window was very small, his ability to visually assist in low-level navigation was restricted. For low-level navigation I had just bought myself a chronograph; all multiple dials and buttons. As we came low over Hartland Point, I rolled us over onto our back, letting the nose drop down towards the sea; meanwhile starting the stopwatch for this leg – had I pressed the right button? I tried to see if the small sweep hand was moving. Taking a lookout – my view was filled with sea! We were almost inverted again. I continued to roll, then a positive pull – we very low over the water. My observer was blissfully unaware of what had happened. “The Sea Vixen’s flaps were purely for take-off and landing; they were effectively single sheets of metal. Flying from Eagle we were engaged in ‘combat’ against a Hunter. The Hunter could use flap which greatly increased his rate of turn. I knew he could out-turn us; he had the extra edges of being able to pull 1.5 g more than

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us, and could use flap to out-turn us at lower speeds. We were going up and down, high and low speed yo-yoing, neither gaining a kill position. The Hunter unexpectedly didn’t reverse a turn, trying to break away instead. Seizing the opportunity, I rolled and followed, ending in claiming the kill. On returning to the carrier and breaking into the circuit to land I reached down to lower the flaps – they were already half down. For safety I had to land with half rather than full flap. I received a reprimand but not much more than ‘don’t do it again’. “A few months later whilst flying from Luqa we swapped observers between Gannets and Sea Vixens. With a Gannet observer sitting in the coal-hole we were flying in formation with take-off flap, alongside a Gannet. Eventually it was time to go home. I accelerated into a loop, coming out back alongside the Gannet, albeit now at high speed. I returned to Luqa, broke to land and realised the flaps were half down. My leave in Naples was Jonathon Whaley’s Vixen after the canopy loss. cancelled, I helped change the very bent flaps, and I had to give a lecture on Sea Vixen flaps. As a result I was thereafter known as ‘Flaps’. “Later, whilst non-diversion flying somewhere in the Indian Ocean, my canopy came off at the end of the catapult launch. I radioed that we’d lost it – nobody on deck had noticed. I was asked if we were OK, and after responding ‘Yes’, we were told to loiter until time to land back on with everyone else. It transpired that during maintenance the port rail had not been secured. The canopy came off hinging on the starboard rail, clipping the top of my helmet on the way, punching a hole in the observer’s canopy and then striking the tailplane. “While in the sound between New Zealand’s North and South Islands, the day was particularly stormy and the deck was pitching alarmingly. Coming around finals, on glideslope, the deck completely disappeared from my view – the Eagle’s aft two screws became visible slowly rotating! In this situation you continued the approach without the intention to land. If you thought otherwise red flares were fired and the landing sight flashed red. In FlyCo there was an instrument that traced the pitching frequency. Hopefully your next approach would be in a period of low pitching. “I look back on my eight years in the FAA as the most formative period in my life. ‘After his seven-minute display the Vixen pilot broke into the circuit and landed. As ‘Steely’ climbed down from the cockpit, a ten-year-old boy looked up admiringly and said to him: ‘Cor, Mister, I’m going to be a fighter pilot when I grow up.’



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‘Look, Sonny Jim,’ came a surprisingly thoughtful reply from Steely, ‘get one thing straight right now – you’ll only be able to do one or the other!’ I made my choice.” Peter Rose “I was crash and salvage driver at Yeovilton when the crash alarm sounded. We leapt into action with Salvage 1 and Salvage 2 proceeding onto the airfield at great speed. Seeing a column of smoke at the far end of the runway we abandoned the taxiway and hurtled across the grass. As we got closer there were the remains of a Sea Vixen burning just in front of the Rescue Land Rover at the end of the runway. Being a bit squeamish I drove off the runway to the area at the end where the grass was long. We spotted a furrow in the grass Peter Rose. and there was an ejection seat with a crewman in it. Looking around we found the second occupant also still in his seat. “They were both alive, we needed help fast! There was an ambulance near the wreckage. I tried calling it on the radio but its crew were out of the vehicle looking at the fire. I tried calling the tower but got no response so I switched to the aircraft channel and called again – the tower told me to wait. I replied, ‘Negative wait! Both aircrew are alive, repeat both aircrew are alive. We need medical assistance.’ The crash Land Rover crew were in shock, and attempts to get them to do anything failed. We got the attention of the medics and the surgeon commander took one look and said, ‘Yeovil General’. Fortunately, the pilot and observer survived – they were lucky. “There were arrestor wires on each runway attached to ship’s anchor chains. One night a Sea Vixen declared an emergency landing so we rushed out to the runway and set up the arrestor gear. Hopefully the aircraft would catch the wire and be slowed to a stop by dragging the chains along the ground. I sat in Salvage 1 riding the clutch so as soon as the aircraft passed I could chase it down the runway. I went as fast as I could to the aircraft. It took only a few seconds but by the time I got there the aircrew were out on the side of runway smoking cigarettes. Considering where the observer was seated in a Sea Vixen it was quite some feat – I’d never seen anyone move so fast before or since.” John Dixon – pilot “The ‘Red Beard’ nuclear weapon developed to Operational Requirement (OR) 1127 could be carried by Buccaneer, Scimitar and Sea Vixen. It was produced in two versions, the Mk.1 designed as a free-fall bomb for RAF use yielding 15 kT (kilotons), and the Mk.2 Navy version for LABS and

John Dixon.

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Laydown delivery, 25 kT. Both versions were originally expected to weigh 2,000 lbs, and were commonly referred to as 2,000-lb bombs, but production techniques introduced actually reduced the weight to 1,750 lbs. “ ‘Red Beard’ was replaced by the WE177 series of tactical nuclear weapons in the late 1960s and three versions were produced. WE177A was a smaller and lighter 600-lb low-yield weapon weighing 1,000 lbs. It was for use by the ship-launched Ikara anti-submarine missile system, and for deployment by naval helicopters as a nuclear depth bomb. The 177B and 177C weighing 1,000 lbs were for use by fixed-wing aircraft, yields were 450 kT and 200 kT for the B and C respectively. As a comparison, the yield of the weapon used at Nagasaki in August 1945 was 21 kT. Coming up to date the Trident warheads yield what seems a modest 100 kTs.” Kim Sharman – pilot “Night weaponry was interesting, to say the least. It was bloody dangerous and that’s where the Vixen’s high attrition rate came from. The arming switches were on the right side of the cockpit and had to be reselected whilst in the turn back to the target. This could result in movement in all three planes and, as a result, a number of guys got disorientated and just spiralled down. When I flew these trips one aircraft fired the flares, and the rest attacked the target – safer, but not much. Kim Sharman. “Going down the dive, to weapon release, you’re concentrating on the target through the sight. Target fixation could take over and, with no visible horizon, you’d be coming down with 40  ° of bank. If you had bank on during the dive, when the time came for weapon release and the pull-out, if your wings were not level the danger was that the aircraft would dive towards the sea. My ‘looker’ would always give me the angle of bank. “In between my two front-line tours I went to Boscombe Down on ‘C’ Squadron to do Martel missile trials, which was fascinating. The missile would have been launched at a reasonable range; because we were doing evaluation everything had to be consistent. We ran in at 200 feet, plus or minus nothing, and Mach 0.75 (about 500 knots). At the point of simulated missile release (I did fire a real one) we went into a left-hand bank of 63 ° ± 5 ° at 500 knots and 200 feet through a heading change of 120 ° ± 7 °. “We had two specially modified Mk.1 Vixens. One acted as the missile and the other the launch aircraft – they were called ‘Cat’ and ‘Mouse’; the Mouse simulating the missile and the Cat the controller. The Mouse sent television pictures back to the Cat, who then navigated the missile to the target. Literally map reading, we flew over the West Country directing the Mouse. We also flew in the Cardigan Bay ranges where there were no features – just the sea. The missile I fired had a sixfoot miss distance – not bad!



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“I later went back to Boscombe for ‘C’ Squadron’s send-off. All the famous names were represented: de Havilland, Martin-Baker and Tommy Sopwith. Saying farewell

Sea Vixen FAW.1 XJ476 C Squadron A&AEE Boscombe Down with Martel. (Kim Sharman)

to ‘C’ Squadron we carried a coffin on our shoulders, preceded by a piper. We all walked into the mess looking very solemn, put the coffin down on trestles, opened the lid and it was full of champagne – that’s navy!” On 18 March 1967 the oil tanker Torrey Canyon made international headlines when it ran aground on Pollard’s Rock, on the Seven Stones reef between the Cornish mainland and the Isles of Scilly. The FAA’s effort involved both the Sea Vixen and Buccaneer fleets (see also Chapter Ten). Colin Morris “In late March 1967 believing that my military flying career was over I was on ‘terminal leave’. The news was all about the grounding on rocks of the tanker Torrey Canyon. It was Easter and Yeovilton was closed. The telephone rang. There was a requirement for the FAA to burn off the ship’s cargo of oil by napalm and bombing and I was asked if I was prepared to carry out the operation. “Politically there was a need to show that the FAA was always immediately available. On the afternoon of 30 March my ‘looker’ Lt Wilcock and I took off armed with two napalm bombs to set fire to the ship. We ran Torrey Canyon ablaze. (Graham Pitchfork)

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in at 50 feet to deliver our payload successfully, but it really needed the oil to be more exposed to burn off sufficient quantities. The following day I returned in the morning with Lt McKenzie as my looker and delivered two 1,000-lb bombs to split the tanks that were still intact. The tanker was burning well at the time; running in alongside the heavy smoke belching from the broken tanker was an impressive sight. The TV news that night ran a clip of ‘Navy High Spirits’ as I rolled my Vixen for the benefit of a cameraman in a two-seat Hunter which accompanied me back to Yeovilton. Over the next few days various aircraft had goes at it. Overall success was not great but undoubtedly less oil reached the shore than if we had done nothing.” Doug MacDonald – observer “When the Torrey Canyon went aground I did two sorties, one with napalm. It was the first time the armourers had handled napalm – thank God there were no accidents. However it failed to ignite the oil leaking from the ship, and the second sortie hit it with a couple of 1,000-lb bombs, but didn’t get it off the rocks. I think we simply made a bigger hole so that more oil could escape. We flew the sorties on successive days, with Buccaneers from Lossiemouth, Canberras from East Anglia and Hunters from Chivenor. I flew the bombing sortie with Taylor Scott; he was a sub lieutenant on 766 and I was an instructor. The other pilot was Bob McQueen who was my CO on 893 Squadron. “On another time I vividly remember us taking out a machine-gun nest with live two-inch rockets. We’d been called up by the army, who were in a bit of trouble in the middle of the desert – it was the real thing. Being in the coal hole I didn’t really see the target, but my pilot Stu White elbowed his way past the leader – he’d seen it, the leader hadn’t. I don’t know whether they fired back at us, but I don’t think we brought any bullet holes back. The forward air controller was very pleased with what we’d done.” David Allan “February 1971 somewhere in the Med. The flying programme says myself leading a three-ship, getting airborne just after sun-up for some low-level intercepts to give the observers practice at the ‘dark art’. This to be followed by attacks on the carrier’s splash target, with each aircraft carrying a half a pod of two-inch inert rockets. The first of these attacks starts with a very low pass with the three of us in an attack formation over the target. Then pulling up into a tight-programmed flying pattern which puts us into a firing position on the splash. “I had nearly finished the brief when I was interrupted by a ‘wheel’ or maybe a ‘semi-wheel’, who informed us that about halfway through our sortie a different target was a possibility, but was only available for a short period of time. This target was a large water barge that had its buoyancy enhanced. If we were quick we could have a go at it! The weather was perfect, ten to 12 knots across the deck, light swell and visibility to the horizon and beyond. No great change to the initial brief,



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low-level intercepts, however the rocket attacks would now be carried out on the barge – if we could find it. We had the radio frequency of the safety frigate monitoring the barge, so we would know for sure that our initial manoeuvre was carried out on the barge and not an unsuspecting freighter – it has been known to happen! “The ship turns into wind, the Gannet launches, followed by a couple of Buccaneers and then ourselves. We carry out a few practice intercepts controlled by the Gannet and our tame ‘D’ on the carrier, and then join up en route to the barge. My observer picked up what he thought was the barge on radar and vectored us towards it. I called the safety frigate to confirm we were inbound. We descended to a lower level, flew over the barge and commenced the attack. The frigate controller confirmed we were clear to fire – and that’s what we did. “The target was stationary in the water, the weather was perfect, and the three of us commenced firing a single rocket into the barge on every pass – we couldn’t miss! I aimed a rocket through the bridge window on a pass, and then seeing the damage it had caused on the next pass, I put another rocket through the adjoining window. Then I changed to aiming at the hull near the waterline – the other pilots also varied their aiming points. Eventually No.2 pulled off and returned to the carrier at endurance speed. He had used more fuel than myself and No.3, which was the normal situation for a No.2 keeping up with the leader. The pattern now had only two aircraft, and we took advantage to speed up the timing of our passes at the target. “With our ‘Charlie’ time rapidly approaching and on-board fuel reducing, we fired off our two or three remaining rockets and returned to the ‘low wait’. The carrier and squadron maintainers did not like certain weapons being brought back onboard due to the possible danger and difficulty of making them safe prior to unloading them. On occasion they had been known to come loose and continue up the angle as the aircraft slammed into the deck rapidly stopping under the effect of the mating of hook and wire. “We landed on time, followed by my fellow aviators at 35 to 40-second intervals. Perfect sortie, great fun, easy debrief – not to be. We walk back into the briefing room where a big ‘wheel’ asks me to go with him, or words to that effect – something about ‘hit the fan’. I find myself on the bridge in front of the captain (a ‘very big wheel’), who appeared to be having some sort of a medical attack. He then informs me, and several ‘wheels’ present, that he has received a signal from the admiral – the biggest ‘wheel’ – which states that we have incurred his severe displeasure. ‘The barge has sunk and has completely ruined the exercise’. The captain reckoned it was my fault! Even at this stage, I was thinking, ‘What is all this about?’ Nevertheless, I was ‘logged’ by one of the captain’s mini ‘wheels’. The disgrace of the squadron is on my shoulders, and I still haven’t figured it out! “It would appear that the barge was to be the centrepiece of a naval exercise. The navy (‘Fishheads’) would dispatch a rogue vessel by gunfire from a couple of frigates, and possibly finished off by a torpedo from a submarine. The ships’ gunnery

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officers, submariners and the like would therefore be mentioned in dispatches for removing a danger to shipping. Shortly after my dismissal from his presence the captain had sent a signal to the admiral expressing his deepest regret about the unfortunate sinking, and had ‘logged’ the culprit. The admiral, now my saviour, replied that his first signal was a joke that appeared to have misfired, and he sent his congratulations to the squadron for their excellent shooting! Would I receive an apology and be ‘unlogged’? – ‘No,’ said the ‘wheels’. I reckon the moral of this is, the only way to be ‘unlogged’ is to use a saw.” Paul Bennett – pilot “In 1971 we were sailing in Eagle from Singapore, en route to Australia and New Zealand, when the LOX (liquid oxygen) plant on the ship exploded. To save aircraft weight it been decided to remove the explosive high-pressure oxygen bottles it carried and change the system to liquid oxygen. LOX is dangerous stuff and in port we were not allowed to operate the on-board production plant. When we went to sea it was operating at full capacity to provide enough LOX to allow the aircraft to operate. “899 Squadron officers were playing volleyball in the aft aircraft lift at the first hangar level. I was on one of the teams and happened to be facing the open side towards the hangar which was full of aircraft. Suddenly a sheet of flame went from one side of the hangar to the other, almost immediately followed by the alarm signals and the closing of the fire curtains dividing the hangar into segments. We immediately vacated the lift area, and went to our quarters aft. A short while later a full ship’s emergency was sounded, and with the other aircrews, we went to our emergency station, the briefing room. ‘Little F’ (Nigel Grier-Rees), the deck crew and squadron sailors did an amazing job of clearing the hangar decks of aircraft; eventually the fire was brought under control. The ship sailed at high speed back towards Singapore and the severely injured sailors were medivac’d ashore by Sea King, but sadly two died from their injuries. On a subsequent inspection they found an almost full 1,400-litre tank of LOX intact. It was estimated that if it had ruptured it would have blown the side out of the ship with disastrous consequences.” The LOX plant explosion occurred on Sunday 25 July 1971 at around 17:30. It was thought to have been caused by a spark when a metal tool was used to operate a pressure relief valve. Paul Bennett continues. “While operating off Australia my aircraft was loaded with 500-lb inert bombs to drop on a target off the coast. On completion of the bombing run I had a bomb ‘hang up’. We could not land with it as the force of the arrested landing would almost certainly dislodge the bomb – sending it hurtling down the deck, causing all sorts of damage and threatening life. My instructions from ‘Mother’ were to fly to



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a safe area and jettison it. The boss came on the radio and asked if I needed help with the jettisoning check list. Rather indignantly I declined, muttering to myself that I could ‘read the bloody checklist myself, thank you’. In a Sea Vixen cockpit it is awkward to not only reach some of the switches, but almost impossible to read ‘on/off – left/right upper/lower’ etc. To be fair the switches I needed to operate were buried beside my right thigh and accessed by touch rather than sight, and they needed to be switched in sequence. This I did according to the checklist and came to the final switch ‘inner/outer’ which I unfortunately switched the wrong way – I failed! Lo and behold the £100,000 Red Top acquisition missile left my port inner pylon and, being more aerodynamic than the aircraft, went ahead of me in a gentle descent. A stupid thought, briefly, went through my distressed brain – could I somehow scoop it up? Instead sense returned, I operated the switch in the opposite direction and the bomb left with a thud. “I landed back on and sheepishly went down to the briefing room, fully expecting the full wrath of the boss, only to find it was empty but for the squadron ‘duty boy’. He told me that the new splot (senior pilot), who had joined the squadron in Singapore and was not currently deck-landing qualified, had been doing some touch-and-go practice and hit the deck so hard on his final one that he had smashed the port landing gear oleo. He was affectionally known as ‘Kamikaze Fred’. It was decided to land him into the barrier which, with the Sea Vixen’s soft leading wing edges, would certainly write off the aircraft. This they did and my incident was initially forgotten about. The senior engineer did approach me and sadly told me that splot’s Red Top missile had been damaged on landing, otherwise they could have transferred it to my aircraft and there would have been little lost and less embarrassment to me. Not to be, but it was a good couple of days later when splot’s aircraft loss had been sorted out (having stripped the aircraft of engines and as many spare parts as they could, the carcass was bulldozed off the side of the ship). I was in the ACRB reading the ship’s newspaper when a voice behind the paper said ‘do you want to talk about the missile you lost Paul?’ It was the boss. I suffered loss of leave in New Zealand but a very compassionate boss allowed me to travel up to Auckland to visit family. All in all a humbling experience that taught me to never turn down advice from ‘older and bolder’ folk.” Bob Crane – observer “Bombing/RP attack profiles comprised a ten-degree or 20-degree dive, with single weapons being released at about 400 knots, the observer calling height passing and ‘ready, ready, fire!’ at the correct release height. Rocket pods were normally on a right-wing pylon. It was quite amusing for an observer to have a rocket ‘woosh’ past his window – and spectacular when full pods were fired in salvo (occasionally, four pods would be carried and fired off in a weapons demo). Not so amusing, indeed frightening, was the prospect of dropping 1,000-lb bombs fitted with VT

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fuses. VT-fused bombs had a bad reputation for destroying the aircraft that carried them; either the VT fuse had been set incorrectly or because of a malfunction in the fusing system. “ ‘Buddy’ refuelling was an intrinsic part of carrier ops. On Hermes a couple of Sea Vixens and a Buccaneer were normally configured as tankers, each carrying a single refuelling pod (my assigned aircraft was permanently configured thus). On Sea Vixens the pod was fitted on the outer right pylon, in place Bob Crane. of the drop tank. The probe was mounted on the left wing, thus helping a ‘receiver’ when ‘plugged in’ to avoid the jet wash of the Sea Vixen tanker. “With the probe on the left it was a pilot-only escapade to fly it into the basket, albeit with the observer helping to monitor the instruments. It was obviously much more difficult at night, the only lights being on the pod to show ‘fuel ready’ and ‘fuel flowing’ plus luminous elements around the rim of the basket. “In a tanker the observer controlled the pod. As well as extension and retraction of the hose and basket he was responsible for ensuring the pod remained filled with fuel, ready for any receiver. This he did by transferring fuel from wing or fuselage tanks, checking the amount of fuel in each tank by selecting it on his two indicators, one for the tanks on the left side and one for those on the right. The refuelling pod was also gauged and it was quite alarming to watch the contents decrease rapidly – akin to a leak – when passing fuel to a receiver. A Sea Vixen observer was very much a fuel manager.” Don Perman – observer “Some people said the Vixen was a dangerous aircraft, but that was rubbish – it was very safe. Unfortunately a lot of people got very casual about their flying. Over a year or 18 months a whole bunch of senior guys and others crashed, failing to round out or going over the side – mostly at night. Landing on deck is fine; during the day you become used to it, but at night you really have got to pay attention. Quite a Don Perman. lot of my time was flying off Centaur, which was too small and too bloody slow for something as big and heavy as the Sea Vixen; we had to do it because that was all we had. We pushed our luck a bit and some of the senior guys got too nonchalant, that’s why the Vixen had such a bad reputation.



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“We used to do ground attack, and we had a nuclear capability. During the Cuban missile crisis in 1962, I was in our squadron’s nuclear team. We were on red alert for three days, not practice, but for real. I was sweating because my target was Sevastopol in the Crimea. This was good news because we could approach down at sea level. However we reckoned we’d get in, but didn’t know if we’d get back. We certainly didn’t think Hermes would be there if we did! It was very touch and go. I think if Kennedy hadn’t kept his nerve then we could have had a problem – Khrushchev was a bit of a nutter really.” Tony Smith – pilot “On 12 December 1967 Terry Fletcher, my observer, and I got airborne for a sortie which turned out to be very satisfactory. The fleet off Aden had been allocated two Ryan Firefish high-speed remote-controlled speedboats built for target practice. There were four Vixens on this sortie led by Mike Layard, our AWI at the time. We all set up for a 20-degree two-inch rocket attack on the target. Jim Williams went in before me and hit the moving speedboat in the side. I was next and was lucky enough to hit it in the bottom of the hull. This brought it to a complete standstill as water rushed in, although it didn’t sink as the bow had a buoyancy bag. However Tony Smith. that was the end of the sortie and we all recovered back to Eagle. The Firefish was eventually brought back on board. “Jim’s shot was definitely the best. When he hit the boat it was going at high speed from right to left, whereas my shot was when it was moving away from me and much easier to hit. When we got back to our briefing room, Mike was more than pleased about our success. Apparently the two Firefish speedboats were originally allocated for use by all the various sections within the fleet using short-range missiles, 4.2-inch guns, as well as choppers, Buccaneers, etc. The fleet gunnery officer had therefore to work out a priority list as to who should use the targets first and last. He made the assessment that the Sea Vixens would be the least able to hit the target so they should go first. So much for what he knew! “Jim and his observer Cress Swann were unfortunately killed during a night Glow worm rocket practice on the ship’s splash target on 9 April 1968.” Lts H J Williams and C Swann’s accident occurred when they failed to pull out of their dive attack on RFA Reliant’s splash target flying Sea Vixen XS579.

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Mark Thomson “The Cold War was an arms race in peacetime. One did not need to look further than the subsequent quantum leap from the straight wing and benign Sea Hawk and Sea Venom to the supersonic giants of the Scimitar, Sea Vixen and Buccaneer. It came with an increase of aircrew fatalities, and a contributor to this was the change in the Soviet threat and our mission to counter that. “The Sea Vixen was responsible for the night and all-weather tasks from the deck, plus the dangerous Glow worm night rocket attacks which contributed their share of fatalities. 145 Sea Vixens were built, and it was in service for 12 years from 1959-1971. It was a good all-round aircraft and we all became very fond of it, but 51 aircrew were killed. The Sea Vixen aircrew was a small group. In the early 1960s I recall one year when Sea Vixen fatalities were frequent; often more experienced pilots than myself. I thought that my chances of survival were very low. Night deck-carrier landings in the Sea Vixen carried a uniquely daunting dread. “During a Glow worm attack, once the leader had fired the flares, he had to bank left hard climbing to 4,000 feet and come up behind the fourth Sea Vixen. This was a complex manoeuvre complicated further by the fact he had to turn on his weapons panel, which meant switching hands on the control stick, while turning his head to locate the weapons switch. All of this was happening while the jet was maintaining a steep bank climb, and the pilot was subjected to considerable ‘g ’ forces. It was a recipe for disorientation and disaster. When you are flying at night there is no horizon. You have disorientation in relation to the ground or sea where the ship is. As you look in and out of the cockpit, you have disorientation in relation to where the other ’planes are. You are also looking for the weapons switch on your right side, and if you are flying with your right hand you either switch hands or reach over with your left hand. “The Glow worm night rocket attack against Soviet warships was suicidal. The pilot workload at night on instruments was just too much, hence a lot of tragically wasted lives. We all knew that Glow worm was a killer and fatally flawed as a night attack, but this was the Cold War and the Soviets were coming!” Mervyn Jones “I joined 893 Squadron on Centaur, crewing up with ‘Neddy’ Bateman. The coalhole in the Sea Vixen was a dreadful position because not only were you down in the bowels, you’d only got a little congested window for visibility. The seat was underneath one of the main frames, so when you ejected you had a second’s delay while the seat was propelled forward. Several people were injured because that second seemed like an eternity, and they bent down to try the seat pan handle. There was a handle down low for the canopy ejection, and you could clear that before if you wanted to. It was operated by a Bowden cable which ran down underneath you. After they had lost a couple of people, they found that the cables had seized up with corrosion. I always used to land with one hand on each seat handle.



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“We lost our senior pilot and senior observer after doing low-level interceptions off The Lizard at night with us. Returning I’d secured the radar just as we were about to touch down – the next thing I knew we were cleaning up and climbing. ‘Neddy’ said, ‘We’re diverting to Culdrose!’ He’d seen the flames as they’d hit the deck and guessed what had happened.” On 28 January 1963 Lt Cdr Derek Fieldhouse and Lt Stacey Swift were lost when XJ585 hit the round-down, caught fire and skidded along the deck hitting four other Sea Vixens before crashing into the sea over the bow. Mervyn Jones continues. “The Vixen was a great aircraft in some respects; however it was exceedingly difficult for the pilots to land on the small aircraft carriers. This meant that many of us, including myself, did more night take-offs than landings as on many occasions we were diverted ashore. When landing on the requirement was that we had to have 2,000 lbs of fuel when we joined the circuit. If we got down to 1,200 lbs fuel was running low and we were automatically diverted ashore. “One of the highlights of my time in 893 with the Vixen, was doing a flying display at Farnborough in 1962. I was also selected to undertake the LABS course.” Dick Searles “In the spring of 1967 Hermes was operating in the Tyrrhenian Sea, between Italy and Sardinia, on Exercise Poker Hand. Sea Vixens of 892 Squadron were embarked under the command of Lt Cdr Nigel Anderdon. On 3 March I flew a sortie that could, but luckily didn’t, have had unfortunate repercussions. The plan was, as part of the exercise, to do something out of the ordinary. We were briefed to carry out a simulated strike on an American task force, including the carrier USS America, which was making its way up the Adriatic to carry out a troop landing in the Gulf of Venice. The last known position of our target was 24 hours old, but did include a course and speed. “Our crew consisted of the squadron AWI and myself. I was a relatively new breed of observer as the squadron electronic warfare instructor. The brief included a flight refuelling at altitude before the western Italian coast, a high-level transit to a let-down over land to be at low level on crossing the coast. Radar was only to be used at low level, and in short bursts. The primary locating device was intended to be the wide band homer (WBH). The WBH was the only electronic warfare equipment fitted, and operated in a frequency band consistent with that of the main search radar in the America. “The sea area where we were to search for the target was bounded on the eastern side by a fully armed member of the Warsaw Pact; we were at the height of the Cold War. The key to success was to make a land exit at low level, as close to the anticipated position of the target as possible, and to home onto the America by

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using its search radar – more fuel efficient than going further south and turning north from its last known position. “We launched at 09:00 the fuel top-up, land crossing and let down were uneventful, and the sea transit began with great promise. No sooner were we out of sight of land than the WBS started to detect what I took to be the target radar. Visibility was good and there was every expectation that I would shortly be able to take over and set about making the pilot airsick. This was frustrated so we decided to pull up a little, and risk a couple of sweeps of the radar. Sure enough there was a large group of contacts right on the nose. Was the pilot blind? Not for long he wasn’t. There on the horizon was the prettiest little fleet of fishing boats you ever saw – none flying the Stars and Stripes. “It is not a good idea to focus on something to the exclusion of all others, particularly a bit of basic navigation. With the target radar getting still stronger we pressed on to what surely must be the target over the next horizon. Over that horizon the radar then revealed some larger contacts, and again there was the smell of success in the cockpits. “The embarrassing story can now be told. The contacts were small islands, with which the coast of Yugoslavia is strewn, and the radar was a Soviet ‘Big Bar’ early warning radar, with practically identical characteristics to the target one. We, the crew of Sea Vixen XS589 had violated Warsaw Pact airspace in no small measure; we made a hasty retreat! Naturally we were obliged to report it on return to Hermes. The admiral was very nice about it all, but understood little of the reference to the WBH, and the matter was never mentioned again.” ‘Fred’s Five’. From left to right: Lt David McWilliam looking left (pilot), Lt Mike McCookweir looking away (pilot), Lt Dave Eagles (pilot), Lt ‘Cuddles’ Cooper looking left, (observer), Lt Nobby Hall seated reading bible (pilot), Lt Dai Somerville-Jones (observer), Lt Cdr Pete ‘Fred’ Reynolds seated (CO), Lt Trevor Wilce seated (observer), Lt Johnny Morris standing holding board (observer), Lt Graham Wilcock looking left (observer instructor). In distance Lt Chris Comins, spare team pilot. (Steve Bond collection)

As mentioned in the Sea Hawk and Hunter sections in Chapters Three and Six the FAA had a number of aerobatic teams for display purposes. There were two flying Sea Vixens, ‘Fred’s Five’ in 1962/63 and ‘Simon’s Sircus’ in 1968. Dave Eagles was a member of ‘Fred’s Five’, named after leader Lt Cdr Peter Reynolds, nicknamed ‘Fred’.



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Dave Eagles “Once airborne the Sea Vixen felt like a very ‘solid’ aircraft. Stick forces in roll and especially pitch were fairly high for a fighter. The all-moving slab tailplane gave good control when dogfighting down to the lower speeds, but flying at the maximum permitted airspeed at sea level (600 knots) fine pitch control was slightly ‘soggy’. However it gave good control at high Mach number at altitude, and you could easily reach Mach 1.1 in a gentle dive. We spent a lot of time practising fighter tactics and the aircraft was very forgiving when manoeuvring hard in the buffet and close to the stall. It showed no tendency to spin, but stick forces were certainly high at large stick deflections. I became a member of the Sea Vixen aerobatic team, ‘Fred’s Five’, and occasionally in loops I had to take my left hand off the throttles to help with the stick pull! “Formation aeros with ‘Fred’s Five’ was always a totally enjoyable time. The team would look for any possible gap in the day’s instructional programme to put up potential team members for practice. Once the team had been selected, and with an instruction from the Admiralty to produce a naval display for the forthcoming Farnborough Air Show, a routine was set up whereby the first sortie of the day would be aeros practice before the day’s instruction programme got going. Our leader Peter Reynolds was a very smooth aviator. We started every practice with a formation take-off of all five aircraft, the boss limiting his take-off power to 98 per cent to give us a little power to play with. He would lead off the first three in ‘vic’, and the last pair would follow after a five-second interval. With the pilot’s cockpit off-set to the left you had to learn what parts of the aircraft you were formating on, depending on whether you were on the right, the left, or line astern. As No.2 my normal place was immediately on the leader’s left, and to maintain this position it was a matter of putting the leader’s wingtip in line with the leader’s head. But when the formation shape changed putting me on the right, a different ‘overlay’ was required. Similarly, in line astern you had to line up with the left tailpipe rather than the centreline. “When rolling this fairly big aircraft in formation the natural tendency was to achieve a dished shape, with wingmen ‘leaning inwards’ towards the leader. We studied film of the performances to self-criticise errors in positioning. The fix for this dishing tendency was to feed in a little rudder towards the leader as the roll started, which created a need for opposite aileron to avoid moving closer than the required spacing. This resulted in a ‘flat’ formation shape during the roll. “During the show there was always enough engine power available from the Avon 208s, which were very responsive to the continuously varying demand. The only ‘tiring’ aspect of the task was, as mentioned, the moderately high stick forces in pitch during tight turns and loops. Fairly large stick movements were involved at the lowish airspeeds we were operating at – 300 to 350 knots – and the

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modifications made after the original DH.110 disaster at Farnborough in 1953, had certainly made it difficult to reach high ‘g ’s very quickly.” Brian Grant “While I was on FRADU we started to take on the last of the Vixens. As they were equipped with radar they were used to simulate air-to-surface missile attacks (such as those by Exocets) against ships. These anti-ship missile profiles were flown, normally with four aircraft, at 450 knots at about 100 feet – the flying was quite exhilarating. We started to undertake detachments abroad, such as Malta, in support of fleet requirements. However after the Falklands war in 1982, Airwork lost the FRADU contract; probably because the RN disliked the fact that high-performance aircraft were being flown by civilians, albeit ex-service. More importantly they wanted to reduce costs and so decided to give the contract to a new consortium comprising SERCO and Flight Refuelling Ltd. Consequently about 20 per cent of the staff lost their jobs. The Vixen was then phased out of service being replaced by the Canberra T.22.” Sea Vixen FAW.2 XP924 was restored to airworthiness in private hands in 2000. In 2014 it moved to Yeovilton when it was gifted to the Fly Navy Heritage Trust. Sadly in 2017 it suffered a wheels-up landing following hydraulic failure and, although repairable, the funds necessary to do so have not been found.

CHAPTER NINE

PUSHING THE LIMITS – SCIMITAR AND PHANTOM As with the Sea Vixen tales of the air-defence roles of the Scimitar and Phantom appeared in Volume One, so here their attack roles are the focus. As will be seen, this flying was similarly challenging, to say the least. A major issue was the modest size of the carriers they operated from, especially Centaur in the case of the Scimitar.

SUPERMARINE SCIMITAR Operating units: 700X, 764, 800, 800B, 803, 804 Squadrons, FRU, ‘C’ Squadron A&AEE, Maintenance Test Pilot’s School (MTPS). Embarked: Ark Royal, Centaur, Eagle, Hermes and Victorious.

Scimitar F.1 XD248 R-195 807 Squadron Ark Royal, 1959. (Steve Bond collection)

John Ford “The radio transmission tells waiting aircraft that Ark Royal will be ready to accept them back on board in five minutes. The first two Scimitars swing out of orbit and head for the ship. It is a matter of pride not to keep the carrier waiting (the wartime imperative that she should remain on a steady course for the minimum time while under submarine threat). Leading the pair into the slot just to starboard of Ark, at 300 knots and 600 feet it should take another one and a half minutes to arrive in the arrestor wires. Looking down, her boiling wake confirms the ship is increasing speed in preparation for the first aircraft, though her deck is still not clear of aircraft. 201

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“Just past the bow with a quick wave-off to the wingman, break left into a 60-degree bank pulling ‘g ’, a combination of reduced thrust and aerodynamic drag quickly brings the speed back to 180 knots. Downwind select gear down, followed by hook and confirm four greens. Next engage ‘blow’. High-pressure air bled from the turbines is blown over the flaps, ensuring that the boundary layer air remains smooth. This allows the aircraft to fly safely at an increased angle of attack, and an approach speed somewhere between 10-12 knots slower than without ‘blow’. With the blow indicator light on, flaps are extended and airspeed further reduced to 150 knots. A last glance at the fuel gauges, 1,200 lbs, enough for at least two circuits and a bit more. OK as long as there is no hold up because we are in a no diversion situation. “Start a gentle turn when opposite the stern, holding height and letting the airspeed carefully bleed back to 135 knots; the calculated final approach speed at normal landing weight. Attention is transferred to the ADD indicator high up on the left console. Holding 11 units of angle of attack nose-up should equate to 135 knots airspeed, and avoid looking down at the main ASI in the cockpit. Many pilots still like to snatch a quick glance at the primary instrument, not having complete confidence in so vital an element for safe slow-speed flight. “Adjust the rate of turn to cross the wake bubbling from under her quarterdeck and streaming back in a broad band of foam. Through a short burble of turbulence, from funnel smoke, before the deck is in clear sight ahead, the orange centreline very prominent. No ominous radio call ‘Conserve there may be a delay’ so the deck must have been cleared. All is well and it only remains to put the aircraft safely back on deck. “The projector sight on the port quarter ensures the correct rate of descent, a three-degree glideslope if the yellow light (‘meatball’) is kept in line with the green datums, right to the moment of touchdown – the aim is to run the nosewheel along the painted centreline. Attention is now sharply focused on the three components vital to a successful landing, line up, rate of descent and airspeed. The eyes may take in a periphery blur of superstructure and even a vague impression of aircraft parked forward, but nothing must detract from complete concentration in the next 30 seconds. Speed is continuously monitored looking for no deviation beyond about two knots either side of the datum. The arresting gear’s capability to cope with a heavy Scimitar, in conditions of low natural wind and high ambient temperatures, is marginal. Glidepath adjustments are made with minor changes in power (most conveniently by adjusting one throttle), speed by aircraft attitude, though the two are closely co-ordinated. “If these parameters are under control, hold the pitch attitude as the rounddown disappears under the nose, whilst resisting any temptation to cushion the landing. Seconds later there is a heavy arrival. Both undercarriage and airframe are designed to accept the shock of 28,000 lbs of aircraft hitting the deck at a constant



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rate of descent. The main oleos compress, hopefully the hook picks up No.3 arrestor wire, followed by the thump of the nosewheel banging down on the deck. The restraining straps drag at the shoulders, and the heavy bone dome accentuates a forward jerk of the head as the Scimitar decelerates from flying speed to zero in 220 feet. Slam the throttles shut. “Safely back on deck, this is no moment to relax. Caution is necessary when taxiing off the landing area. Close ahead in the deck park is a jumble of aircraft, some still moving, others stationary at all angles with a crowd of squadron personnel swarming around them securing their charges and helping aircrew from the cockpits. Marshallers’ signals are mandatory on the flight deck, and it is very necessary that aircrew come to trust them implicitly – but careful control of speed is wise. The deck can be slippery as Scimitars are notorious for dropping fuel and hydraulic fluid, or wet from spray and even icy on occasions in the North Atlantic. The carrier may be moving in a big sea and the aircraft can be felt lurching on its oleos; sometimes beginning a slide towards the deck edge against locked brakes. Brave men dart below the wing to place chocks in front of the wheels. “The Scimitar’s nose may momentarily overhang the side of the ship as the marshaller directs it to a parking spot close to the edge as the pilot looks uncomfortably down at the waves 60 feet below. Some pilots claim that these moments, strapped in and helpless, are more fraught than the landing itself. “Now wait for the signal that chocks are in position, and two wire strops secured from the oleos to strong points on the deck. Close the high-pressure cocks and shut the aircraft down. Finally slide back the canopy, ensure the ejection seat pins are inserted before relaxing and taking a first deep breath of fresh sea air. The flight deck is always a place of danger; aircrew and those who work there equally exposed and all of one company.” Robbie Roberts – armourer “The Scimitar could carry a 1,000-lb bomb on each of four pylons, or it could carry an in-flight refuelling pod. It also carried the weapon we don’t talk about, the 2,000-lb nuclear bomb, though we had no specialist training for loading it. We flew pretty well every day from about 06:30 in the morning until about 19:00. At sea we worked 12-hour shifts; the morning one from six until six or night-time Robbie Roberts. six until six, or you were on the flight deck party. That meant you were really up there from about 05:00 until about 19:00, but we never had ‘duty hours’ we just got on with it. “We had 14 aircraft and you could spend ten days in harbour getting all 14 serviceable. The last thing was when they were cleaned and polished with ‘Wadpol’ – it was awful stuff to put on, especially in hot temperatures. The only trouble was that in polishing the aircraft they invariably leaked, so you’d put eight aircraft up for a sortie and perhaps only get five because of leaks.”

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John Ford continues:

“Ark Royal was on passage north from Hong Kong under threat from an approaching Soviet Kashin missile-armed destroyer (played by HMS Ceylon). The squadron was ordered to find, fix, and strike her. Four Scimitars were sent off on a long-range search, high level out to 300 miles and then return at low level. There was complete cloud cover at the end of the outward leg and we entered cloud tops at 1,000 feet. While gingerly descending through 300 feet the sight of a breaking wave, immediately in front of the windscreen, precipitated a ‘pull for your life’ reaction which just averted the end of my aviation career. This was sea fog not cloud. When the pulse rate slowed sufficiently it dawned that the barometric pressure here, far from where the altimeter had been set, could well be very different. “A few minutes later the port engine fire-warning light came on, sending the heartbeat racing again! Any idea of ejecting, so far from home and out of radio touch, was less of an option than hanging on and hoping. Back overhead the carrier FlyCo offered two choices, a diversion to the nearest land or a single-engine deck landing. The nearest land happened to be Taiwan, for which no diversion briefing had been given, and the local lads were suspected of being somewhat trigger happy. The map on the knee pad covering most of the South China Sea needed sharp eyes to spot Taiwan. Besides Ark was heading away from the area, so it was not difficult to decide that a deck landing was the thing to go for. “A single-engine deck landing in a Scimitar meant turning off flap blow because this took a lot of power from the engine. The book said increase the final approach speed by 12-15 knots. Pilot’s Notes recommended going to full power on hitting the deck, and were a bit vague about bolter performance. Happily, it proved successful.” Brent Owen – pilot “I was having the time of my life blazing at high speed and very low level up and down the valleys of Scotland and around the many islands. Off the Rosehearty bombing range the duty Soviet signal-monitoring trawler was permanently parked, just on the three-mile territorial limit. They were checking on weaponry scores and tying them to individual pilots. To fox them we used as many as three Brent Owen. different call signs during the flight. The intelligence folks claimed that the Soviets used voice prints to identify individuals, which made me wonder about the effectiveness of different call signs. I don’t think it confused the Soviets, but it certainly confused us. Apart from this virtually all of our flying was done in strict radio silence which made things peaceful. “It only seemed fair when clearing the range to continue the dive at full throttle and at high speed, around Mach 0.98, to give them a quick ‘hello’ at masthead



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height. We did it as a matter of course, not in any nationalistic fervour, it was our youthful exuberance with some kind of excuse since, after all, they were spying on us. It must have made life really miserable for them, but they had their revenge when they filed a low-flying complaint against us to London. Not only that, but their complaint was upheld and we were told in no uncertain terms to stop. “It seems ridiculous that this very capable aircraft only had navigation aids fitted to those individual aircraft tasked to deliver nuclear weapons. Some had TACAN, a useful aid, but that depended upon the ship using its radar – it rarely did. None of us gave it much thought at the time, I was there for the joy of bouncing exciting aircraft off and on a ship rather than any antipathy towards the Soviets. “Living on the ship was not a great deal of fun in winter. I remember climbing into my aircraft at first light with condensation streaming down the insides of the canopy. For some reason mine often seemed to be the first launch of the day. Frequently we would be in the aircraft on the catapult and tensioned, only to have the launch cancelled. Sometimes we would even have started engines. When tensioned on the catapult the tail of the Scimitar was on the deck, with the cockpit high and reclined. Quite comfortable, enough on occasions to nod off until someone banged on the side of the fuselage! I developed the self-preservation habit of refusing to retard the throttle after a cancelled launch until the catapult officer stood in front of the aircraft. Commander (air) spoke to me kindly to ask me to retard the throttles as soon as the cancel launch signal was given since, as he pointed out, it was impossible to be launched accidentally. I felt very guilty, and resolved to be good and more considerate of the deck crew. “The very next morning I was the first to be launched at dawn. The weather was appalling with rain and low cloud which meant it was still dark – I knew that this was to be another cancelled launch. The start engines signal was given, which was welcomed since I could then get some heat in the cockpit. I knew that it was just an exercise, it was still dark! The catapult officer gave the spool up signal, which again I knew was just an exercise. He then gave what appeared to me was the cancel launch signal. Back the throttles came to idle, but there was something wrong with his body language, so the throttles were slammed forward and the most surprised young lad in the Royal Navy was launched, all elbows and nether bits scrambling to catch up! Still wondering what had happened, I was in a bank looking over my shoulder when there was a strangled cry over the radio and a huge area of phosphorescence. The Sea Vixen on the starboard catapult had been launched with idle power. We learned that the catapult officer could see it was still dark, and gave the night launch signal which incredibly, was rather similar to the day cancel launch signal. The pilot survived, but once again the observer did not. Those poor Sea Vixen observers must have been a different breed, it was a horrible place for them to be working. “Four of our Scimitars were designated as nuclear delivery aircraft. They had a

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The last production Scimitar F.1 XD333 H-147 803 Squadron Hermes, bombing up. (Mel Evans).

special, and at the time secret, navigational device which, for its time, was amazing once one learned how to use it. It was called ‘Blue Silk’ and worked on a system since negated by GPS. Only specific pilots were cleared and trained for the nuclear delivery task, and thankfully I was not one of them, but we were all trained to use Blue Silk. Nuclear delivery was an unenviable job, there was not enough fuel to get home and the water is very cold. “I seemed to specialise in photo reconnaissance which I loved. It involved wandering around the Highlands below the mountaintops looking for the targets assigned. It would either be a 45-minute or one-hour 20-minute trip depending upon whether or not we had drop tanks. Below 200 feet and at 420 knots economical cruise speed was no time to be looking at a chart on the lap, so the entire route had to be memorised. “We were encouraged to fly with just a hint of nose-down trim in order to hug the terrain. However a Scimitar in the Mediterranean hit a Sea Eagle, which came through the ‘bulletproof’ windscreen and hit the pilot in the face – effectively blinding him. His wingman took him back to the carrier and persuaded him to attempt to land back on under his guidance. Between them, with tremendous skill



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and courage, they did it. I resolved from then on to fly with a touch of nose-up trim. Sure enough, one day at 600 knots and very low, the canopy came off. I regained a limited measure of consciousness and vision at 10,000 feet or so and 250 knots, very puzzled about life in general. I don’t think anyone flew with nose-down trim after that. “We had a disgraceful percentage of losses – some were pilot error, many were not. The squadron embarked leaving me behind with a problem aircraft. When I was able to get airborne several days later, I arrived onboard in a snow squall feeling very good, though chilly. As I entered the island I heard the tannoy ‘There will be a memorial for Sub-Lt … at 16:00.’ The captain was a stickler for on-time launches, no excuses. A Gannet had been in the hangar for maintenance and to save time the crew manned the aircraft on the lift. Rather than connecting the tug, again to save time, the ground crew started to push the aircraft to its spot. The ship then started its turn into wind, with the associated heel, whereupon the aircraft, with its pneumatic brakes depleted after days of maintenance, took charge and went over the side backwards. The pilot survived with injuries after going down with the aircraft, but the observers didn’t – one of them was a close friend from Dartmouth. “In October 1964 it was decided to display a massed formation of the aircraft at Lossiemouth. It was to be an impressive affair, and it was – a little more so than planned. There was a total of 74 aircraft all arranged by type. Leading were the Buccaneers of 809 Squadron, on each side of them were two formations of four Hunters of 764 Squadron. Then we came with Scimitars from 803 and 736; I was in the latter glued to the CO in the No.4 position. We all took off in groups of four and quickly formed up overhead into the massed formation of 74. Our maintenance crews did a wonderful job getting that many Buccaneers and Scimitars airborne on schedule. “The plan was to do a high-speed, low-level flypast, then pull up and come round for a dummy dive-bombing ‘attack’ in front of the crowd, then pulling up in a dumbbell arrangement while still in our tight formations. By all reports it was very impressive – lots of noise and smoke, with the aircraft doing something around 500 knots at the bottom of the dive. Unfortunately the planners missed a minor detail. The leaders were pulling up through the Scimitars which were still running in! They came right through the following formations, which for those who could actually see what was happening, caused great consternation. In my position glued to the leader’s tail, I didn’t have any spare eyeballs to see much except for peripheral flashes of Buccaneers streaking by interspersed with us. Some were close enough for two of the Buccaneers flaming out an engine each, due to the churned-up air very close to them. They were after all Mk.1 Buccaneers with Gyron Junior engines which would go into a fit of the sulks at any opportunity. The Buccaneer pilots were a little unhappy because the Mk.1 wasn’t comfortable on a single engine, particularly in close formation. Amazingly no-one actually hit anyone else, but there were some very thoughtful expressions when we landed.

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One of the advantages I had was the inability to see much except my leader’s tail, which was quite close. Those folks on the ground thought it spectacular and wanted us to do it again! We did not do a repeat, even for the FAA that was just that bit too much and too close.”

Massed flypast at Lossiemouth, October 1964.

Bob Edward “800 Squadron formed on 23 June 1959. CO Lt Cdr Danny Norman AFC, SP Lt ‘Freddy’ Mills, AEO Lt Dave Pepper, plus Lts Roy Noyse, Bill Thorpe and myself. Also Flt Lt Mumford and Sub-Lt Bill Ryce, a deputy engineer officer and a couple of electrical officers. We had six Scimitars, and shared a hangar at Lossiemouth with 807 Squadron. They had eight under CO Keith Leppard. Both squadrons joined Ark Royal in late February 1960. “800’s primary role was nuclear strike (2,000-lb bombs) for which the aircraft were equipped with LABS. Our secondary, and probably most important, roles were ground attack and photographic reconnaissance; the tertiary role was air defence. 807 had the same roles but in reverse order. “There was no Scimitar simulator. Briefing on the aircraft was given by the CO, who had flown the aircraft in ‘C’ Squadron at Boscombe Down. I remember well my first familiarisation flight. Lined up on the runway, brakes on, up to 80 per cent on both engines, brakes off, increase to 100 per cent. Fierce acceleration, so much so that I eased back on the power slightly. Ease back on the stick, nose up a bit and airborne. Wheels up and then I put all the power back on. What a wonderful sensation, without doubt the most thrilling aircraft. “On 20 January 1960 I went to Victorious for two days’ deck-landing practice, and then on 4 February to Ark Royal, following her refit, for wire-pulling trials and catapult shots. March saw us in the Med working up. We used the Tarhuna Range in Libya for LABS training, and the Filfla Range in Malta for ground attack. During my time in 800 the aircraft were not cleared for night deck operations, and in the



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early stages serviceability rates were bad. In eight months I only logged 138 hours. However, although few, they were immensely pleasurable.” John Ford “Flight refuelling trials in Scimitars, buddy/buddy, 20 ‘prods’ per flight. Proving flight non-stop Lossie to Toulon supported by a Valiant tanker over Portland Bill was feasible. Nothing like the distances later flown, but a portent of the future and a necessary advance for the FAA in order to become part of the UK’s nuclear armoury. “Target ‘Soviet Naval HQ Murmansk’. Down low over the water inbound to the range at 100 feet, the Scimitar accelerating to 600 knots and buffeting in the rising air. Careful now – glassy water below. Then over the IP (initial point), count five seconds and pull up into the LABS manoeuvre. Wonder where the practice bomb ever went? “Going over the top of a loop practising for Farnborough, 180 knots tucked in close, number three in the nine-ship formation. Loud ringing bell followed by a bright red light. Starboard engine fire warning! So how about a decision – either it’s going to blow me and my immediate companions out of the sky now, or wait a few seconds until the formation is on the way down and then (calmly) announce the problem. Guess the second option is worth a try. See how they scamper clear when hearing the news.” Colin Morris “On board Eagle there was a flight of 800B Scimitars whose job it was to provide air-to-air refuelling. During our visit to Singapore, in February 1966, it was deemed, given the job we were about to embark upon in the Beira Channel, that they could do with an extra pilot. As I was the only other Scimitar-qualified pilot on the ship, albeit on a Sea Vixen squadron, I was invited to re-familiarise myself with it with a view to doubling on both squadrons. Flying two different types to the deck on a regular basis was not something that had ever been done before – I was intrigued. A Scimitar was provided for me at Changi so I familiarised myself with the Pilot’s Notes (I hadn’t flown one for over three years) and set off to amuse myself for about an hour. It reminded me of what a joy the aircraft was to fly, but the approach and landing required such a different technique from the Sea Vixen that I felt I was only just coping. However it was satisfactory, and I had another sortie planned the following day after my morning Sea Vixen flight. I coped a bit better on the second flight, but if people were suggesting I only needed two flights before taking it to the carrier they were very much mistaken. I told them I would like quite a few more flights before I would feel confident. About this time we were given the ‘bum’s rush’ to go back to sea – off to the Beira Channel. So, mainly through lack of time, the plan was dropped. The weight of providing air refuelling services was going to have to remain with my friends Paddy Waring, Nigel

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Grier-Rees and Pete McManus. They had a pretty exciting time which I was very happy not to be involved in. “When operating off Ark Royal the previous year, Paddy had to eject from his Scimitar after a double-engine failure on approach to Changi. At the time the ejection appeared not to leave him any worse for wear. However years later when he was a pilot with Gulf Air, he started experiencing problems with his mobility– he is now in a wheelchair. “Peter de Souza ejected from a Scimitar on fire, landing just off the beach in Singapore. Some swimmers came wading out to help him but he told them to ‘bugger off’! He wanted the Goldfish Club tie. This you could only earn if you abandoned your aircraft into the sea and had to get into a dinghy. So he got his dinghy out, climbed in, and was just about to break into his ration pack when a helicopter arrived from Changi. He ‘shooed’ that away too but eventually (once he felt his Goldfish Club tie was secured no doubt) he allowed the swimmers to pull him to shore. I never did fly the Scimitar again, but 800B continued to provide us with excellent services during the rest of our cruise.” Lt Paddy Waring diverted to Changi with engine problems on 20 September 1965 in Scimitar XD223. Lt Peter de Souza abandoned XD277 following partial hydraulic failure and double-engine fire warnings on 6 April 1966. Both pilots were serving with 803 Squadron. David Legg – pilot “When I set off to do some MADDLs at Milltown little did I know what was in store. The weather was fairly good, with clear skies and the odd blustery shower around. One of those showers decided to be at Milltown just as I arrived, so I joined the circuit, and decided that I probably would not do a MADDL on the first run, but just go round at 300 feet. However by the time I had got downwind this nasty little storm was making its presence felt. I had to fly at 800 feet to stay below the cloud and it was quite turbulent. It was so dark I nearly had to put the instrument panel lights on. “I began turning finals and was looking over my left shoulder, having done my downwind checks, when I felt a bit of a sink. ‘Damn turbulence’ I thought, and with that the nose pitched up sharply and the aircraft began rolling to port very rapidly. Immediately I knew I did not have enough height to recover, so I reached up and pulled the seat blind handle. I reckon the cockpit was angled about 45 degrees towards the ground, and my height was about 500 feet. It was all over so quickly. The canopy went, the seat fired; there was a little jerk from something, a searing heat and a big thump. I was lying on my back in a ploughed field still strapped in the seat! The searing heat was XD282 exploding as it hit the ground about 300 yards away. The little jerk was the parachute drogue deploying, the main ’chute never having a chance. The experts thought that as the ’chute was lying neatly folded on



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the ground with the shroud lines flaked out, the main ’chute deployed and then closed. They didn’t reckon I would have survived if that hadn’t happened. I unbuckled the harness, climbed out of the seat, and started to shout and wave at the Station Flight chopper crew. They had their backs to me looking at the wreckage because Milltown tower had told them that they had not seen the pilot eject. They had quite a surprise; ‘Hey, the pilot’s here’ one said to the other. “I had no back injuries and was soon flying again. The official report blamed me for flying too slowly. However after the accident inspectors had finished looking at the bits they discovered that there was a small fault in the pressure instrument system, which in itself could not be checked because they didn’t have enough bits. Our chief said that he had had a Scimitar with the same fault, and it made the ASI over read by 15 knots.” 4 Jonathan Tod “I loved the Scimitar and did quite a long two-year tour with 800 Squadron in Ark Royal, embarking at the beginning of 1963. At that time only the Lightning could outpace it. When you first opened the throttles you really were living. I thoroughly enjoyed it. It was a little different from flying other aircraft – basically you were on the wrong side of the drag curve. You had to have your ‘blow’ switch on as you were only flying by the lift augmentation you got from that. But it was absolutely huge fun; I think everyone who flew it really enjoyed it. “As a fighter it could be outfought by the Sea Vixen, which certainly had a better turning performance. However, to an extent, you could get away by going extremely high and fast – such speed the Sea Vixen couldn’t manage. In ground attack the armaments we were using were all simple and dependant on the pilot’s skill. If you were firing rockets you jolly well had to be pointing in the right direction, and with a bomb you had to be at the right dive angle and speed if you were not going to miss. So really the effectiveness of the Scimitar very much relied on the skill of the pilot. Later when you got on to the Buccaneer with computer weapon-release systems and so on, you could have a bit more error – the bomb would still find its way!” The withdrawal of the Scimitar came at around the same time as the de-commissioning of Centaur. As the smallest of the fleet carriers, she had struggled to scope with larger, heavier and faster aircraft and was certainly not capable of operating the coming Buccaneer. She was withdrawn in December 1965 and used as an accommodation ship until broken up in 1971.

4. Via John Stevens.

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MCDONNELL PHANTOM Operating units: 700P, 767, 892 Squadrons, PTF, ‘C’ Squadron A&AEE. Embarked: Ark Royal and Eagle (trials only).

A heavily bombed-up Phantom leaves the Ark Royal catapult.

David Allan “On 9 April 1973, as my observer had something that had to be delivered to the RAF at short notice I flew one of 892 Squadron’s F-4s from Leuchars to Wittering. The flight there, flown in perfect weather at medium level, was without incident. Returning to Leuchars later in the day, as the track took us over Yorkshire, I mentioned to my observer that a lot of my early training on Jet Provosts took place in and around the Vale of York. Therefore, did he mind if we descended low level into the area for old time’s sake? The weather was perfect with unlimited visibility. He agreed. “We levelled off at about 200 feet and 360 knots, immediately picking up visuals on multiple ‘targets’ in every sector of the sky. Some were just above our height, some carrying out aerobatics, some in gentle turns, and all seemed oblivious to the presence of others or even ourselves – we quickly overtook a couple of training aircraft. “Immediate realisation! Several years earlier, during my initial training, I had flown a Jet Provost on a similar day through the Vale of York. There was a maximum launch of training aircraft from the various airfields in the Vale, there must have been dozens in close proximity. However I carried out the relevant exercise without



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seeing another aircraft. Not wishing to be any longer in the danger zone I selected burner, and informed my observer we were exiting vertically – he rapidly agreed. Heart rate and neck muscles were back to normal by the time we landed at Leuchars.” Mike Layard “After Vixens it was on to 767 Squadron Phantoms in 1973. With the end in sight of carrier operations, Lossiemouth and Yeovilton were scheduled to be closed. However that was reversed and the naval team Phantoms ended up at Leuchars where I was the senior naval officer. I managed to get myself converted to the F-4 and took it to the deck. It was a lovely aeroplane, and was remarkable for its length of service. When it was first introduced, the technology it brought with it in terms of power, the weapon system and handleability was way ahead of its time. Vixen to Phantom was a huge step forward – and you had supersonic capability. There was a lot of muttering about putting the Spey engine in it, but it worked out fine. It had an enormous extended nose leg to get it in the right attitude for launch. I never quite understood why, because once you got off the end you could just lift the nose a bit. “We operated with the USN and, from time to time, we tried to go ‘cross deck’ with them. However with the complications of maintenance equipment and stuff that you need around a complicated aeroplane, if something goes wrong, how do you mend it on a US carrier? The simple things in life you take for granted in your own ship.” Catherine Davies Van Zoen “Since the Phantoms arrived our Yeovilton ship’s daily orders had featured a cartoon character called ‘Phantom Phred’, and that summer he suddenly acquired a cartoon girlfriend – ‘Phantom Phemale’ – with news of her canoe club events. When I joined the canoe club they had a model Phantom built, about 14 feet long. We went to water carnivals with the model mounted on a canoe. It was towed by the lads with me perched on top wearing a ‘Fly Navy’ banner. On one such occasion, on a lovely summer evening, we floated along the river in Stratford-onAvon past the theatre where the cast of the Yeovilton’s canoe club escort their Phantom model at Stratford-on-Avon’s water carnival. (Catherine Davies van Zoen) current Shakespeare

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play were on the balcony during their intermission. We were bowed to by Henry VIII who even doffed his cap at me. “Our Phantoms broke the speed record three times in the Transatlantic Air Race. In recognition Rolls-Royce were so pleased they presented a car to 892 Squadron for their use for a year. I had my photo taken posed in front of the car with the Phantoms in the background; it was in The Illustrated London News. The highlight for me was being asked (ordered) to open the 1969 Air Day. I was perched on my model Phantom, fixed to a trolley usually used for ammo, and towed by a tractor along the runway with me waving to the crowds.” Keith Abnett “To watch a 37-ton Phantom being catapulted off the deck with full afterburners was awe-inspiring. I had the privilege of ground running these engines with full reheat/afterburners before clearing them for flight. The acceleration times were critical for pilots having to do ‘bolters’. “I recall some comments made to me by pilots. ‘Flying a twin-jet aircraft is like sitting astride two blowlamps and having to keep an eye on a television set. Furthermore you are actually strapped tight to these blowlamps!’ Working on the flight deck of Ark Royal, after having fixed a defect prior to launch, I asked a pilot what it was like being catapulted off the front. He said without batting an eyelid, but with a twinkle in his eye, ‘It’s better than sex’. I then realised naval aviators were mad. I project-managed Phantoms undergoing six-month upgrade and modernisation programmes in NASU (Naval Aircraft Support Unit) at Yeovilton, followed by a full maintenance test flight. After all the numerous ground checks prior to the test flight the maintenance test pilot said to me over the headphones, ‘Now I go off and gamble with God’. “Three RAF Phantoms, returning from the US, transited through Yeovilton spending the night there because of bad weather at Coningsby. The FAA line mechanics doing the before-flight inspections stuffed ‘Fly Navy’ stickers into the Phantom’s drag ’chute bag. Result, Coningsby’s runways and hard-standings inundated with said stickers. Some weeks later, the RAF got their revenge when several naval Phantoms diverted to Coningsby because of fog at Yeovilton. The aircraft arrived back the next day with bright red Day-glo tape letters saying ‘On Loan’ in front of the Royal Navy lettering on the fuselage. “In 1969 the FAA decided to enter the Daily Mail Transatlantic Air Race. Having just been promoted to first class ‘tiffy’, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, the hierarchy in their folly decided to put me in charge of a small technical working party at Wisley airfield for the race. It was here, between 4 and 11 May, that we received the three RN Phantoms. Also at Wisley were the ‘Junglies’ with two commando Wessex 5s. Their job, piloted by former Borneo veteran pilot Lt John Dines, was to whisk the FAA’s race contestant (the Phantom’s observer) directly from the Wisley runway to the temporary landing pad at the foot of the Post Office tower in central London.



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Phantom FG.1 XT860 bursting both tyres at Wisley 4 May 1969. (Adrian Balch collection)

“Due to the favourable weather conditions, it was decided that the Royal Navy’s first attempt would take place on the opening day of the competition (4 May). The transit to Wisley went smoothly. However when the Phantom landed it burst both mainwheel tyres leaving it stuck immobile on the runway. Unfortunately the starboard wheel had fully locked, and the hub had been ground flat to half its size by contact with the runway. This gave us a headache – we could not access the single wheel-jacking point on the undercarriage leg. With support from Wisley’s airfield services we implemented a plan to chisel out a recess in the runway, so we could position the hydraulic pillar jack into place. I then knew why I did all that chiselling at HMS Fisgard. I marked out an area about 12 inches square with chalk. Using a borrowed lump hammer and a large cold chisel I gradually hollowed out the area, and we were able to get the jack into position. The recess was backfilled with quick-drying concrete, and the damaged tyre/hub now resides in the FAA Museum.” Paul Waterhouse – observer “It was decided to enter three crews for the Transatlantic Air Race. The choice was particularly those crews who had flown F-4s in the States, so the pilots were the CO

Transatlantic Air Race teams. From left to right: Peter Goddard, Paul Waterhouse, Doug Borrowman, Brian Davies, Al Hickling, and Hugh Drake. (Paul Waterhouse)

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Brian Davies, senior pilot Doug Borrowman, and Al Hickling. The observers were Peter Goddard, Hugh Drake and myself. We were the hierarchy of the squadron, so there was no point in trying to choose otherwise really. “On the first day of the race we certainly thought we were being sabotaged exiting the Empire State Building. I think the RAF guys started pressing all the buttons on the lifts to slow them down. Someone ‘accidently’ poured something on the floor as I came out of the lift, and I slipped. Then I was on the pillion of a BSA motorcycle, and we caught every traffic light between the Empire State Building and the Hudson River, getting to the helicopter. “After take-off in the Phantom we were on the Great Circle route running up the coast of America and Canada, so we were pretty much under radar surveillance – rather than control. That helped us to join up with the first Victor tanker. We had air-to-air contact with TACAN, and with the help of ground radar we rendezvoused OK. We were only navigating using TACAN from the shore to check our progress; with the air-to-air facility for range to the tanker. The Phantom radar was very good so we were able to pick up the tanker, probably 50 miles away. We had a successful second rendezvous off Newfoundland, which was again helped by radar control from the ground and air-to-air TACAN. We were flying on dead reckoning, and had a nav computer. “The refuelling was at about 30,000 feet, then when crossing the Atlantic we had to fly above the National Air Traffic airways. We just had compass and airspeed on our nav computer. There was a lightship 100 miles or so off the American coast which we were able to pick up and set distance from to get a track check. “Our descent and arrival into Wisley were nicely pre-planned. We were supersonic right up to the coast at about 30,000 feet and then let down; by this time we were under Yeovilton radar. They in turn handed us over to Boscombe Down, who handed us over to Wisley, so we managed to get round the normal air traffic control system – we didn’t have to join it in any way. It all worked extremely smoothly.” Paul Bennett “For the Queen’s Silver Jubilee the FAA was to fly an ‘ER’ formation, with an anchor shape formation in between the letters. We had as much practice as possible to do our ‘E’ – the Buccs did the ‘R’, and the Hunters the anchor formation. The ‘E’ was hard. It was very difficult to get the ten aircraft airborne with the renowned unserviceability of the Phantom, and tricky when we hooked up with the Buccs as their CO was senior to ours. Our CO Nick Harris’s efforts to formate at the end of the top horizontal stroke of the ‘E’ was quite difficult as the ‘R’ had the lead. The movement, as he tried to maintain position on the Buccs, wiggled itself to the vertical line of the ‘E’ and onwards to the two other horizontal lines, and eventually to me who was at the end of the bottom horizontal line. I also had the job of detaching from time to time to check the formation, and call any adjustments



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required. In the event I think we only had three practices with the Buccs, and one with the Hunters in the middle. “We detached to Yeovilton for the flypast. We had launched from Leuchars as the aircraft became serviceable and even then some went u/s on start-up, so our trip down was in twos and threes. The weather at Yeovilton was quite cloudy so our approaches to the airfield were varied as was the positioning down-wind, or in some cases, a straight-in approach – this was where untidiness manifested itself. The FONAC admiral in the tower was not amused with this seeming indiscipline, and summoned the 892 CO. There was also a certain amount of ‘beating up’ the airfield on arrival, though I cannot say that I was wholly to blame for that. After all Yeovilton had always been considered the FAA fighter home, and now it was just full of choppers and a small fixed-wing element with FRADU. We had sadly been farmed out to RAF Leuchars as a spares-compatible F-4 station, hence there was certainly much excitement at returning ‘home’. “We were required to get airborne again that afternoon to do a proper formation join and break into the circuit. As it happened the following day the weather was just awful with low cloud/fog preventing us from ‘performing’ our ‘E’ anchor ‘R’. So a single F-4 did a flypast over the Spithead review and the rest of us went to the pub – but that’s a different tale.” John Keenan was also involved in this event.

“I was senior maintenance rating of the detachment to Yeovilton, but on the day the weather was ‘clampers’ so we did not fly. It was an eventful detachment. The rotary wing ‘tossers’ could not handle the ‘high spirits’ of the 892 detachment, there were fuel issues and the squadron beat up the airfield on arrival, led by ‘Wiggy’ Bennett. I was instructed by the CO to refuel the aircraft, pack the drag ’chutes and launch the aircraft so they could do a ‘proper’ join circuit. “There were many stories. The director of the FAA Museum had an apoplectic fit at me as the lads had stuck 892 stickers on the Concorde (how they managed to put them on the fin and other places I never found out, not that I would have asked). He was upset that it would destroy the aircraft’s high-temp skin protection. I was polite and civil in my response. A chum of mine, a fellow chief, had a gaggle of Wrens with each in turn taking a back seat in a Phantom whilst he had the nose leg extended, then shrunk – which was pretty abrupt. This was done with both engines running! The AEO and the CO wandered out, had a look, looked at me – and walked back in again. We were a very arrogant team with an extraordinary high morale. “Before leaving 892, where I was a watch chief, I was very lucky to be given a flight in an F-4K. Lt John Dixon was my pilot. The aircraft was ‘clean’, i.e. no Fletcher underwing fuel tanks. We had done a couple of circuits when John asked

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what I would like to do. I said I wanted a ‘ten-ton tie’ (1,000 mph), so we pointed out to sea from Leuchars and plugged into burner. I watched the intake ramps operate, and the Mach meter. At Mach 1.5 we were below 500 feet, he pitched into the vertical and we fell off the top at 56,200 feet. He then asked me where we were, and I didn’t have a clue! So I pulled out the radar console and managed, between the two of us, to ‘paint’ the coast. A fantastic low-level trip back – not a long flight as we just had internal fuel. I never did get the ‘ten-ton tie’ but it was an utterly amazing experience.” Tim Gedge – pilot “Rolls-Royce developed the Spey engine based on the idea that you would not carry out many heat cycles on it, planning for only four cycles per sortie – one cycle being from 85 per cent to full power to idle then back to 85 per cent. I was actually doing 160-180 heat cycles per sortie. Most of our early sorties comprised air intercepts and rocketing attacks on Lilstock range. These attacks involved flying around the range pattern, and firing single rockets out of the pod. At the top of the dive, you’d throttle back to idle and after releasing the rocket you went back up to Tim Gedge. full power, throttling back again as you commenced the next dive and so on. At a meeting with Rolls-Royce, I told them we were doing two heat cycles on each engine for each attack – they were aghast! The problem – that was eventually sorted out – was that they’d taken a huge bypass engine and fitted it into a fighter. There were other problems as the engine was angled down at about 10 degrees more than in the F-4J and had different handling qualities; control on the glideslope during approach was by engine power to a much greater extent than would otherwise have been the case.” Chris Bolton – pilot

Chris Bolton.

“Discipline could be ‘stretched’ somewhat when flying past other peoples’ ships, although I wouldn’t care to do it against a US Navy ship as they could be quite humourless. We were almost invariably shadowed by a Soviet AGI (auxiliary gatherer of intelligence), which looks like a trawler. We would fly past them at Mach 1 and would deafen them, opening water-tight shutters a bit – illegal but everyone turned a blind eye to that sort of indiscipline. “We frequently flew past our own ship when doing things like QAWTS (quality assessment of



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weapons type systems). For example, one guy got airborne with 13 540-lb bombs, which is a big load. The idea was to drop these, in salvo, alongside the ship (about a mile off) for test purposes. They didn’t come off – you’d got high-explosive bombs hung up on the aeroplane. It was decided to bring him back aboard. I don’t think there was a single human being on the flight deck, or on No.2 deck for that matter, with minimal manning in the island superstructure. The aircraft recovered uneventfully, without a single bomb falling off, leaving the QAWTS team to solve the hang-up. “One event that was spectacular for the ground crew was for a Buccaneer to toss a Lepus flare, then a Phantom fired a Sidewinder at it. Ahead of the ship you could see the flare on a parachute, and then the plume of the Sidewinder which hit it. It was great for those normally stuck in the bowels of the ship to see what the aircrew do.” The Phantom proved to be a popular air show performer, and John Dixon describes the experience, showing just how demanding this was. “I did the air displays in 1974 and 1975 whilst SP/QFI on POCU (Phantom Operational Conversion Unit). This was its initial title; it soon became known as the PTF (Phantom Training Flight). Displaying was certainly a bit of fun for a couple of years, even if there was the occasional telephone call after the event. One year, on a display at Edinburgh, the BBC commentator said on air that on my low-level run-in I had flown under the Forth Road Bridge. I would have liked to have done, but on landing at Leuchars it was already a given. When I called Ann, my wife, at home she confirmed that the radio commentary said just that. Now, some 47 years later, I wish I could say it was true. “Displaying an aircraft like the Phantom is an especially hard task, and not one that I managed to pull off particularly well. Flat and rolling display sequences are fairly easy to design to satisfy the crowd. The aim of the game is to let the aircraft display itself, which it can do very nicely with its mean looks, stacks of noise and speed. The difficulty comes with a good weather, full aerobatic display. The highwing loading means you can’t just throw the F-4 around in a small space and make it look good. When it comes to manoeuvres such as a stall turn at a couple of thousand feet, then forget it! I only successfully pulled this off with perfect control perhaps one in three times, even with 10,000 feet of recovery airspace beneath me. “Not wanting to look like a poorer version of every other more manoeuvrable aircraft doing a full display, I would do a basic rolling display but throw in a couple of manoeuvres that were considered out of the ordinary for an F-4. The first was an outside barrel roll, starting and finishing in the inverted position. The first half of the manoeuvre was pretty easy, but the second half, descending towards the ground while rolling to the inverted, was a little scary. The second was a dirty loop, with gear and flaps down, attempting to keep the top of the loop no higher than

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3,500 feet. This meant very little airspeed at the top, less than 80 knots, and very little control. Like it or not the loop was not a perfect circle. At the top I could not extend the flight path out while inverted and pushing negative ‘g ’, even in afterburner. The aircraft was already on its way down, and the only control I had was the amount of increasing positive ‘g ’ to place on it to complete the loop. It was almost impossible to apply accurately, and to judge the pull-out visually, smoothly and increasingly applying the ‘g ’ as you would say, in a Hunter, Hawk or anything else for that matter. “The F-4 was too twitchy in both pitch and roll at very slow speed, and whilst trying to apply ‘g ’ to make it a smooth and safe manoeuvre. It was a big, heavy beast! The only way to ensure bottoming out at the planned height was to use the angle of attack indicator. Normal approach to land angle of attack was 19 units. Stall warning was 21.3. But even the indicator seemed to overread in a dynamically changing manoeuvre it wasn’t really designed for, however I found by experimentation that if I could keep things smooth then pulling to 24 units seemed to work out OK. Oddly enough the only time the pedal shaker ever activated was at an indicated 27 units, so perhaps nothing could ever be relied upon. “All in all, I wasn’t particularly happy. I wanted, but couldn’t achieve, a really good full display that was somehow different from the average. The F-4 wasn’t designed for this form of flying and for safety’s sake it couldn’t be done at very low level. Most of the time I concentrated on a tight rolling display of ‘rolling thunder’ – where I could shake things up a bit!” John Eacott – Sea King pilot “May 1973 and Ark was operating in the Med along with the US Carrier Group around USS Forrestal. We cross-decked a variety of aircraft including some USMC F-4s. When Ark was ready to go into Grand Harbour, Valletta, we took back our aircraft and sent theirs back to ‘Mother’ – well, nearly. “One of the USMC F-4s, from VMFA-531, seemed to like the bar, booze and Ark hospitality so well that every time it was loaded onto the catapult she went u/s: ‘genny’, Gremlins, the lot! The last attempt to shoo her home to ‘Mother’ was at John Eacott. dawn before entering Grand Harbour, again to no avail. So down she went into the lower hangar to be hidden amongst 809’s Buccaneers. There she stayed while the processions of visiting dignitaries came and went, and the USMC crew found out all about cocktail parties, real runs ashore and how not to behave as steely-eyed warriors of the master race. At the time Dom Mintoff was prime minister of Malta, and well in the



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pocket of the Soviet Union, hence the USN 6th Fleet was banned from Maltese territorial waters. “After a few days the F-4 was taken to the upper hangar where she could be worked on, and a thoughtful 892 Squadron decided on the ‘ Zap of all Zaps’ – paint an Omega tail on her to send back to Forrestal. It was so well done that F-4N 151477 AA-207 VMFA-531 Forrestal, cross-decking on Ark Royal. (John Eacott) when the time came for ground runs (in the middle of Valletta, I bet the noise was appreciated!) it had brown paper stuck over all the US markings. She looked quite at home on the flight deck amongst the identical tails of our F-4s. “The first pipe after leaving harbour was ‘Hands to Flying Stations’, and no excuse was to be accepted from the USMC crew. When they got back to ‘Mother’ the VMFA-531 boss was so taken by the ‘ Zap’ (it was his aircraft.) that he kept it all the way back to the USA, after which I have no idea how it was received.” When 892 Squadron disbanded in December 1978 the remaining RN Phantoms were handed over to the RAF with whom they continued to serve until withdrawn from use in 1990.

CHAPTER TEN

BLACKBURN’S MASTERPIECE – THE BUCCANEER Without doubt the Blackburn Aircraft Company’s finest aeroplane, the Buccaneer, has rightly earned its place as a superb low-level strike aircraft and was tremendously popular with those who flew it. The S.1 suffered from having poor engines, but when the S.2 emerged, with the Rolls-Royce Spey, it excelled. Entering service in 1961, the Buccaneer finally bowed out from the FAA when 809 Squadron decommissioned on 13 December 1978, its aircraft being passed to the RAF. Operating units: 700B, 700Z, 736, 800, 801, 803, 809 Squadrons, ‘C’ Squadron A&AEE. Embarked: Ark Royal, Centaur (trials only), Eagle, Hermes and Victorious.

809 Squadron low flypast of Ark Royal, 1979. (FAA Buccaneer Association)

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Brian Toomey “Few of us realised in 700Z Intensive Flying Trials Unit (IFTU) just what a world-beating aeroplane the Buccaneer was to become. We were handed an underpowered ’plane with an unproven weapons system, with state-of-the-art aerodynamics and flying control systems. “I joined 700Z in January 1961 as AWI. We waited a long time for our first Buccaneer, and I was delighted to deliver XK532 to Lossiemouth on 3 August. CO ‘Spiv’ Leahy was on leave, so I was standing by to go to Blackburn’s to collect the first aircraft. The telephone call came, and I went to Holmeon-Spalding-Moor to find that Bobby Burns (Blackburn test pilot) was also delivering one.



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We had some disagreement about who would land first – he graciously lost. “We were all very proud to have been selected for the Buccaneer. I flew a lot with Malcolm Carver, a brilliant observer with a cool head. There were various excitements and thrills, which were, from time to time, heart-stopping – particularly with the unreliable Gyron Junior engines. In November 1961 I was flying with Malcolm at 30,000 feet over the North Sea, well away from base, when the port engine fire-warning light flashed and the alarm bell sounded. I shut down the engine and used the fire extinguisher, but neither the light nor the loudly clanging bell stopped. We looked for smoke but could see nothing abnormal, so set course for Lossiemouth, hoping there was nothing brewing. “The alarm was deafening and for the next half-hour I could hardly hear what either Malcolm or air traffic control (ATC) were saying, so by the time I arrived at Lossiemouth in lowish cloud and poor, bumpy weather for an underpowered single-engine landing on the short runway I was somewhat threadbare. There had been no fire, and immediate modifications were carried out to ensure the alarm could be switched off. “In July 1962 I flew twice from Lossiemouth to Centaur in the English Channel (once with John Coleman, and once with Willy Stewart in the back) to demonstrate to the ‘great and good’ in Exercise Shop Window. We had a very generous signal from the ship about the quality of our fast and tight display. With no deck-landing clearance we included a bolter, and the VIPs gazing down from on high got a good idea of the size of this large aircraft, only just fitting on Centaur’s Bolter by a 700Z Buccaneer, HMS Centaur during small deck. Even John Coleman, a true Exercise Shop Window in July 1962. (Brian Toomey) professional, thought it pretty sharp. “My penultimate flight in a Buccaneer, in December 1962, was a superb example of the mission for which it was designed. With the formidable figure of Willy Stewart in the back, we did a HiLo simulated nuclear toss bombing attack on the Faroe Islands. Our 550 knots, rock-solid, 200 feet approach was made in poor visibility, low cloud and heavy rain with me trusting Willy when he said he had the high cliffs clearly on the radar. He did, and we thought it was a very successful mission. “Despite the heroic work of the maintainers, serviceability of this complex new aircraft and its systems was a huge problem. We had a high-quality team of pilots and observers, led by Spiv, Ted Anson and John Coleman. I am proud to have been part of the important task of introducing the Buccaneer Mk.1 to the Royal Navy.”

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Dick Goodenough – engineering officer “In 1963 as an aircraft artificer apprentice on 700Z at Lossiemouth (which became 809 Squadron), I was first associated with the Buccaneer. The aircraft were pre-production versions, each being slightly different from the others so they had dedicated maintenance manuals. I was also surprised to find that this state-of-the-art aircraft had a wooden component. Unstable airflow over the tailplane had been cured by the addition of a balsa wood ‘bullet’ and fairings, a metal version was soon introduced. Dick Goodenough. “The first time I went to sea was in Victorious, what a baptism of fire! One aircraft had fuel transfer and contents indication problems. After some inconclusive work in the hangar, it was decided to ‘dip’ the eight tanks, via their gravity filler caps along the aircraft’s spine. Dipping complete, caps replaced, and we began refuelling. Suddenly there was pandemonium, fuel was pouring from the fuselage. Fuelling was immediately stopped as the hangar control officer screamed at everyone to cover the spillage with moisture-absorbing granules – known as ‘chicken s**t’. The granule bags were heavy and unwieldy but I found I could lift two at a time – amazing what adrenalin can do. Once things calmed down we discovered that the fuel caps were incorrectly fitted – who would hang for it we wondered? No-one, the maintenance manual did not make the procedure clear. “I had a ‘sea daddy’ in the form of a Scouse leading aircraft engineering mechanic. His first words were ‘in a couple of years you’ll be telling me what to do and I’m going to ensure you’re fit to do so, or else’. He was true to his word, and I have been grateful ever since. One day I hopped up the ladder to the cockpit and as I swung my leg over to get in a hammer hit me in the back. Turning round I saw him shaking his fist, and giving me a torrent of abuse. I had checked the ejection seat safety pins too quickly for his liking. I never made the same mistake again. “I returned to Lossiemouth as an aircraft artificer 2nd class (AA2) and joined 736, the Buccaneer training squadron, quickly moving to 801 Squadron. The ArabIsraeli Six Day War was underway and we were flown to Malta to join the squadron in Victorious. We arrived early in the evening expecting to sail within the hour, but the Israelis had won. Victorious returned to the UK whilst we transferred to Hermes. During a period ashore we operated from El Adem in Libya, where the RAF hid one of our aircraft on the far side of the airfield, giving it back with suitable graffiti applied. “I left 801 as a chief aircraft artificer and went to Honington to pass on my experience to the RAF, RN Buccaneers sharing the station. When I was commissioned I returned there as a baby AEO, eventually going with 809 Squadron in Ark Royal.”



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David Parry – air radio and radar “An old and bold Buccaneer pilot at Lossie on his first familiarisation flight in a Tornado. He takes it faster and lower over the ‘oggin’ and the observer is getting a bit twitchy. Back at Lossie the observer said he had never been so scared ‘What the f **k were you up to?!’ Old and bold pilot says ‘At 15 feet and 550 knots a Bucc could ride on its own shock wave? I was seeing if the Tornado could do the same thing – it can’t!’ ” David Parry.

John Keenan “The first job I did on a Bucc was to anti-wirelock the fuel pressurisation pipe connection. A beautiful job, I thought, but after the chief inspected what I’d done he gave me a kick up the backside and told me to do it properly. It was the nature of those guys and we, as young fellas, were always apprehensive of them. “Despite putting in requests to do so, I couldn’t go to sea as I was too young. However in 1964 I got drafted to 800 Squadron on Eagle. We had Mk.1 Buccs with Gyron Junior engines; it was a lovely engine but lacked thrust. They took 12 per cent of the air off it for boundary layer control, with another three per cent going to the air turbine alternator for AC power. The aircraft was always gasping for power. There was a bump at the end of the runway at Lossie and the Mk.1 Bucc needed that to get airborne. “The squadron embarked by train out of Lossiemouth station for the journey to Plymouth, then by bus to the ship. I remember my first view of the enormous carrier – I was awestruck and couldn’t wait to go up to the flight deck to watch aircraft land. The lower hangar was directly above the boiler room, so you had to protect yourself from the hot deck otherwise you could get burnt – the temperature in there was awesome. I spent my first couple of months there because Buccs and Vixens required extensive maintenance. I enjoyed the work, but dehydration was a constant danger. They provided big buckets of water with large chunks of ice and lime powder sprinkled on top. “As an NAM or LAM, you are assigned an aircraft as ‘plane captain’. It’s your aeroplane, you have to look after it, and everybody became very protective about their aeroplane. You got to know it and all its foibles – quite a responsibility for a lad of 18. If a hangar maintenance team had to work on your aeroplane to do, for example, an engine change, as the ‘plane captain’ you were expected to mount the engine lifting gear, take all the panels off and disconnect the engine so it was ready to be removed. You ascertained who was in charge of the work, and he supervised the engine change. Once the engine had been removed you ‘dressed’ the new one with its accessories. The chief or PO inspected everything before you fitted it.

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You had a great deal of responsibility. “On the flight deck you stopped for meals, normally between aircraft recoveries and the next launch. You’d dash off to the mess, eat your meal, dash straight back to work again – no relaxation. On 800 Squadron they stopped the 12-hour shift system because it was so dire, you ate, slept and worked – that was it, you were so tired. They replaced it with the three-watch system. “I later joined 801 Squadron with its Mk.2 Buccs – a totally different ballgame. It was still the same airframe, with some avionic and other changes, but had RollsRoyce Spey engines – it could take-off well before the hump in Lossie’s runway. We embarked Victorious and I was the plane captain for XN977 which, unlike Mk.1s, normally stayed serviceable. Ops on the flight deck remained the same, but now after launch it didn’t have to air-to-air refuel immediately. On Eagle, if a Mk.1 Bucc had to launch with a heavy load such as eight 1,000-lb bombs, fuel had to be off-loaded to maintain the correct AUW for the given wind over the deck. The AEO calculated how much fuel we had to ‘suck out’. When it launched, a Scimitar tanker, from 800B Squadron, flew down the ship’s port side to allow the Buccaneer to plug in straight away and fill up before going off on its mission. “On one occasion a Mk.1, flown by Lt Doust, had a hung-up live 2,000-lb bomb in the bomb bay. There was no shore diversion and a Scimitar was launched to refuel him so that he could hold off while all the other aircraft were recovered. The flight deck was cleared as much as possible in case the bomb came loose when he landed. However when he joined the circuit and flew down the starboard side of the ship, on lowering undercarriage and hook the bomb fell off. It was live so it exploded. It created an enormous hole in the water; indeed, looking back at the wake you could see that the ship had moved sideways because of the blast and shock wave. Not knowing what had happened ‘stokers’ were baling out from various escape hatches around the ship. “There were two Americans in our squadron, Lt W E Markley and Lt Cdr H B Chase. On 9 October 1965 they launched in their Mk.1 XN969. On the starboard side of the aircraft there’s a panel covering the hydraulic connections, and a bar which drops to stop the hydraulically driven fuel system proportioners running when you put external ground supplies on. For some reason, after launch, the panel detached and the proportioner bar dropped, so with the proportioners not working only 80 per cent power was available. “For a bolter you need every ounce of power to go round, but in a Mk.1 with only 80 per cent available you’re going into the sea. Their wingman saw the panel was missing and told them they had no proportioners. This was during non-diversion flying so Martley and Chase elected to attempt to land on, knowing that if they bolted they would have to eject because of the lack of power. As Mk.1 Buccs didn’t have rocket-powered ejection seats commander (air) decided that, rather than attempt a recovery, they should eject. We were watching on the flight deck as they flew down the port side of the ship. ‘Bang’, the canopy goes, followed by the observer, then



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‘Bang’, the pilot ejects, with both parachutes opening successfully and the SAR helo manoeuvring to pick them up. The aircraft should then have descended gently and dived into the sea – but it levelled off and continued flying quite happily. Then it turned towards the ship! On the rear of Eagle, which had started hard evasion manoeuvres, there were 4.5-inch guns and over the tannoy came ‘Gunners, man your guns’. Meanwhile the Vixen guys were attempting to scramble an aircraft from the waist catapult to shoot down the Bucc, which was slowly descending whilst flying normally with the occasional turn. It eventually skimmed in front of the ship’s bow, a wingtip touched the water and it cartwheeled in. “Markley and Chase were by now on the flight deck watching their aircraft crash. A tragic postscript is that after finishing their tour on the squadron, they returned to the US Navy and both were shot down and Buccaneer S.1 XN969 E-106 800 Squadron Eagle. Hydraulic access door lost causing double fuel killed over Vietnam. proportioner failure off Aden 9 October 1965. “Victorious was a good ship, Lt W E Markley, USN and Lt Cdr H B Chase, but life on board never changed. USN still to eject. (FAA Buccaneer Association) Working in the hangars it’s always the same – hot and uncomfortable, especially when you have to crawl into the depths of an aeroplane. For example, the high-level float switch in a Bucc’s No.8 tank often failed and we’d have to crawl inside the tank to cut away the PRC sealant. We used trichloroethane (MEK) to de-grease it; without breathing equipment. The chief fed you into the tank, and you got ‘high’ on the MEK fumes. You were pulled out by your ankles and escorted to the cable deck for some fresh air whilst somebody else entered the tank to carry on the work. There was no health and safety, you just got on with it, and hopefully got a pat on the back from the chief. “We nicknamed one pilot ‘No Go’. Every time he was on the catapult, he started shaking his head from side to side (indicating he was u/s). This was very inconvenient, because the catapult had to be de-tensioned and the handlers had to push him back so that the aircraft could be unhooked and taxi out of the way. On one occasion he managed to pull the parking brake handle out of its housing – goodness knows how. The squadron CO dashed onto the flight deck, started beating him over the head with the handle, then ordered him to launch anyway, which he did. We all thought, ‘What a great CO!’ “Some pilots who had reached lieutenant commander rank became more nervous, especially when night flying – a dangerous game – it’s often black in the middle of

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the ocean with no ambient light. You watched these guys get punched off, then you watched them return. All you can see are their lights, you don’t know whether it’s your aircraft until it hits the deck. By day you can assess whether the approach is a good one or not, you can see the power coming on and off, but at night you can’t. They ‘crash’ onto the deck, come to a halt and taxi to Fly 1. Once the aircraft had parked you, as the plane captain, wanted to know whether or not it was serviceable. It was your job to attach the ladder, climb up to the cockpit and insert the ejection seat safety pin into its housing on top of the seat. These pins were stowed in a small rack on the side of the cockpit and you got the pin before the pilot did in case he dropped it – after a night landing his hands were often trembling. “In the hangar you could hear the arrestor wire spools on the deck above you ‘shrieking’ as an aircraft caught a wire, pulling it out as it was arrested. You could tell by the sound whether or not it was a good landing. There was also the engine noise which echoed around the hangar; no wonder we are all now partially deaf! Once after flying stations had finished, we were at the back of the hangar and, apart from the sound of motors running, all was quiet. Suddenly, there were loud bangs sending everybody diving for cover. An armourer in a cockpit had mistakenly pressed the ‘clear-wing’ button – all the pylons and bomb carriers had dropped to the deck. We were ‘having kittens’ – things happen on carriers that can kill people. The armourer was standing on the pilot’s seat facing rearwards. There was a period of intense silence, then a leading hand shouted at him, ‘What the f **k!’ He replied, ‘God was looking after me and protecting me, no-one will be injured’, following which the leading hand climbed up the ladder and thumped him, shouting ‘Well, he won’t ’effing well protect you from this will he?’ After that we all got on with our work.” Tony Hayward – observer “In between Sea Vixen tours I went to Buccaneers and started with 801 Squadron in Victorious. It was the Mk.1 initially, so we didn’t do much flying. With the Gyron Junior we had a couple of thrust meters in the rear cockpit. With each individual aeroplane you had to see what these gauges showed at full power before you launched. The Buccaneer was in a nose-up position on the catapult, then put on full power and the pilot asked for the thrust readings. I’d give him the readings, and if they were too low, he’d say, ‘No!’ We’d shake our heads keeping it at full power until the FDO decided he wasn’t going to launch Tony Hayward. us. That happened the first four times I tried to fly in a Buccaneer off the deck; with those engines it was a useless aeroplane. As the FAA Song Book puts it: ‘Never mind Khrushchev, you’re safe until the day the bloody great bastard is fitted with Spey.’



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“In the Far East you had a problem with the temperature and lack of wind. The aircraft was so critical after launch that if you had a slight pitch up it stalled. As a result of the lack of power, if the stick came back, you were into a stall situation – thus it was a ‘hands off’ launch, with the pilot’s right hand resting on the coaming. “One of the other problems with the Mk.1 was that you had to check whether the canopy was pre-production, if so it was too thick and you couldn’t eject through it – you had to get rid of the canopy. Above 250 knots the observer was trapped in the back because of the airflow – an interesting aeroplane. I flew with a US Navy test pilot, Herman Lee Turk Jnr, on a test flight to obtain facts and figures for a ‘plunge descent’. If a Buccaneer had someone on his tail he would close the throttles, hit the very powerful speed brakes and do a rapid descent – impossible to follow, he always overshot. The reason for our flight was to gather information on the fuel and distance taken by this manoeuvre. “The aircraft had been parked outside overnight. As the seal around the canopy was unpressurised, rain had dripped onto the trim switch, short circuiting it and as we were to discover, causing the tailplane trim to ‘run away’. The 8/8 cloud base was something like 300 feet and we climbed up to 30,000 feet and eventually found a hole for the descent over the Mull of Kintyre. I had my head in the ‘office’ doing the figures from the Doppler radar, and the next thing I felt was my ‘g ’ suit blowing up and Herman saying, ‘Jesus Christ you bastard!’ I looked up through the canopy, and there was the Mull of Kintyre. Herman had found himself pulling 5 g with the stick fully forward, and no response from either the main or standby trims. We were rapidly running out of airspeed and ideas, so Herman rolled the aircraft onto its back into a spiral dive, hence my overhead view of the Mull of Kintyre. I said, ‘I’m ready to go when you are’ – wondering whether the canopy was pre-production or not. Then the drop of moisture disappeared, and he had control again. I put out a Pan call and, on instruction from Lossiemouth, we climbed back up to 30,000 feet, getting flaps and gear down to avoid trim problems on the approach. Back at Lossie they were frantically going through the manuals to find an answer to the problem. “Then the trim went again, but this time at 150 knots with everything ‘hanging’! Luckily it cut out again and we continued our climb. Lossie finally found it was fuse F7 to cut out the main trim. It was under my left elbow – I will remember it forever. I couldn’t see it, I had to feel around. I thought I had it right, then I wasn’t sure and the fuse cover fell under my seat. I said, ‘I think I’ve got it Herman’ and he responded, ‘Thank f *** for that!’ We got back to Lossiemouth and landed. The boss told me, ‘It was an isolated incident’, but I said, ‘B****r that, I’m not flying that aeroplane unless it’s properly sorted out.’ He suggested that I go and talk to the electrical officer. A Day-glo handle with a piece of string attached to fuse F7 was organised. A longer piece of string was put in if a pilot was flying by himself. They had three more similar incidents at low level in the next few weeks – saved by that piece of string!

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“The Mk.1 Buccaneer was a disaster. It had a radius of action of about 180 miles at low level unless it was flight refuelled, so it could only be used for its intended role on a one-way ticket. The Mk.2 was a totally different beast but I didn’t fly in it, I returned to Sea Vixens.” Andrew Gleadow – pilot “It is often said that flying a high-speed jet at low level provides a most intensely satisfying experience. It is also widely acknowledged that the sensation is so unlike anything else that it can only be understood by another aviator. “Undisputedly the Buccaneer was a great credit to its designers, and was better at its job that anything else flying at the time. However few people will deny that the Gyron Junior engines were woefully inadequate – although at a Lossiemouth dinner a very senior member of Blackburn’s design team told us that ‘without the Gyron Junior the aircraft might never have got off the ground’. My long-suffering observer was heard to say, ‘it only just got off the ground with it!’ “Once airborne the Mk.1 flew beautifully. It was supposedly limited to Mach 0.95, but would happily exceed Mach 1 in a dive. I used to do it regularly during test flights until Bobby Burns, Blackburn’s chief test pilot, told me it was inadvisable because the tail might come off. Take-offs and landings were occasions when lack of thrust was very noticeable. A great deal of runway was required to get airborne, particularly when heavy and with little natural headwind. After releasing the brakes there was always ample time for a couple of clues of the crossword before the pilot had to put his mind to getting the wheels and flaps up to climb away. When you finally did lift-off, these actions became urgent. A respectable distance from the ground needed to be achieved prior to leaving allied airspace or before nightfall. “Another interesting aspect of take-off in a Mk.1 manifested itself, particularly at air day displays. In an attempt to provide a spectacle Buccaneer S.1 XN958 E-111 800 Squadron waved for the crowds, commanders (air) off and control lost near Singapore on 20 November would sometimes launch a ‘Balbo’: 1965. Lt Andy Gleadow and Lt P J King ejected. (FAA every aircraft that was available on Buccaneer Association) the runway together for a stream take-off. The Mk.1 was unsuited to this for many reasons. The intake/engine combination often struggled to supply enough air to the engine compressor to prevent it stalling; particularly if the prevailing wind was not blowing directly down the



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runway in a placid and well-mannered fashion. This was seldom the case with up to 20 aircraft immediately in front, all winding up to full power in succession. If you were at the back of the queue the air needed by your own engines would arrive hot, lumpy, confused and downright irritable. The engines would emit a loud banging and what felt like physical thumping, as if someone was hitting the side of the aircraft with a sledgehammer. When finally, you did manage to begin your long and tedious take-off run there was plenty of time to reflect. Do you really want to go flying in this finely tuned example of the aircraft builders’ art? “There could be embarrassing occasions, on a carrier, when trying to taxi forward out of the wires after landing-on. While commander (air) was becoming apoplectic up in FlyCo, trying to clear his deck for the aircraft landing behind me, on several occasions I sat with both throttles fully open, waiting for even one engine to spool up and give me sufficient power to taxi. I was also unfortunate to have one engine fail to wind up while attempting to go around from a bolter. Bolters and ‘touch and goes’ were often white-knuckle affairs in a Mk.1, even with two engines behaving themselves – with only one engine it should not be attempted. Our aircraft set off towards the bottom of the South China Sea, though my observer and I elected not to accompany it just half a second before it impacted the waves.” On 20 November 1965 Andrew and his observer Lt P King escaped serious injury after ejecting from XN958 of 800 Squadron. Andrew Gleadow continues: “A few of us went to Bedford, as a final part of our training, for a confidence-building go on their steam catapult. At sea the airspeed achieved by the catapult is augmented by any natural wind, enhanced by the ability of the ship to steam into it at up to 30 knots (on a good day!). At Bedford you had to accept whatever the wind was doing. The catapult was nailed to the ground and not going anywhere, there could be no 30-knot bonus. First you had to taxi up the ramp onto the catapult track, ten feet or so above the ground, this required a great deal of power. This could cause embarrassment when you arrived on the short flat bit at the top. Taking the power off too early could be a bit unnerving – reversing the aircraft had not been part of the syllabus. With no wind, and a short catapult stroke, the ‘g ’ force of the launch was stupefying for a first-timer – much higher than could be expected at sea. The mind-blowing acceleration convinced me that something must break, and that I would end in a fireball of crumpled twisted metal. As it happened nothing did break, but the aircraft showed absolutely no inclination to shrug off its earthly ties. Instead it settled firmly, and quite heavily, on the tarmac just in front of the catapult. This emphatic rebuff somewhat dampened my enthusiasm. “Postponement to a more auspicious time seemed like a sensible idea. But I was already committed and travelling at some speed, so it was time to consider my options. The length of runway before me was insufficient for a normal landing run, but

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Buccaneer S.2 XK527 launching from the catapult at RAE Bedford 1963-64. (Phil Boyden via Richard Andrews)

some thoughtful soul had foreseen this and provided a steel mesh barrier to keep me from straying into the local council estate. Going into this barrier was known to damage the aircraft somewhat, and could certainly be relied upon to curtail the day’s excitement and prevent me flying home. The alternative was to attempt a normal take-off. The length of run was not really enough; but I had the bonus of the forward speed provided by the ‘device’ to send me on my way. Set against that was the challenge of achieving enough height to clear the barrier. I would like to say my decision to try and get airborne was based upon a cool, analytical assessment of speed, distance, weight, prevailing conditions and aircraft performance. Actually, I did what seemed like a good idea at the time, cleared the barrier by a whisker and landed back for another try. There were many accusing looks from the boffins who had calculated the trim settings. Everything was checked and recalculated – the same thing happened again. So much for building my confidence. “Six months later, it is 07:00 on Sunday and a bright sun shines in a cloudless sky over the tranquil blue Mediterranean. I am sitting in the cockpit of around 20 tons of sleek jet aircraft, about to be catapulted off the deck of Eagle. I am to practise dropping eight VT-fused high-explosive half-ton bombs on a target. Pre-launch checks complete, I drop my hand to signal my readiness to the launch control officer and await the heart-stopping sudden acceleration to 150 knots in little more than the length of a cricket pitch. Once airborne there is normally a sense of relief



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to have left the melee of a crowded and dangerous deck. Now you are in charge of your own destiny, playing with one of the most expensive toys in the Queen’s toy box. This time though, the relief is tempered by a sense that something is seriously wrong. “I find I can barely maintain a safe distance above the sea, let alone accelerate and climb away. Cockpit indications confirm that one engine has failed. Carrying quite a bit of heavy ordnance under my wings, the situation is serious. I have no option but to jettison the bombs immediately, even though they are proximity fused and have been known to detonate even when set to SAFE – I press the button. Another heart-stopping moment – we are not to be blown to smithereens, and the bombs slip quietly into the sea. Now we must choose between dumping most of our fuel and attempting a single-engine landing back on board, or setting off on a lengthy journey to the nearest diversion airfield, Sigonella in Sicily. We choose the latter, set course and climb with the one good engine as high as we can in order to achieve the best range. It is Sunday, and most people we would like to talk to by radio are still finishing their breakfasts. For a long time, we proceed northwards, unable to let anyone know what we intend or to seek their help and approval. “Although it is a beautiful day there is thick haze and no horizon. We proceed as if in a goldfish bowl, unable to see anything in any direction. These conditions provide the next heart-stopping moment when, after an hour or so, I glance up from my instruments (our fuel state is giving cause for concern). Right in front is Mount Etna, rising above me directly in my path, uncomfortably close and totally unexpected. About then a welcome and friendly American voice establishes contact, gives me permission to use his airfield and guides us onto the runway centreline by radar, since visibility is still very limited. “It is then that I make the first of some serious and embarrassing mistakes. At a distance of about two miles I think I can make out the runway and select wheels and flaps down. At about half a mile to touchdown, the voice in my headphones tells me with an urgency to overshoot – I do so. I was about to land not on the runway but on the parallel taxi track, which is under repair and used as a place to park bulldozers, cranes, diggers and dumper trucks. I make a visual circuit, only possible on my one good engine as I have practically no fuel left and am very light. We land and taxi in, extremely thankful to be safely back on terra firma, with damage only to my self-esteem. “Over the course of the next few days we are entertained and accommodated like visiting VIPs, while the ship sends spares and maintenance personnel by helicopter to mend the aircraft. I make the second of my stupid mistakes by misdiagnosing what is wrong – seriously embarrassing because I am an engineering specialist undergoing sea training as part of a long-term programme to qualify as a test pilot. The ship is loitering about waiting for us to get back on board as the team work overnight to change the part I chose. The engine will not start. It turns out to be

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seized solid, a condition we should have noticed long before we started changing bits. A new engine is flown in, changed, tested and ground run. The aircraft is pronounced fit. This gives me another opportunity to display my astonishing capacity for making a fool of myself. “The Buccaneer is known among NATO forces to have the ability to fly very fast at low level in order to attack shipping while staying under their radar. This way it can deliver its weapon before its approach is detected. It had attracted a lot of interest during our stay at Sigonella, and I am asked if I will demonstrate this capability before departing to re-join my ship. I rather reluctantly agree, but once airborne and satisfied that all is well with my newly fitted engine I decide to show off to the best of my ability. “It is still very hazy and visibility is poor. I make a lazy turn after take-off, intending to circle the airfield, line up on the runway and fly along it low down and flat out to put on a good show. However whilst winding up to full speed, two things happen for which I am unprepared. The first is the appearance dead ahead of a large flock of birds, predominantly above me. Instinctively I adjust my height to pass beneath at least most of them. This means that I am flying even lower than I intended, and rather lower than could be seen as sensible in such conditions. The second is the realisation that the distraction has caused me to lose sight of the airfield. There follows a second or two during which I contemplate making a complete arse of myself by performing a fast, low pass over the wrong part of Sicily in front of the US Navy. Just in time the calm voice in the rear cockpit calls ‘control tower – left ten o’clock’. I haul the aircraft around to pass close by, and below it, at what is by now very high speed indeed. “My knowledgeable audience on the ground is aware of what I am trying to do and is peering expectantly into the haze along the extended centreline of the runway. A Buccaneer flying at nearly the speed of sound makes a virtually silent approach, the accumulated thunder of its engines at full power arriving at the same time as the aircraft. Because of my erratic approach I am arriving from behind the spectators clustered in the control tower, very close and low and from a direction they do not expect. It is some few seconds after we pass before we hear an air traffic controller press the transmit button and exclaim, ‘Jeezus, that was a great low pass!’ He sounds as if he has not breathed for a while. Perhaps they think it was planned that way. We duly return to the ship and I can truthfully say, as aviators often do after lucky escapes from serious mishaps, that I learned a lot during that extended sortie.” 5

5. Via Tom Cunningham.



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Tim Thorley “I went from 736 onto 801 Squadron and had some time ashore at Lossiemouth before we embarked. It was government policy to keep a carrier east of Suez and it was a mad panic to get us on to Victorious. The maintenance crews were flown from Lossiemouth down to Thorney Island, and embarked. We sailed almost straightaway not stopping anywhere until we were off Aden. “Everybody knew the Buccaneer S.1 was underpowered, and the fact that the IGV actuator just wasn’t man enough for the job – it was a tiny little actuator. Sometimes an aircraft would come into the circuit sounding like a motorbike with this thing banging, opening and closing all the time. “We went out to Aden to relieve another carrier, and suddenly there was an armed mutiny down in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, so we were sent down there. We disembarked while the ship went into Mombasa, and the squadron went up to Nairobi. The airport, at Embakasi, was 7,000 feet above sea level, so we had problems getting the engines to start. All the locals lined up along the top of the airport buildings to watch. We connected the Paloustes and they wound up very slowly, but then, as it lit up a great jet of flame would come out the back – that cleared the gallery, the locals were gone! We had to start up the squadron using the pod Palouste under the wing of a Gannet, so it taxied past the front of each aircraft, stopped and we’d start up each aircraft in turn. We had a panic job of wrapping up the Palouste, ready for the Gannet to take off – everything was red hot. We were fastening panels up with gloves on to quickly get it into an airborne state. “The Buccaneer was fitted with a ‘Phot pack’ in the bomb bay. You could not carry any bombs then. With the ‘Phot pack’ you rotated the bomb bay and then had a marvellous camera pack. They got some very good photographs flying very low over the African bush, and you could see the startled expressions on the faces of the locals as they wondered ‘what the hell is this coming towards me?’ ” John de Winton “My Buccaneer time started in February 1962 when I joined 700Z Lossiemouth. It was a ‘class outfit’ with a superb boss in ‘Spiv’ Leahy, and Ted Anson later to become the CO of 801. I felt comfortable and ‘at home’ in the Buccaneer cockpit, with an excellent view, and much enjoyed the rock steady performance at high speed and very low level. Handling at low speed in the circuit was good, provided the engines were running well and boundary layer control (BLC) was working. “I had my only accident in 12 years continuous flying when I bent XK534. I was practising an authorised solo aerobatic routine, fortunately at a safe height, and attempting a rapid roll from inverted to inverted. I had done this quite often in the Vixen, but the Buccaneer didn’t like it and ‘snapped’ violently out of control, with very high positive and negative ‘g ’ forces together with yaw. It all happened extremely quickly. I recovered the aircraft from a 135-degree nose-down attitude, whilst listening to some pertinent questions from Geoff Homan, my observer.

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Having got straight and level, with no immediate signs of disaster, Geoff decided to stay with me and we returned gingerly to Lossie, whilst I tried out the landing configuration at height. In the circuit I had to use a lot of stick and rudder to keep level; another aircraft came to look me over reporting that only the port wing flap was down, so I cleaned up and did a flapless landing. Back in dispersal the gathering watchers saw that my whole tailplane assembly was noticeably off the vertical. This was a case of roll yaw coupling which had not been foreseen in any earlier testing, so I was not hung drawn or quartered. The aircraft had to be sent back to Brough for lengthy repairs. “In February 1963 we embarked Ark Royal in the Western Approaches for a three-week work-up at sea, and an exercise with the French navy. The Buccaneer Mk.1 was an excellent aircraft to land on deck with very good visibility, responsive throttle and flying controls. The catapult launch was OK but the aircraft was sensitive to overuse of the stick during and immediately after the launch, so we were advised to use a ‘hands-off’ technique. I was not keen to have my hand away from the stick. My practice was to anchor my right elbow in my stomach and keep the stick between my thumb and forefinger. That way I could react immediately to any wing drop whilst being unable to inadvertently pull the stick back. “After a busy summer at Lossie the squadron embarked Victorious in the Channel en route to the Far East. Having successfully test flown the ‘Hangar Queen’, I arrived a few hours after everyone else, as the ship was heading for the Bay of Biscay. Next stop Aden and our first work-up in very hot conditions, using Khormaksar as a diversion if required. It was a difficult time for the maintainers as the Buccaneer was new to the deck. With frequent engine unserviceability, and the need for engine changes and testing on the flight deck, it was difficult bedding-in the flight and hangar deck requirements to maintain a flying programme for the whole air group. The maintainers were the heroes working in difficult and often dangerous conditions, and living in crowded messdecks. We managed to keep all aircrew in deck practice. We carried out long-range PR sorties over the Hadhramaut using the camera pack carried in the bomb bay, and a number of trials checking bomb bay and radio bay temperatures. “Then on to the Malacca Straits off Penang, and RAAF Butterworth for further flying before Singapore. During this period, my aircraft XN933, being flown by Terry Willis and his observer lost its canopy during the catapult launch – it ended up embedded in the fin! They XN933 at Butterworth with its canopy still lodged on the fin (John de Winton collection) diverted to Butterworth, and



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were met by RAAF Sabre pilots surprised to see a strange aircraft with what appeared to be two open air crew members up front, and another lot at the back? A week later I flew up to Butterworth to collect it. By then the various holes and scratches had been repaired, but there was no canopy, so I flew it back without an observer. I managed to get airborne before a tropical shower hit the airfield, and then had a pleasant if slightly windy ride at about 10,000 feet trying to avoid the many thunderclouds and conserve fuel to hang around if the Singapore airfields were getting a dousing. Having been in an RAAF hangar for a week, it was not surprising to see a kangaroo painted in the middle of the roundel on the fuselage. “We sailed to Hong Kong, and then spent several weeks in the South China Sea, exercising with the USN and using the ranges and facilities at Subic Bay – and for the less fastidious, the delights of Olongapo. By this time we were ready for night flying, and I became the first Buccaneer front-line pilot to do a night launch and landing. You had to be a bit careful off the catapult at night as you had little height above the sea, and there was no leaping skywards in the Buccaneer 1. Landing was much easier than the Vixen, provided you had two engines. Not long afterwards I was on a night sortie making CCA and touch and go landings, on a USN carrier when they suddenly stopped talking and all the lights went out. It then headed off in a different direction. When I got back to Vic I heard the news – President Kennedy had been shot. “In November 1963, in Hong Kong, I left 801 and returned to Lossie to take command of 809, the trials and training squadron which had taken over from 700Z. Plenty of trials to carry out, and the important role of converting aircrew to the Buccaneer, also training an increasing number of brand-new pilots and observers. Some of the youngsters were pretty awed at the prospect. In May 1964 the Fleet Air Arm held a review at Yeovilton to celebrate 50 years of naval aviation, with 800 and 809 providing the Buccaneer input. I was detailed to lead a formation of 16 aircraft, which brought up the rear, and we did a number of rehearsals flying round Somerset, Dorset and Wiltshire. The massed ranks of aircraft were led by a Swordfish flown by RAdm Percy Gick, Flag Officer Naval Flying Training, with RAdm Richard Janvrin, Flag Officer Carriers as observer and Ginger Topliss as ‘Tag’. Janvrin had attacked the Italian fleet at Taranto, and Gick had attacked the Bismarck! On the day of the review, with Prince Philip as the VIP, the weather and cloud base were unfit for such a large formation and we reverted to just four aircraft per type. All went well until we were letting down through a very white layer of cloud a few miles out; my all-white Buccaneer suddenly became invisible to my Nos.2 and 3. Behind and below me No.4 was OK, and the others managed to close up safely below cloud before the watchers saw us. “In July I spent a week in Eagle in the Channel. I was flying a Buccaneer for the carrier’s deck trials after her long refit. These were their first Buccaneer landings and launches both day and night, including the first bolter. In November a friend and colleague of mine, the then-CO of 801 Squadron, was killed when his aircraft

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caught fire and crashed after taking off from Changi. I had been expecting a year off flying in 1965, but was asked to take over 801. This was not domestically ideal with a baby due in early January, but with an understanding, supportive (and long-suffering) wife, this was a ‘plum job’ I couldn’t refuse. “I arrived in Singapore on 1 January by RAF Britannia, with the squadron embarking Victorious a few days later. We had a busy six months with plenty of exercises, thankfully accident free, with visits to Hong Kong, Japan and the Philippines. We were also on station in case air support was needed during the Indonesian Confrontation, particularly to counter their fast missile-carrying craft, the Osas and Komars. Our Buccaneers had been worked pretty hard in tropical conditions for nearly two years, and we had our fair share of unserviceabilities. When in its element we knew we had a superb aircraft; with the prospect of the Mk.2 in the offing. Night flying had been pretty non-existent in 1964 so I was keen to get it going again. We were able to night qualify aircrew by the time Victorious started for home in early July. We flew off from the Med to Lossie where the squadron disbanded prior to reforming as the first Mk.2 squadron in October 1965. “Having been appointed to command the new 801 I spent a few weeks with 700B, the Mk.2 IFTU, getting acquainted with the new aircraft – a step change in range and performance. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I had been selected for promotion to commander at the end of the year, so would have to move on and leave active flying after Buccaneer S.2 XN980 over Trafalgar Square on 21 October 1965. a short time in command. (Ian Hamilton via John de Winton) Not, however, before flying a Buccaneer over central London at low level. The Admiralty decided to stage a public relations exercise to mark Trafalgar Day by photographing a Buccaneer flying over Nelson’s Column. I was to fly with my senior observer, George Oxley, accompanied by a Hunter flown by Cdr ‘Spiv’ Leahy with Ian Hamilton as the photographer. The plan was to get the photo a couple of days before Trafalgar Day and have it in the papers on the day. I flew down to Yeovilton on the 18th and briefed the Hunter crew. We did a couple of local practice runs over the Burton Pynsent Monument, at Curry Rivel, before setting off for London. I had been given an ‘on top’ time of 14:05 over Trafalgar Square, with a minimum height of 1,500 feet, and was told that Heathrow traffic would be kept away from central London for ten minutes whilst I was cleared for



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one run from north to south, and one run north. Passing Northolt, under London control, I aimed to run down the Edgware Road, over the middle of Regent’s Park and close to the newly completed Post Office Tower, dropping speed to about 240 knots. The first run was smack on time and went OK. We continued over the Old Admiralty Building and Westminster Bridge to Camberwell where we turned left and circled round Sydenham to make the return run – it all happened pretty quickly. There was no margin for error, and no chance of a re-run if I didn’t get it right. Going north we seemed to be spot on over Nelson’s Column in a bank to starboard. I then had to climb a bit as I had brought the height down to get a better picture – something I thought Nelson would have approved of. At that moment a Boeing 707 passed about 1,000 feet above me! Due to ‘Spiv’ Leahy’s superb positioning of the Hunter, and Ian Hamilton’s expertise with a camera, the result was a spectacular photo of Buccaneer XN980 exactly over the column. Happy days.” Dave Eagles “While I was at Boscombe I did the Buccaneer Mk.2 carrier suitability trials as project pilot. I had the unusual ‘qualification’ of doing the shortest ever flight in a Buccaneer 2, a 15-second launch in the Far East – we pitched up and had to eject. We had done day and night landing and launch trials on Ark Royal and Hermes in the Channel, determining the correct hands-off trim setting for a tail-down, handsoff launch. The reason for the hands-off launch is that it has a very high inertia in pitch; at low speed the tailplane has to be in the right place because once you get it pitching it’s very hard to stop. “We went to Pensacola, Florida for some tropical launches. The US Navy had a bigger aircraft carrier there, the USS Lexington, and we were looking for the highest weight we could handle at tropical temperatures. We were quite happy with the trim setting we had recommended for launch, however when the first Mk.2 squadron went to sea they lost one in the Channel. A young pilot on his first squadron did a hands-off launch but it pitched up and he couldn’t control it. If you had your hand on the stick the catapult firing would cause you to unintentionally pull back, launching with back stick on. The hands-off launch incorporated an inertially balanced stick. 801 Squadron went out to the Far East but continued complaining of a tendency to pitch up on launch. The boffins at Boscombe thought that maybe, in the higher ambient temperatures, the blown wing mathematics were giving a different pitching moment at low airspeed. “I went out to 801 in Hong Kong with a briefing to do a hands-off launch, not at the minimum launch speed, which we had used in British waters, but at +5 knots to give a bit more fat on the calculation. When I did a launch the first thing that happened was that the ADD gauge didn’t work. Normally you had about 20 units immediately you left the deck, and you could read what was going on from there. The ADD gauge was very sluggish and didn’t appear to register when we left the deck. I had been briefed to keep my hands off until about 25 ADD. When

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‘Phoenix Five’ 809 Squadron. From left to right: Dave Thompson, Robin Cox, Arthur White, Pete Sturt, Pete King, Dave Eagles, Pete Matthews, Paddy Micklejohn, Dave Bedoe and Mike Cunningham. (Dave Eagles)

the gauge stabilised, it was reading 24 and increasing fast. I pushed forward with everything I’d got, but the aircraft pitched up and we banged out. The investigation found that our testing to find the appropriate hands-off launch trim had been done in pre-production aeroplanes; when changes to the aircraft were made, between pre-production and production standards, the calibration of the tailplane trim gauge was somehow changed. Setting the minus 5.5 degrees on the gauge, as we had recommended, actually produced minus 6 on the tailplane. Half a degree on a blown tailplane is a lot of pitching moment. “On 809 Squadron we had the ‘Phoenix Five’ team. In 1968, at Farnborough, we flew in the combined navy team with the Sea Vixens of ‘Simon’s Sircus’. That was great fun. The Buccaneer was not a high-lift wing until it was ‘blown’, so we didn’t do any vertical manoeuvres, but we did a twinkle roll – which we pinched from the Red Arrows. That took some working up to.” Lou Kemp – observer “I was to be an RAF ‘crab’ with the Royal Navy, so off I went to Lossiemouth. One day we’d be taking over the navy’s aeroplanes and I would have expected them to be rather Lou Kemp.



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p****d off about that, so I thought there would be a certain amount of animosity, but they were brilliant guys. My life was made easier because there were already a number of ‘light blue’ guys with the navy, with four RAF aircrew on the OCU. You couldn’t get a better place in the world to start your flying career. You had the Moray Firth, with an incredible weather factor – the North Atlantic drift from the Gulf Stream was responsible – and flying at low level over Scotland was amazing. “It became more serious as I did the conversion course on 736 Squadron. There were some legendary characters, including instructors Tom Eeles, Mike Whybro and Tim Cockerell from the RAF who had all completed tours in the FAA. My first Buccaneer flight was a familiarisation with experienced staff pilot Giles Blundell. There you are, for the first time ever in the back of a fast jet with a wonderful view from the cockpit. Giles showed me around Scotland at low to medium level. Being a sporting man, he pointed out various places good for salmon fishing, and checked out where stags might be for future reference. Not typical aircrew, more of a gentleman aviator. After waving at the postman he knew near the Kyle of Lochalsh ferry, we climbed to a suitable height, throttled back and entered a steep dive with full airbrake – just dangling downwards, like being on the end of a parachute – but a lot faster. I was hanging on my straps and felt I was pointing almost vertically downwards. The mighty clamshell airbrakes of the Buccaneer suitably demonstrated! “I was due to fly a general handling night flight with my pilot, Chris Olsson. Before take-off we heard that a Soviet trawler fleet had come into the Moray Firth. Not only were they too close for comfort, but they were also stealing our fish! I picked them out on the radar, we eased down to low level, turned our navigation lights off and approached them at about 500 knots. At that speed you can’t hear an aircraft approaching. The night was inky black and we whacked over the fleet at about 150 feet on the radar altimeter – out of nowhere. The noise must have been frightening and they must have wondered what the hell was going on. “After the course I was posted to 800 Squadron, about to embark Eagle. That’s where I met up with Stu Leeming; we flew together a number of times. Stu later joined that select group of pilots who were qualified for non-diversion night flying. I was on that night team as well, crewed with the senior pilot. Launching airborne at night over the Indian Ocean, with no diversion airfield available these guys had to land back on board in the dark, there was nowhere else to go. “These were the best days of my life – the people, the flying, the travel and the job. Added to that, operating from an aircraft carrier – where every sortie started with a catapult launch and ended hooking onto a wire. We normally operated as four-aircraft formations, attacking from different directions. Approaching at low level, down to 100 feet (ish) over the sea, navigating towards a ship target, turning on the radar at the latest stage, acquiring the target, accelerating to attack speeds up to 540 knots and tossing sticks of 1,000-lb bombs (or 28-lb practice equivalents) onto a target a couple of miles away. Satisfying – if you got it right. The stability

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and smooth ride at low level in the Buccaneer were amazing, probably the best in the world, even now. “Eagle was on an historical Far East tour, and there were nearly 2,000 men on board. The camaraderie, the characters, the stories and events are etched on the memory. During my time with the FAA I have to add that it wasn’t always just boys having fun, there were serious moments and the risks that go with any job in the military. In the flying world that meant occasional accidents, ejections and sometimes fatalities. Stu and I both ejected on separate occasions and luckily lived to tell the tale thanks to Martin-Baker seats and Irving parachutes. However, all good things come to an end and after an exciting three years with the navy I was posted to Boscombe Down.” Stuart Leeming – pilot “After training I joined 801 Squadron in Hermes in the Mediterranean. They’d had a launch accident and lost a Buccaneer; the aircrew ejected and were safe despite some minor injuries. I flew the replacement aircraft out to Malta with observer Mike Harrow. Hermes was quite a small carrier of 23,000 tons displacement, and was only 750 feet long – it looked even smaller when turning finals. The squadron CO was Roger Dimmock, also a QFI, and he flew in the back seat to talk me through my first Stuart Leeming. ever deck landing. After some rollers with the hook up it was time to lower the hook and land on. I caught a wire but the retardation was fierce enough for me to forget to retard the throttles. I was told later that I had been two inches from bottoming the arrestor gear piston. “As I was straight out of training I was crewed up with a very experienced observer, it was just as well. Immediately after joining the ship off Malta we were sent to the eastern end of the Mediterranean to join a large exercise called Dawn Patrol. This involved about 50 or 60 ships from several NATO countries. The Greek government opened up the whole of southern Greece as a low-flying area, so it was absolutely fabulous flying. We had a thoroughly good time and got rid of a lot of ordnance on the ranges there – marvellous! “I then joined 800 Squadron on Eagle, and we set off for the Far East. We had a ‘whale of a time’ both flying and on-shore, visiting exotic places like Singapore, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa. We were also covering the withdrawal from Hong Kong, so we sent a detachment there. The rules regarding flying into Hong Kong’s Kai Tak airport stated that if you hadn’t flown in before you were not allowed to fly in. So when a formation of four aircraft called to request a run-in and break they were quite alarmed. We did a visual circuit and landed with two pairs in formation, which again surprised them. We operated for a week out of Kai



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Tak doing some flag waving along the Chinese border whilst the withdrawal was taking place. We also got involved with the withdrawal from the Gulf, which again was exciting, flying over the desert in Oman and the Persian Gulf. “Back at Lossiemouth one Monday morning my RAF observer, Derek Walmsley, and I were tasked to do some practice bombing on a range in the Moray Firth using radar. It was normal to run in at 400 feet to check that the radar was locking on to the target, and the range from the target was running down. On the strike sight you could see the circumference of the range ring as it was running down; it should drop to zero as you overflew the target. We did that every time before we started bombing, just to check that the radar was locked on to the correct target. “As soon as we overflew the target, I made a very hard turn to the right which was immediately followed by an enormously loud bang. I rolled the wings level and pulled up – the natural reaction – and realised that the undercarriage had come down. As we were doing about 530 knots at the time it didn’t do it any good – tearing all the doors off and tearing all the hydraulics away. We immediately set course back to Lossiemouth. By the time we got there, although we had flying controls, all general service hydraulics had failed. We attempted a landing but the gear was observed to be in an unsafe configuration, and we were advised to go out over the Moray Firth 20 miles north of the airfield and eject, which we did. By that time the SAR helicopter was on its way and we were both picked up 20 minutes later. Sadly Derek was killed in a tragic RAF Buccaneer accident the following year. “My time in the navy remains the highlight of my flying career. The great people, the very demanding flying, the great aircraft and the great times at sea.” Henry Parker “In early 1971 I joined 809 Squadron as AEO4. It was February 1972 in Ark Royal and after 12 hours on watch on deck and in the hangar, all the aircraft were spotted where I wanted them for the morning. I retired to my cabin only to be woken in the early hours by a big bang, followed by an air mechanic knocking at the door saying, ‘please sir, it’s gone over the side’. The aircraft control room office had decided to re-spot some aircraft and before Buccaneer XT269 had been fully lashed down, the tractor was unhooked – just as the ship carried Following the loss of XT269 in 1972, out a significant swerve. Unfortunately the lashing a redundant S.1 XN954 is pushed off Ark Royal for a flight safety chains attached to the aircraft ran backwards only film in April 1974. and provided no initial restraint. XT269 was on its way over the side before the chains tightened and then weren’t strong enough to stop it. The flight deck killick, who was in charge of the move, received a £60 fine and a reprimand. The ’plane captain was also fined £60 because – ‘he wasn’t going

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to lash the aircraft down in accordance with the Manual of Flight Deck Handling’. This didn’t seem right to his mates who had a whip round covering his fine and bought a bouquet for his wife.” Colin Walkinshaw – pilot “I was a Buccaneer pilot in 800 Squadron Eagle in the late sixties, and 809 Squadron Ark in the early seventies. On 25 August 1967 Eagle was in the Channel undergoing sea trials, and embarking squadrons prior to deploying. On board for the trials were a number of dockyard civilians who had to be disembarked at ‘Charlie Buoy’ in Plymouth Sound prior to departure. The ship was heading for Plymouth with a few miles to run. During 809’s embarkation one aircraft had arrived with significant auto-stabilisation problems and had to be flown off to Lossie, and a replacement aircraft brought back on board. I was to fly that mission with my observer, John Eatwell. We were loaded on the waist catapult, ready to go, when the catapult became unserviceable. The ship edged in past the breakwater, heading for Charlie Buoy, when the catapult came good and we were launched about 300 yards short of the buoy – nil wind by then so a massive boost. A chum on board told me later that we had cleared the WT masts at RAF Mount Batten (overlooking the Sound) by about 50 feet. A few hours later the ship was outbound in the Channel, and we were back on board with a replacement aircraft. My claim to fame is that John and I must be the only Buccaneer crew ever to launch in Plymouth Sound. Steve Park and Carl Davies approaching Belize. (Colin Walkinshaw)



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“In December Eagle was off to Aden covering the troubles ashore. We had been at sea for over two months and had not received any mail during that time. Two Buccaneers were dispatched to RAF Masirah, at the entrance to the Persian Gulf, to collect mail and a large consignment of sea food (lobster, crab, etc.) for the ship’s company. I flew one, again with John Eatwell. Both aircraft had been fitted with large basket-like pannier containers in their bomb bays to accommodate our cargoes; the mail went in one and the sea food in the other. The goods were delivered to the aircraft by the island’s administrator using a donkey and cart, and off we went. When the aircraft carrying the sea food arrested on deck a mass of liquid emerged from under the fuselage, which the flight deck crew assumed was escaping fuel, so covered everything in foam. Actually it was salt water from the dripping sea food in the pannier! Needless to say we were all very popular for delivering those goods. “I have two abiding memories of the Belize trip in January 1972 [see Chapter Four]. One was that it was probably the most boring mission I ever flew – just under six hours of straight-and-level with a bit of air-to-air refuelling thrown in. The other was the fact that, bearing in mind we were flying an operational mission, we carried no armament of any kind; not even a peashooter in the cockpit. Each observer had a handheld camera with which to take buddy-buddy photos, but that was it. Of course we were on a deterrent mission rather than a destructive one, so underwing bombs or rockets were not appropriate and would not have helped with fuel consumption (both bomb bays were fitted with fuel tanks). The most attractive thing about getting back on board was to go and have a pee.” Henry Parker adds:

“It seemed I was the only AEO able to do sums, so it was usually me that did the weight and centre of gravity calculations. (required for aircraft trim and catapult settings). With the huge distances involved, I was tasked with identifying all the non-essential role equipment which we could strip out, and doing the weight and C of G calculations for both the aircraft selected for the overflights and the tankers. We heard that residents of Belize City complained about the noise.” Colin Walkinshaw continues:

“With the Torrey Canyon incident [see Chapter Eight], the government’s immediate priority was to open up the wreck, get the oil out

Buccaneers of 800 and 736 Squadrons at Brawdy ready to bomb the Torrey Canyon.

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and set fire to it before it reached the beaches. The navy and RAF were tasked to do the job. I was in 800 Squadron at Lossiemouth, and four of our aircraft, and others from 736 Squadron were assigned to drop live 1,000-lb bombs on the wreck. We were deployed to Brawdy, which had large numbers of stored out-of-date bombs; they were an embarrassment and the navy saw this as an opportunity to get rid of them, rather than using new ones from Lossiemouth. “Overhead the wreck there were two problems. One was the presence in the area of numbers of light aircraft – mostly ‘Press’ – which got in the way and stopped us bombing. Range safety and control was largely ineffective. The other was that a large proportion of the bombs, when we did get clearance to drop them, failed to explode or hung up on the aircraft – very frustrating. The first sorties opened up the wreck and set fire to the oil, then overnight the tide rose and fell and the fire went out. Despite the efforts of RAF Hunters from Chivenor and Vixens from Yeovilton armed with napalm, the oil had become saturated with seawater and would not ignite again. The beaches in Cornwall, the Scillies and northern France were devastated.” Jonathan Tod “With the Torrey Canyon there was no way to get the oil out, you couldn’t get small tankers alongside to pump it over. You couldn’t get it alight because it was really thick, black oil – although they tried with hand grenades, and all sorts of other devices down in the tanks. What you needed to do was get that sticky stuff really hot and then it would catch fire. Obviously they were very keen to get rid of it before the summer season in the West Country. The government’s chief scientist was Sir Solly Zuckerman and there were lovely pictures of him down in Cornwall with a box of matches trying to set fire to this nasty oil on the beach, it didn’t work! “We were then told they had decided that the only way of doing it was to put a 1,000-lb bomb down inside the tanks; there were 16 tanks and also some of its own bunker fuel – you had to put a hole in each of the 16 tanks. This took some time – over a couple of days. The first time we set off from Lossie, and after that we went into Brawdy. Lossiemouth had run out of 1,000-lb bombs and Brawdy had a stock in the Welsh hills. As we flew down from Lossie in fours, I was in the second four. It was the most gorgeous day, and flying south crossing the Scottish border you could actually see the plume of black smoke some 250 miles away. The observer had little navigation to do, just point towards the smoke. So it was four at a time, each carrying six bombs (a few had eight I think). The bombs were fused with a short delay to be able to get through the metal of the tank deck and plant itself firmly in the middle of the tank, then explode and give the heat. But then of course, with the ship burning beautifully, the tide came in and put it all out again! So we waited for the next tide, and set it on fire again. Because the bottom was ripped out of the ship, the seawater just came straight in with each tide. The RAF were firing two-inch or three-inch rockets, but that wasn’t having much of an effect.



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“There was no other option, the government had run out of everything. They’d tried detergent, but the amount needed would have been unbelievably large, and the amount of damage it would do would be similar to that done by the oil. Even now on some of the Cornish beaches, if you dig down around 18 inches you come across a black smear, it’s still there. You can also still see the marks on the rocks where the oil came ashore. “I never took a Buccaneer Mk.1 to sea; there was a huge difference between the two. Andrew Gleadow said the first time he opened the throttles, at the end of the runway at Lossiemouth, he had plenty of time to admire the view on both sides before it got airborne. The only alternative to the Gyron Junior would have been the Avon 101, as fitted to the Hunter. The Gyron Junior was used in the certain knowledge that it was going to be inadequate. The Mk.2 was already being planned, and the Spey engine was to come. They knew they had to put something better in it because the Mk.1 just wasn’t going to hack it. “From 736 Squadron I went to 801 Squadron in Hermes. Leaving there in December 1968 I went to 803 Squadron’s weapons trials flight, as the senior pilot. The Mk.2 had just come into service, and there were a lot of service releases to do for carrying various weapons – Bullpups and things like that – and the new 600-lb nuclear weapon. I dropped six of those at West Freugh, near Stranraer. It was decided we also needed napalm, so we did trials on the Tain range to work out the spread, height and speed. With the greatest of luck the week we had set aside for doing napalm it snowed. You could drop napalm with red and blue ink in it and get an accurate picture of the spread. Then it was back to sea with 800 Squadron and Eagle. “As for the Buccaneer, if you enjoy driving a bulldozer at low level and at 500 knots through the Scottish Highlands, there’s nothing like it! The Mk.2 was a really lovely aeroplane to fly, it was as strong as a horse. She was very well behaved, and at low level there were very few who could catch it. The Buccaneer acquitted itself very well. It was the first aircraft with a head-up display (HUD), which caused a lot of interest. The Israelis came over to Lossiemouth, and a couple of their colonels learnt how to fly it. As I’d been their instructor they took me out to dinner afterwards, and offered me a job in Israel. “I had several exciting moments. I had launched from Hermes off Gan to do about four-and-a-half hours down to Singapore. After I’d reached the top of the climb, and done the refuelling, I had a No.1 hydraulic failure. I couldn’t go back to the ship because at that stage it had joined up with a tanker and the supply ship, so the flight deck was covered in stores and heaven knows what – I had to keep going. Half an hour later, as we were going into the channel with the Andaman Islands to the left and Borneo to the right, the No.2 hydraulic system failed. We then got a flying control 1 failure, so I was left with flying control 2. I was concerned at that stage to get the undercarriage down – with no hydraulic pressures we only had the accumulators. They were charged with air pressure and, with an hour and a half

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of the flight remaining, the pressure would dwindle away. There were lots of fuel calculations, were we going to have enough fuel if we put the undercarriage down? “We got to RAAF Butterworth and put the undercarriage down before descending – two green lights and one red on the nosewheel. Then coming in to land we could only get about ten degrees of flap instead of 45 degrees, so we came in at about 170 knots. We touched down and the port tyre burst, probably because it was frozen from being out at altitude. We also had a small fire in the brakes, with a fair amount of smoke, which fortunately took us off the runway and into the sand – which put out the fire. “The chap in the back was Fg Off Mick Wyboro on loan from the RAF, a lovely guy and the best observer I ever flew with – we were a good pair. Mick had decided that, while with the navy, he would grow a beard, which of course you can’t do in the RAF. When we arrived the first person on the scene, after the ‘crash’, was the group captain who’d been listening in to the conversation in his car. Mick rushed across to him, stood to attention, saluted and said, ‘Permission to keep my beard sir?’ The smoke was still wafting around in the sand … his first concern was his beard. I don’t recall the response!” Catherine Davies van Zoen “A notice went up in September 1968, asking for a volunteer to work at Filton for a month helping with the Concorde project – I jumped at the chance. The FAA loaned a Buccaneer and crew for comparison tests to help with the design of a runway crash net suitable for Concorde, in case it was needed during test flights. “When I arrived at the Brabazon hangar the Buccaneer was parked in front of Concorde. My job was to do the daily checks on it. The looks were priceless on the apprentices’ faces when I appeared in my overalls and started work – climbing into the air intakes to check the compressor blades. They weren’t used to seeing women doing technical work, and I had a few problems when they climbed into the cockpit and refused to leave. “Once I had the aircraft ready, the crew flew up from Yeovilton to take it up for as many flights as necessary, and I looked after refuelling and maintenance. At lunchtime one day I was called over the tannoy to man the brakes while it was towed out of the way to let Concorde out for its first photo shoot with the world’s press. We Royal Navy folk were given a guided tour all over the ’plane while one of the foremen extolled her virtues like a proud father. I still like to drop into conversations ‘I have walked on Concorde’s wings you know’. Well of course it was in a hangar! “We ate with the pilots and the day before they all left for the first test flight at Toulouse, which was planned for 1 March, our navy pilot told them it was my birthday on 2 March. One of the French workers said, ‘We shall delay Concorde’s first flight for you – it shall be our birthday present to you.’ In the end there was bad weather on 1 March – so I got my birthday present.”



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Robert Scott – pilot “Blackburn designed and built a magnificent aircraft. It incorporated several unique features such as area ruling, where the fuselage was shaped to reduce aerodynamic drag, and boundary layer control to provide energised airflow over the mainplane and flight controls in Robert Scott. the landing and take-off configurations. “By the time I arrived at 736 Squadron for my conversion the S.1 had been replaced by the S.2. I could look forward to being pushed around by Rolls-Royce Speys – great engines – delivering just over 11,000 lbs of thrust each. There weren’t any ‘two-stick’ Buccaneers, so the first familiarisation flight was done with a pilot instructor in the rear seat. My back-seater was Doug Hamilton, a dour Scot, famous for his laconic style of communication. “On the flight line the Buccaneer looked like the neighbourhood bully, defying anyone to argue with it. Weighing 51,000 lbs maximum all-up weight (MAUW) it looked ideal for the job it was built for; low-level, high-speed flight, with high manoeuvrability in an often-turbulent environment. On that first ride we climbed to 20,000 feet for some turns and initial handling, followed by a further climb to 35,000 feet for more handling and to check engine and control response. Then a maximum rate descent down to 15,000 feet for aerobatics, and down to low level where the aircraft was totally in its element. “The Buccaneer could A Buccaneer in its element. S.2 XT286 R-022 809 Squadron Ark be flown with complete Royal 1970–72. (Colin Stansbie) confidence down to 50 feet over either level terrain or the sea. This enabled crews to overcome the lack of defensive armament when manoeuvring against fighter aircraft that were often unable to achieve a lockon at low level. On one occasion, when conducting a toss attack on Ark’s splash target, I was particularly glad of its power and manoeuvrability. The attack was at 540 knots at low level, with the target acquired on radar. At four miles from the target the pilot ‘accepted’ the attack by selecting the accept button on the port throttle, then beginning a pull-up, with tracking imagery projected onto the HUD. The weapon systems computer worked out the release point, the aircraft carrying out a wingover to escape the blast and any retaliation from the enemy. On this occasion,

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for some reason, as soon as the accept selection was made four 1,000-lb bombs left the aircraft and detonated as they hit the sea. Fortunately by then we were vertical, with max power set – fingers and toes crossed. Having seen what the premature explosion of a 1,000-pounder had done to a Sea Vixen, I was only too aware how quickly an aircraft and crew could be turned into thousands of fragments. On this occasion we escaped without a scratch. “The low-level flying complete it was time to return to Lossie. The Buccaneer was docile in the circuit, though its handling characteristics altered as the configuration changed. Until one got used to the different control response, the experience of flying it in the landing configuration was rather like sitting on top of an egg on a pair of roller skates; one was never quite sure which way the aircraft was going to go next! The Aircrew Notes had the cautionary comment, ‘Control response deteriorates in the landing configuration and in turbulent conditions care is required to avoid overcontrolling during corrections to the flight path’. “Doug signed me off as fit to continue with the conversion course, the rest of which was designed to teach how to handle the aircraft in the operational environment. Lots of formation, air-to-air refuelling, weaponry and becoming comfortable with aggressive handling throughout the flight envelope but especially at low level. Strike progression, the ability to progress to the target while avoiding a variety of threats, was a popular and essential part of the training. It was popular because it provided the opportunity to learn to manoeuvre the aircraft to its limits, and essential because it led to the development of the tactics used to counter the threats that would be faced. “There were frequent engagements, of an informal nature, when aircraft of various types and from different bases and even different services encountered each other – the fight was on! These made an invaluable contribution to combat training, and we acquired knowledge way beyond the characteristics of our own aircraft. The Vale of York, East Anglia and the UK’s low-level flying areas had numerous opportunities for young lads with time and fuel to spare. “I joined 809 Squadron – very much the new boy with a lot of catching up to do. There was plenty of great advice available from experienced colleagues. One of the first tasks was to get me deck qualified. This was fairly straightforward as I was familiar with the flight deck procedures having operated from Ark before. The flight deck of an aircraft carrier is the most dangerous place in the world to work. Discipline is key, and when one considers that the average age of the flight deck crew members was only about 21 it is difficult to hide one’s admiration for their skills. “I must pay tribute to the men who made it possible to operate high-performance aircraft from the small decks of British aircraft carriers, the officers, ratings and senior ratings whose dedication, professionalism and humour ensured that our serviceability rate was high. Problems were dealt with swiftly, and changing engines in a swelteringly hot hangar with no complaint about the conditions was a reason to celebrate that they had achieved it in record time. They are the unsung heroes



Blackburn’s Masterpiece – the Buccaneer 251

whose contribution to our military effort must never go unrecognised. “The Buccaneer was pleasant to operate from the deck. A safe launch required careful attention to two key factors. One was the accurate setting of the tailplane angle, and the other the use of a ‘hands-off’ technique by the pilot. For the new boy on his first launch, ‘carefully gathering’ the control column after launch was a euphemism for making an anxious grab for the stick as one left the deck. Such was the design of the aircraft configuration and the reliability of the catapult launch, that one soon got used to leaving the aircraft to make its own way into the air. On approach, despite the slightly unusual handling character- Flight deck crews busy as an 809 Squadron S.2 starts up istics in the blown landing on Ark Royal, 1974–75. configuration, the aircraft was reliable and predictable. Visibility from the cockpit was good, and the ADD provided audio as well as visual speed cues that permitted the pilot to keep his eyes outside the cockpit on the approach, rather than having to be constantly reading the speed on the airspeed indicator. Speed stability was good and there was ample power to overshoot or carry out a bolter if one missed the wires. The aircraft was driven onto the deck without a flare. Any variation of pitch attitude close to the deck was likely to result in missing the wires and an ensuing bolter. “With the introduction of the ‘mirror’ landing system the pilot relied more on visual cues and spoken information from the LSO. In the early 1970s, the Royal Navy brought the process more in line with that used by the USN. As a consequence, there was more talking by the LSO, but the biggest change was that every approach was recorded and debriefed, with the salient information being displayed on a colour-coded chart in the briefing room. This use of a performance-measurement system resulted in significant improvement in the accuracy and safety of deck landings. Enthusiastic champion of this was experienced pilot and LSO Lt Cdr Peter Sheppard whose experience, bubbling personality and dedication to safety ensured that even the least experienced pilots soon acquired the competence and confidence to operate safely in this demanding environment. “Commander-in-Chief, Admiral of the Soviet Fleet, S G Gorshkov was a keen advocate of the naval application of missile technology, and preserved major naval units such as the Sverdlov-class cruiser, and is considered responsible for the priority the Soviets gave to missile-armed ships. It is interesting to speculate that he had played a significant part in developing the concept of Naval Staff Requirement NA.39, which became the Buccaneer. As it happened the Sverdlov cruiser programme never

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fulfilled its potential. However the Soviet navy continued to develop improved warships with modern armament systems, which kept the Buccaneer occupied in its original role for the majority of its naval career. “The aircraft also had an overland role which included the same weapons and methods of delivery: the nuclear option, two-inch RP, iron bombs and Bullpup. A radio-command-guided missile, Bullpup was a step towards credible stand-off capability, and sounded like a London Underground train as it departed the wing. Attack profiles varied depending on the type of weapon used and the nature of the threat. Low-level ADSL (auto-depressed sight line), required a relatively long period of steady tracking with the aircraft unable to manoeuvre, and so was best suited to attacks on undefended targets. The only nod to self-defence was provision for a single Sidewinder missile to be carried on either the port or starboard outer wing station. Regardless of what we might have occasionally viewed as minor shortcomings, we remained confident that the Buccaneer was more than capable of going to war and giving a good account of itself.” Digby Stephenson – observer “In 1970 I joined 824 Sea King squadron. Although I enjoyed it, I made it known that I was interested in ‘going fixed-wing’. I was offered a Buccaneer conversion course, reporting to Lossie the following Monday. It had been announced that Ark Royal, having undergone a major refit, would be extended in service to 1978, so potentially I had several years of Bucc flying ahead of me. The other member of the conversion course was Midshipman Arthur Davies Digby Stephenson. and, after graduation, we joined 800 Squadron which embarked Eagle for her last commission. We didn’t do a lot of flying. Rather, with the shrinking British Empire, we were helping to lower the flag at various naval bases around the world. In eight months, we visited Japan, Hong Kong, Sydney, Perth, Wellington, Singapore, Nairobi, Durban and Gibraltar. We returned home in January 1972, after which Eagle was de-commissioned. I then flew to New York to join 809 in Ark Royal. “For the job of high-speed, low-level flying, the Buccaneer possessed probably the best airframe of any aircraft – as it had been designed to be. The standing joke – how to build a Buccaneer. Take 20 tons of solid steel and chip away the bits that don’t look like a Buccaneer! However, its avionic fit left a lot to be desired; the radar, doppler and wide-band homer being almost World War 2 vintage. When it first entered service most of the pilots who flew the Bucc were ex-Scimitars, and therefore had only single-seat experience. They initially said they would rather have an extra 200 lbs of fuel than carry an observer, but soon realised that to operate the aircraft effectively you had to work as a crew.



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“Whilst on Buccaneers we did some cross-decking with the French carrier Clemenceau, and I spent some time on board. During my first tour with 809 Squadron, I was crewed with a French exchange pilot François de Rouvillois; there were certainly language difficulties with his French and my Yorkshire accents. He said it was quite common to drink wine with lunch aboard a French carrier, then fly that afternoon; although plenty of water would also be drunk to help offset the effects of the alcohol. When I was aboard the French carrier and we sat down to lunch, French officers looked aghast at me as I poured water into my glass in order to dilute the wine. They must have thought I was a complete cretin – the idea being to drink wine and water separately. “The aircraft was designed to take out a Sverdlov cruiser, and deliver nuclear weapons. It could carry what was glibly termed a 1,000-lb HEMB – high-energy, medium-capacity bomb – a ‘nuke’. Our nuclear role would be to launch off the west coast of Norway, climb to high level and fly over Sweden towards Russia, waiting for the wide-band homer to pick up nasty Soviet radar emissions. When it did so we would descend to low level to help avoid detection and continue on to the target, which in my case was the Kremlin. In the strike planning room aboard Ark Royal we viewed pictures of Moscow, and worked out an initial navigation point (IP)to-target run. We would employ a medium-toss delivery profile pulling up about four-and-a-half miles from the target, releasing the bomb at the appropriate point, then making our escape from the impending blast. The fact that we wouldn’t have had sufficient fuel to return to the carrier was of no consequence – it wouldn’t still be there. So we would have flown back as far as we could, until we ran out of fuel, and ejected, hopefully over friendly territory. 809 Squadron had about four crews qualified in the nuclear role. “Attacks against a Sverdlov, the Soviets’ most capable surface ship, would have been by conventional means. We would have launched from the carrier and, on detecting the target, lobbed 1,000-lb bombs at it. The idea was to incapacitate it rather than sink it. A typical training sortie to emulate a ‘Sverdlov attack profile’ included some low flying in battle formation, then dropping practice bombs on a splash target towed by the carrier or at a weapons range ashore. Bomb delivery methods included a pull-up, then a bunt to weapon release, or a 20-degree dive. “We also practised attacking a ship at night when we would self-illuminate the target. As we approached the target, we tossed a Lepus flare at it from about four miles, and then manoeuvred to attack using the light from the flare to either drop bombs or fire rockets – a somewhat life-limiting profile which thankfully we never had to employ for real. Whilst we had detached ashore at Tengah from Eagle, I was flying at night with Robin Cox to practise this profile on one of the many uninhabited islets, or small islands, around Singapore. We acquired a suitable target, tossed the flare and came back around to drop some bombs only to discover that the ‘islet’ was actually an oil tanker. Cue a hasty retreat!”

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John Stevens “Three Buccaneers return to Lossiemouth after a long sortie. There is a problem on the runway and they are instructed to orbit. After about four orbits a voice comes over the R/T, ‘I’m pissed off’. Commander (air), who is in the tower, grabs the microphone. ‘This is commander air here!! We have ladies down here. Identify yourself.’ There is a long pause, and then a voice says, ‘I’m not that pissed off’. “On 25 March 1966, I was serving in Eagle at sea in the Mozambique Channel. The ship was in the tenth day of a ‘record-breaking’ peacetime sea patrol, the Beira Patrol. The port watch was duty watch on deck that afternoon. We were in the last hour of our watch and were looking forward to completing the aircraft recovery cycle. My job for recovery stations was to drive the emergency tractor. This entailed me parking the tractor on the edge of the wingtip safety line immediately below FlyCo. If an aircraft’s hook did not clear the arrestor wire after landing my team and I would rush out, latch a steering arm onto the aircraft’s nosewheel pushing it back down the deck until the wire could be cleared away. “Watching from my seat on the tractor, XN970, which was on the approach, looked at first to be OK. I had no indication at all that anything was wrong. As it came closer to the ship I thought it appeared a little low. I stood up in my seat for a better view, and it was really low – I realised there must be a problem. The aircraft veered to port, the aircrew ejected and it crashed into the sea astern and to port of the ship. With many of the flight deck crew I rushed to port side aft and watched the SAR Wessex hovering over the aircrew in the water. Minutes later we saw one of them being hauled up in the strop and the winch man pulled him inboard. The other crewmember in the water, waiting to be picked up, suddenly had the winch wire and strop fall into the sea a short distance from him. We could not understand what had happened. The helicopter then hovered over him, but now had no means to pick him up. “We assumed the winch wire had broken. The man in the sea was now stranded, and the ship was going too fast to launch a sea boat. The only other helicopter, with a serviceable winch, was on an anti-submarine exercise miles away. This was called in to rescue the pilot who we could see getting smaller and smaller as we steamed away. He was eventually picked up by a Wessex of 820 Squadron which had raced in from 20 miles away. “Flt Lt Graham Smart, the pilot, sustained a compression fracture of the spine, which grounded him for three months. Lt Noel Rawbone, the observer, had no injuries and was back flying again within 48 hours. At the enquiry it was found that it had not been a winch wire failure nor, as first suspected, had the winch operator cut the cable. The SAR pilot had inadvertently cut the cable from his control position in the cockpit.”



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The last Buccaneer squadron, 809, disbanded on 13 December 1978. As with the Ark’s Phantom fleet, all the remaining Buccaneers were handed over to the RAF. They flew on until final retirement in March 1994, bowing out with a fondly remembered final massed beat-up of Lossiemouth – the home of the Buccaneer for 33 years.

800 Squadron about to embark Eagle for the last time, May 1971. (Jim Speirs)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE SKI-JUMP ERA Just a few short years after the retirement of Ark Royal, the arrival of the new generation of CVS carriers saw the return of fixed-wings at sea. This was thanks to the innovative ski-jump launching method for the Sea Harrier. As we saw in Volume One, FAA Sea Harriers and RAF Harriers first operated together in the 1982 Falklands War. The link continued after that conflict and was fully reinforced in 2000 when Joint Force Harrier (JFH) was formed, both Harrier versions continuing to operate from the Invincible-class carriers. With the premature retirement of the Sea Harrier on cost grounds in 2006, JFH continued with Harrier GR.9s until it was disbanded overnight in 2010.

Sea Harrier FA.2 801 Squadron HMS Illustrious.

BAE SEA HARRIER Operating units: 700A, 800, 801, 809, 899 Squadrons, JFH, Sea Harrier OEU (Operational Evaluation Unit). Embarked: Ark Royal (CVS), Hermes, Illustrious, Invincible and trials on Eagle. Although the Sea Harrier had a strike role, discussed later, the following account from Dave Morgan of its air defence prowess illustrates how the ‘SHAR’ truly came of age in the Falklands in 1982. Hermes and Invincible aircraft scored 20 confirmed victories against Argentine aircraft with no air-to-air losses. The Argentines nicknamed the Sea Harrier, ‘Morta Negro’ – ‘black death’.

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“On Hermes in the evening of 8 June 1982, Lt Dave Smith and I strapped ourselves into our aircraft to come to five-minute alert (I was in ZA177). Shortly before we were planned to launch, we were jolted back to reality by the broadcast ‘Stand clear of intakes and jet pipes, scramble the alert five Sea Harriers!’ We had a job to do. “We were airborne within three minutes, and streaking towards the sun, low on the western horizon. Finally, approaching the CAP station, I radioed the pair of Sea Harriers that we were relieving to get an update. They said they were ‘over the action’ to the north of our briefed station. As we got closer I saw a huge vertical column of oily black smoke rising from a bay to the south-west of Stanley. When we arrived overhead the grim reality unfolded. Two landing craft were at anchor in the bay, wreathed in a nightmare of smoke and explosions. There was little we could do as we ploughed our parallel furrows back and forth, a couple of miles above their heads, but search the lengthening shadows for further attackers. To fly lower would have denied us radio contact with our controller in San Carlos, and risked spooking the troops on the ground into thinking we were the enemy returning to cause further chaos. We were also very aware that the RAF Regiment was setting up Rapier missile units to protect the area. “The next 40 minutes crept by as we circled, using the minimum possible amount of fuel. Finally, I made a routine check of the fuel gauges as I rolled into another turn to reverse track, and realised that I now had only four minutes flying before I had to turn for Hermes. I flicked my eyes out of the cockpit searching the gathering dusk below me. It was in that instant that I spotted something. My worst fears, and fondest dreams had, in a single instant, been realised. A mere mile to the east was the camouflaged outline of an A-4 Skyhawk fighter, hugging the sea and heading directly for the landing craft below me. “I jammed the throttle fully open, shouted over the radio ‘A-4s attacking the boat, follow me down!’ and peeled off into a 60-degree dive towards the attackers. Dave wrenched his Sea Harrier around after me but lost sight of me as we plunged downwards, and with the airspeed rocketing to over 650 knots, we strained to catch the enemy before he could reach his target. “I watched impotently, urging my aircraft onwards and downwards, as the first A-4 opened fire with his 20-mm cannon bracketing the tiny craft. My heart soared as his bomb exploded a good 100 feet beyond them, but sank as I realised that a further A-4 was running in behind him. The second pilot did not miss, and I bore mute witness to the violent fire-bright petals of the explosion which obliterated the stern, killing the crew and mortally wounding the landing craft. All-consuming anger welled in me and in that instant, I determined that this pilot was going to die. “As I closed rapidly on his tail I noticed in my peripheral vision, a further A-4 paralleling his track to my left. I hauled my aircraft to the left rolling out less than half a mile behind the third fighter, closing fast. I had both missiles and guns

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selected and within seconds I heard the growl in my earphones telling me that my missile could see the heat from his engine. I pressed the lock button on the stick. Instantly the small green missile cross in the head-up display transformed into a diamond sitting squarely over the back end of the Skyhawk. At the same time the growl of the missile became an urgent high-pitched chirp. The infrared homing head of the weapon was locked on, and ready to fire. “I raised the safety catch, and pressed the firing button with all the strength I could muster. There was a short delay, then in less than half a second the Sidewinder was transformed into a living, fire-breathing monster as it accelerated to nearly three times the speed of sound streaking towards its target. As it left the rails the rocket efflux and supersonic shock wave over the left wing, rolled my charging Sea Harrier rapidly to the right throwing me onto my right wingtip, less than 100 feet above the sea. As I rolled erect the missile started to guide towards the Skyhawk’s jet pipe, leaving a white corkscrew of smoke against the slate-grey sea. Within seconds the missile disappeared directly up his jet pipe, and what had been a living flying machine was obliterated in an instant as the warhead ripped it apart. The pilot had no chance of survival, and within a further few seconds the ocean had swallowed all trace of him and his aeroplane. “As I was righting my machine, I realised I was pointing directly at another Argentine aircraft, at a range of about one mile; the one I had seen hit the landing craft. I mashed the lock button again, with strength born of righteous anger, and my second missile immediately locked onto his jet efflux as he started a panic break towards me. As I was about to fire the homing head lost lock, and the missile cross wandered drunkenly onto the sea some 50 feet below him. Cursing, I rejected the false lock mashed the lock button again and fired. The missile whipping across my nose and taking a handful of lead to the left to head him off. “He saw the Sidewinder launch and immediately reversed his break, pulling into a screaming turn away from it. His best efforts were to no avail, and the missile flashed back across my nose and impacted him directly behind the cockpit. The complete rear half of the airframe simply disintegrated. I watched as the disembodied cockpit yawed rapidly through 90 degrees and splashed violently into the water. “I was elated at the demise of the second A-4, and scanned the darkness ahead for the others. I had just picked out the next one, fleeing west only feet from the water, when a parachute snapped open right in front of me. The pilot had somehow managed to eject from the gyrating cockpit of the second A-4 before it hit the water. He flashed over my right wing so close that I saw every detail of the rag-doll figure, with its arms and legs thrown out in a grotesque star shape, by the deceleration of the canopy. My feelings of anger and elation changed to relief, as I realised that a fellow pilot had survived. An instant later, anger returned as I started to run down my next victim before he could make good his escape. “Now that I had launched both missiles, I only had guns with which to despatch the remaining Skyhawks. As I lifted the safety slide on the trigger, I realised



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my head-up display had disappeared – I had no gunsight. This was a well-known ‘glitch’ in the HUD software, and could be cured easily by selecting the HUD off and then on again. This I duly did, but in the ten seconds it took for the sight to reappear, it was all over. The A-4 broke rapidly towards me as I screamed up behind him with a good 150 knots overtake. I pulled his blurred outline to the bottom of the windscreen and opened fire. The roar of the 30-mm rounds leaving the guns, at the rate of 40 per second, filled the cockpit. I kept my finger on the trigger, relaxed and then re-applied the ‘g ’ in order to walk the rounds through him as best I could. “Suddenly over the radio came an urgent shout from Dave, ‘Pull up, pull up, you’re being fired at!’ Up until now all he had seen of the fight was two missile launches followed by two explosions. He then saw an aircraft only feet above the water, flying through a hail of explosions and assumed it was me. By now I was out of ammunition, and at Dave’s cry pulled up into the vertical through the setting sun. In a big lazy looping manoeuvre, I rolled out at 12,000 feet heading for Hermes. In the vertical climb I looked back down over Choiseul Sound and saw a white trail accelerating towards the fleeing A-4. I realised it was a missile, and watched mesmerised as it headed for the enemy fighter. About halfway to the target the rocket motor burnt out, and for a few maddening seconds I thought it had Sea Harrier ZA177 with Lt David Smith been fired out of range and would drop indicating Dave Morgan’s two kill markings, Hermes, Spithead 21 July 1981. (Stephen Wolf) into the water. Dave had not misjudged it though, and after some seven seconds of flight there was a brilliant white flash as the warhead ignited. The Skyhawk was so low that the flash of the warhead merged with its reflection in the water of the Sound. A fraction of a second later the aircraft disappeared in a huge yellow-orange fireball spreading its burning remains over the sand dunes of Rain Bay.” For his part in the Falklands conflict, David Morgan, who was an RAF officer at the time, was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross (DSC). He transferred to the navy in 1984.

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Mike Turner – armourer “800 Squadron was formed in March 1980 at Yeovilton as the first front-line Sea Harrier unit. The majority of the squadron had fixed-wing experience however there was still a lot of work to do. My job included all the role equipment for initially five aircraft later increased to six. It was a bit of a shock when we lost our first aircraft quite early, but the pilot ejected safely. A three-watch system was worked – six on, 12 off, which was superb, and the squadron gelled into a fine team which boded well for the Falklands campaign in 1982. There was a remarkable pride and morale in the unit that was not evident in some other units – and was remarked upon by many people. “One of our first trials was to drop 100 1,000-lb bombs from various aircraft configurations. Of these 50 were live, and 50 were inert. Most, if not all, the live drops were flown from Lossiemouth. It was a successful trial, giving us good armament-loading practice and teaching us that in the Harrier you could jettison bombs ‘live’ – something we thought impossible until our Aussie exchange pilot showed us how. We also had an RAF exchange pilot, Flt Lt Ted Ball. On his initial landing on board, we held up scorecards to mark his landing and issued him with ‘seasick pills’. He was a great squadron member, and after the Falklands campaign was selected for the Red Arrows. “We embarked Invincible to work up their flight deck crew, hard but enjoyable work. We visited Gibraltar to operate from North Front doing some gun firing. We also did quite a lot of banner air-to-air firing from Yeovilton. Each aircraft’s 30-mm rounds were dipped in different colours, and it was entertaining watching the pilots checking the banner to see if they could spot their colour. “In 1981 we transferred to Hermes. There we had much more room and it became a great home from home. A few of the squadron chiefs were billeted in the marine SNCO’s mess which was wonderful, with only about 30 members you got to know people well. Entertainment in the mess was quite good, however to watch a film comfortably you needed to get a seat early. One evening the telephone rang, and whoever answered it said it was for me, and important – I’d heard that one before! However a couple of minutes later it rang again, and it was genuinely for me. The AEO wanted me in the hangar as a cockpit canopy’s explosive cord had been fired. When I arrived, shards of Perspex were everywhere, particularly in the open engine compartments of a Sea King that had been next to the SHAR (Sea Harrier). Luckily no one was injured, apart from some ear problems for the person under the canopy when it went bang. We learnt a lot from this, underlining the respect needed towards ejection seats and canopy systems. “The SHAR had an APU (auxiliary power unit), a small turbine generator for operations away from ground power supplies. In Hermes we often had trouble with deck power points and cables. We decided to use the APU to carry out ‘no volts’ checks on the aircraft when they were armed, so leading hands POs and CPOs were authorised to run the APU for these checks. One of my leading hands did



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very well until an APU decided to shed its blades through the exhaust – not good for confidence. “1982 was rudely interrupted by the Argentines. As we had nearly all been together for two years 800 was well prepared as a team. This showed through our sortie figures – I don’t think we failed to fly any. We did a lot of extra preparation on the way south, much more equipment arrived and we did a number of armament exercises. On 1 May we launched all aircraft on 1,000-lb bombing sorties, and on their return they were immediately role-changed to live Sidewinder missiles. Just as we finished this task we had our first ‘air raid red’ warning, and were told to stand to and take cover. Along with Lt Cdr ‘Chas’ Chambers (the ship’s air arm engineering officer), I took cover in the starboard catwalk. He pointed out that we were sitting almost underneath some live torpedoes – I said at least we would go out with a bang. We quickly moved – later he told all my watch how dangerous I was to be with. He and I were tasked with getting up to speed with cluster bomb preparation – a weapon that SHAR was not originally cleared for. Three hours after receiving the documentation we were ready, and the first live round was successfully dropped near the ship on the following day. “One of the worst things on board a ship is a fire – there’s nowhere to run to. One evening, when I had finished for the day, the alarm went for a fire (not an exercise) in the air armament workshop. That’s bad enough in itself, but the workshop was next to the LOX bay, which multiplied the hazard. It was soon put out with little damage, just a horrible burnt electrical smell. A Hercules had dropped some Paveway-guided bomb components for us into the sea in waterproof wrappings. They were unwrapped and were being tested before issue. Some had not been fully waterproofed and there was moisture in the components, so when they were tested there was a short circuit resulting in the component being set on fire. Just another exciting day in the workshop. “After the war, on our return to the UK most squadron members were met by their families in Portsmouth when Hermes arrived. About ten of us, who weren’t, were bused back to Yeovilton arriving to a good reception from 899 Squadron members. I stayed with 800 until September 1983, by which time there were only four of us who had been there at the start. I really enjoyed the job and the unit but it was long enough, with all the new faces it wasn’t the same and a kind of niggliness had crept into everyday life. I went from 800 to 899, doing much the same job. “Towards the end of 1984 the Air Engineering School at Lee-on-Solent needed a CPO armourer to fill an instructor’s post. I was nominated to go, even after much protestation by my boss in 899. My job was to teach SHAR to a range of pupils. However in the nine months I was there I only had three courses of one or two days. In my ‘spare time’ I managed to get some equipment from a crashed SHAR, and with the help of other instructors we put together a training rig for armament stores being loaded as on the aircraft. “I really didn’t like school life, and had been told that I would probably be

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there for at least two years. However, I spotted a loophole in that volunteering for front-line service might get me out of it. Some of us noticed they were appealing for CPOs to become SHAR weapon system diagnosticians. The pre-requisites included a previous front-line SHAR tour and the relevant experience, there were only six eligible people. I immediately volunteered and got a place on the training course. Nine months to the day after my arrival in Daedalus, I returned to 899 in late 1985 and then back to 800 in early 1986. “The big event of 1986 was to be our world cruise. We embarked in Portsmouth, and on our first night at sea we were very busy stripping one aircraft down for a complete check. I went to bed but couldn’t sleep because it seemed very noisy outside the cabin. I looked out to see a group of CPOs all wearing working dress. I put my working clothes on and joined them. There had been a serious event in the engine room – the main gearbox had erupted. We were to limp back into Portsmouth, and all the aircraft were to fly off by 07:30. The whole unit turned out and our stripped aircraft was put back together and made ready to fly – they all left the ship as planned. Ground crews followed the next day and we spent the spring/summer back at Yeovilton. We caught with our world tour colleagues in Singapore – having missed the Pacific part of the tour. “In February 1987 I was sent up to Linton-on-Ouse, with my colleague CPO Brian Johnston, to assess one of our aircraft, XZ455, which had been involved in an air incident. It had suffered a massive ‘g ’ load, whilst pulling up during a departure manoeuvre, and had lost three of its wing pylons, two 190-gallon drop tanks, and damage to various parts of the tail and airframe. I remember looking at it and wondering how the pilot had got it back! It was assessed to be moved by road, and spent a long time being rebuilt. The following day we departed in the ‘Admiral’s Barge’ Sea Heron to Valley. While the admiral went to a passing-out parade we had lunch, then flew back to Yeovilton.” Dick Goodenough “I commissioned 801 Sea Harrier Squadron as the AEO. Our carrier was Invincible, and we were part of the Falklands War task force. The relative humidity remained at 100 per cent for days at a time – everything was dripping wet. As a consequence, we spent much time and effort trying to keep the Sea Harrier electronics dry. Whenever possible the aircraft were put in the relative warmth of the hangar. However for the aircraft left on deck, which were the majority and often for long periods, it was a different matter. Aircraft on alert had their systems running, and spare aircraft were run by the maintainers and the systems flashed up to ensure all was well. Defects were often remedied by the simple expedient of removing the offending black box and popping it into the galley oven to dry! “Plugs and sockets were dismantled, dried, reconnected and sealed with aerosol plastic skin from the sickbay. Household clingfilm, from the galley, was used to cover cockpit instruments and control panels with great success. Common



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bathroom sealant, provided by the shipwrights, was used around joints both externally and on components within the aircraft to help reduce moisture ingress. All this had an interesting side effect – morale was improved by the co-operation between departments, the chefs in particular felt they had played their part to keep the aircraft serviceable.” Nick Smith – aircraft handler “I served on Invincible as a navigator air, killick, PO and finally as a chief. On one of our Bosnia tours in 1994, Lt Dave Kistruck ejected during recovery, I was the marshaller. His Sea Harrier just missed the deck, splashing into the sea adjacent to 4 spot off our port side. I ran aft to watch it rapidly sink like a stone. Ranged on deck were several armed jets; 1,000-lb bombs and Sidewinders. It doesn’t bear thinking about if he’d crashed on deck. After ejecting he was rescued immediately by a Spanish Sea King which was on finals for some deck-landing practices, after the jets had recovered.” Following loss of yaw control, Dave Kistruck ejected from XZ493 on 15 December 1994. Remarkably the aircraft was salvaged from a depth of 720 metres and parts of it were subsequently used to rebuild the FRS.1 now on display in the FAA Museum. Duncan Reid – engineering officer “In 1993 the Royal Navy began deploying women in operational roles at sea. The first capital ship nominated for this change (approximately 20 per cent women) was Invincible prior to her operational deployment to Bosnia. I joined 800 Squadron as AEO and found that around 50 per cent of the air engineering mechanics were now women. On the sixday training period, prior to arrival in the Adriatic Duncan Reid. they found their ‘sea legs’ and integrated into the flight deck and hangar activities. Operation Deny Flight was a NATO-led peacekeeping operation, the flying tempo being directed via the NATO Air Tasking Order. Aircraft to be tasked on a seven-day fly, one-day maintenance cycle. To meet this 800 Squadron had to have six aircraft available every day. During the 72 days of Deny Flight we flew 372 operational missions, with only two missions having to abort for technical reasons. This was the highest number of Sea Harrier combat missions achieved since the Falklands. It also proved that women had successfully integrated into the FAA at sea. “One Sea Harrier had an engine ‘pop surge’ (disturbed airflow), and the pilot diverted to Bari in Italy. The ‘down-bird’ team found the engine was damaged and needed to be changed – two problems. The Sea King did not have the lift capacity

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to take a Pegasus engine ashore. Secondly, the ship was planned to stand down from operational flying for four days and have some R & R in Corfu. I asked the team to ascertain if the USMC CH-53 helicopters were still based at Bari and to ask them to contact the ship. The USMC detachment did, and immediately offered to carry the Sea Harrier back to the ship. I called in a favour from the JATE (Joint Air Transport Establishment) organisation and asked them to deploy their team with a Sea Harrier lifting frame. They arrived the following day, and the CH-53 carried the Sea Harrier to the ship late that afternoon – ‘appropriate’ refreshments were winched up to the helicopter crew as a gesture of goodwill.” Rod Player – pilot “I was drafted to 800 in December 1989 – my only fixed-wing front-line squadron. I joined the ship in Puerto Rico, where they had been involved with exercises off the east coast of the US. We then went up to Florida and disembarked over Christmas. After that back to the Caribbean, then all the way up the eastern seaboard to Norfolk, Virginia, before coming home. A fantastic ‘blast’ and great introduction to SHAR flying. “800 Squadron’s formation call sign was ‘Polecat’, a small but vicious little critter … very apt for a Sea Harrier. In the USA we were on an ACMI air combat range where everything was data linked back to a control station. They could see where all aircraft were and tracked any missile firings or gun shots, it could even show a pilot’s eye view. Fantastic tool for debriefing melees, and the engineers could watch the ‘live show’. We were 4 v 4 F-15s, the mighty Eagle, probably the best air-defence fighter there has ever been. It was going to be a massacre – but we had a plan, Baldrick. We flew in battle formation line abreast with 2,000 feet spacing but with Nos.2 and 4 in very tight close formation on lead, and No.3 spaced out – I was No.2. That meant that the Eagle radar would only see two contacts on its screen. At about ten miles 2 and 4 ‘spiked’ – they peeled out of formation to descend vertically – it had to be absolutely vertically down. This confused the Doppler radar as it only ‘sees’ things that are moving relative to it so we were ‘unseen’. At base height 2 and 4 turned back in. They were now well below where the Eagle radar was looking and there just in front and above were four Eagles in line abreast battle formation, they called it a ‘wall of Eagles – Poop! Poop!’ As I fired I called, ‘Polecat 2, 2 Fox 2’ (code for a Sidewinder firing) over the radio, and No.4 called, ‘Polecat 4, 2 Fox 2’. A short time later our fighter controller said, ‘Polecat 2 that’s two good kills, Polecat 4 that’s two good kills – knock it off, knock it off, the Eagles are all dead’. Then a bit later he said, ‘the Eagles are RTB (returning to base) for weather’. What? – the weather was gorgeous. “The Sea Harrier was a very difficult aeroplane to fly. It’s an aeroplane that bites you as soon as you abuse any of the rules with it – mainly in the V/STOL phase, take-offs and landings. Once you’ve got it in normal flight it’s a typical Hawker



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Siddeley aeroplane – nice to fly and well harmonised. At the time modern fighters, like the F-16 and F/A-18, had a system called HOTAS (hands on throttle and stick). This meant you could operate most of the aircraft systems while still holding the throttle and control column allowing you to continue to fly the aircraft safely. We joked the Sea Harrier FRS.1 was also HOTAS, but for us it stood for hands off throttle and stick. You had a different screen for the radar, and different controls; you had to take your hand off the throttle to work the radar – it was a very high work-load cockpit. There was a HUD, but there was no up-front control panel. To work anything in the navigation kit, you had to look right down adjacent to your right buttock where the control panel was. That was a really dumb place to have something you might need to input a latitude and longitude reading for example. Having to look down whilst flying with no autopilot, no height-hold, no auto-throttle, and flying low level over the sea at night, there was nothing at all to help you, so you had to fly manually the whole time. “The thing I found most difficult was air interception. You worked with a fighter controller, and they would put you on a 900, 1200 or 1800 air intercept. It was a matter of juggling figures, so you listened to what he said regarding how high the target was and at what range. Then you had some mental gymnastics to work out whether you were tight or slack, whilst juggling the radar controller. The radar was mono-pulse, and therefore pretty useless – it was very poor and suffered from a lot of clutter. At medium level, on a good day we’d pick up another fighter at 20 or 25 miles. At low level you were better off looking out of the window. “Once you’d actually mastered it, the FRS.1 with mono-pulse radar and only Sidewinder missiles was an interesting aeroplane to fly. You could do things that other aircraft couldn’t, it was pretty good. The later FA.2 was a different aeroplane altogether. I displayed the FA.2 in 1996; it was probably the most stressful year of my flying. I was a QFI on 899 for the last year of my career, and the boss asked me to do it. Traditionally one of the QFIs displayed, supposedly because we were good at showing the V/STOL. I’m not sure we were, but we were good at rescuing the desperate situations that our students got us into. We perhaps saw more of the flight envelope than we should have. Because of the V/STOL mode displaying it was a nightmare. “The Harrier was designed to decelerate into wind, come to a stop and then land. If you wanted to take off vertically, you turned into wind and then accelerated into it. If you get anything of a crosswind when you are decelerating in the transition phase (between about 100 knots and 30) you get intake momentum drag. If the aeroplane’s nose was not into wind then one of the intakes would be starved of air causing it to roll. It could very quickly roll upside down – we lost a lot of people that way. To prevent it, they had a simple little wind vane on the nose – it was all controlling. When students were doing solos we would be on the ground with a backpack radio. If we saw them doing anything when they were not into wind

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we would shout ‘Vane, vane’ to make sure they centralised the vane. The student had a rudder pedal shaker, so if it felt ‘g ’ building up in the lateral sense, it would shake the pedal he had to press. “However if you now take it to an air display, there will be a display line relative to where the crowd is. When you run in down that line, you might be hovering with the wind perhaps behind you. It made the balance of being able to do this, whilst sticking to the display rules, very difficult. That was nearly my undoing, when I disobeyed all the rules whilst doing a display. “Accidents are never caused by one isolated thing, but by a chain of events. The chain of events for me started when I’d been to the summer ball at Yeovilton the night before, and although I had been drinking, I stopped at midnight. I had to be off early to go to Waddington for a display, and I was late getting to the aeroplane in the morning. As I was spending the weekend there, I took a spare pair of pants and my wash bag. I didn’t have time to put a bag in the back hatch so I chucked them under the ejection seat because I really didn’t have time to get to the runway, so I jumped in and took off from the taxiway. The display Harrier was lightweight with no drop tanks on it which gave a better performance. I eventually arrived at my display time slot at Waddington exactly on time, having not come off full throttle – I really was pushing it. “I hadn’t even started to think about my display at all until the moment I ran down the display line at about 550 knots. It was a nice enough day and I was not really listening for the wind details from ATC. I ran through most of my show and got into the hover. I thought it must be pretty windy as I was fighting my aircraft on a number of occasions. I had developed what I called a ‘vertical circuit’: a rolling vertical landing. I would come down at 50 knots and just as the aeroplane touched down, go back to full power and then full braking stop on the nozzles, whip round and back into the air. I then flew backwards along the way I’d come. Then I dipped the nose down, ran forward and landed again. This vertical circuit depended on a crosswind component of no more than 10 knots. “The first time I thought about the crosswind was when I set off down the slope, and heard ATC calling the wind as ‘25, gusting 27 knots across’. ‘Argh, that’s not going to work!’ I didn’t have enough power to abort the rate of descent; it hit the ground, bounced off again and started rolling due to intake momentum drag. The recovery technique was to use the rudder pedals to turn into wind which, in this case, would have been the left pedal. But the aeroplane had already rolled so far to the right that I thought I should continue to the right now. So I pedalled right – it saved the day. I got airborne over the grass which turned into bits of flying turf. The spectators were on my right, and only about 100 metres away. By the time I’d sorted it all out I was almost over them. Very slowly backing away from them I told ATC, ‘I’m very scared now and I want to land’, which I did – I didn’t want to do any more of that display.



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“I parked and after shutting down I just sat with my head in my hands muttering to myself ‘What a Dick, what a Dick! You nearly killed yourself and some of the crowd, just because you weren’t listening, you weren’t alert and you hadn’t thought through what you were doing’. There was a tap on the side of the aeroplane and a face looking up shouting ‘Rodders!’ It was Bill Auckland, he’d been an RAF Harrier pilot, following me up to Valley to be a QFI. He was displaying the Hawk, had done his display and was just wandering around. He said: ‘That display looked a bit exciting! Get yourself down and I’ll buy you a cup of tea.’ His brother was Mike Auckland, a Harrier pilot in the navy, who was badly injured ejecting at massively high speed from a Sea Harrier in Decimomannu. He got back to flying only to crash a T-bird Harrier near Taunton with an engineer in the back – they were both killed. “I joined Virgin Atlantic in January 1997, but did three years in the RN Reserves. I thought I’d got an absolute plum job as they gave me an RNR slot on the Harrier. This was very unusual but because I had been a QFI, and a maintenance test pilot for all the FA.2s coming into service, they kept me on Harriers. The first year was OK because I was current and knew what I was doing, but by the third year flying just once or twice a month wasn’t enough, so I packed it up. “The FA.2 was an absolutely fantastic little aeroplane. The ‘Blue Vixen’ pulse Doppler radar didn’t have any of the foibles the old radar had. It had look-down and shoot-down capabilities with AMRAAM, so you had a 30-mile plus range. You could sit on a combat air patrol at 10,000 feet over the Welsh mountains, looking down at Tornados weaving about through the valleys, and ‘fire’ AMRAAMs from that height. The aircraft had been modified with panels for controlling all the nav and the radio, and a real HOTAS system. It had an up-front control panel for inputting data and controlling the radios. “The one thing missing on the FA.2 was that there was no room for a decent head-down AI (artificial horizon). The FRS.1 had a big head-down AI as your primary instrument, and the HUD as your secondary. In the FA.2 flying head-down was very difficult as there was a small gyro down somewhere between your legs. They ended up swapping it over, making the HUD the primary and the head-down secondary. So long as the HUD was working it was good. However if you had to go head-down, particularly getting back to the ship at night, it was a struggle. “All the changes on the Harrier increased its weight, and therefore decreased its V/STOL performance. The GR.3 engine initially had 19,000 lbs of thrust, but the aircraft only weighed 11,000 lbs – a lot of spare thrust. Towards the end of the Sea Harrier’s time it was up to 14,000 lbs weight, with the engine struggling to produce around 21,500 lbs with water injection (which lasted for 90 seconds). You could do a vertical take-off and fly your mission, but as you had to be nearly out of fuel to take off you couldn’t do much. To complete the mission you needed to air-toair refuel shortly after take-off. When landing somewhere hot, like the Caribbean,

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we would break into the circuit over the boat, coming to the hover with typically two to three minutes of fuel before flameout. “On 27 June 1994 we were teaching in T.4 Harriers, and I was doing one student’s first hover. Trip 4 was a sortie where we put them in a T-bird, filled up with de-min water (for injection and extra thrust), and a little bit of fuel. As the QFI in the back, you rushed down the runway, hopped into the air and got it in a hover. You only had about eight to ten minutes of hovering capability, you stabilised it and then gave it to the lad to have a play with. The student in question wasn’t particularly quick on the uptake so we did some ups and downs, some vertical take-offs and landings, by then we were nearly out of fuel. The Harrier had left and right wing tanks, so the gauges said left and right, after that it was front and rear tanks. That was all working – the warning lights came on appropriately, 750 lb steady and 250 lb flashing, so when it started flashing I landed and taxied back. I told him he wasn’t quite ready; I couldn’t send him off solo because the next event for him was to do the same thing in a Sea Harrier. I told him I’d like to do the same exercise again to make sure he’d got the hang of it. We put in some more fuel and water, and went off to do it again. When I got it in the hover he was even worse – we were all over the airfield. We landed after one go. Although we had fuel it was showing a little imbalance – more fuel in one tank than the other. We could balance the fuel with a flow proportioner which we could switch off, then turn off the pump for the low side to feed it from the high side until it was balanced. In the GR.3 you were allowed to take off in that mode, but not in the Sea Harrier. We were in a T.4, strictly not the same as a GR.3. “We took off again, feeding off one tank, but by now the guy was going all over the place, and I was having a real job to control him. I kept glancing at the gauge, ‘yes, I’ve got plenty of fuel in that tank, plenty of fuel in that one, yes, we’re OK’. We should have been using fuel, out of one tank, like it was going out of fashion – clearly the gauge was stuck. He was busy, still trying to fly – the next thing the engine was rapidly running down – we had run out of fuel! We started falling out of the sky from about 90 feet. I told him to stick with it because I didn’t want him to eject. The last 30 feet were in free-fall, and we crashed onto the pad breaking off all the wheels, which were pushed up through the aeroplane. We bounced up into the air a bit, came down on the wingtip and the nose, settling on the fuselage. Luckily we didn’t burn because there was no fuel. Getting out was fairly easy, we didn’t need a ladder; as we were so close to the ground we just stepped out. “Strangely enough, in the briefing the student had said to me he thought it was a really stupid idea, trying to hover on hot air. I thought that was a fairly strange thing for a student to say. When we got back on the ground he took a swing at me saying, ‘I told you it was a bloody stupid idea!’ He went on to complete the course and did front-line tours. Initially I thought I was OK. Five or six months later I started suffering from chronic sciatica, which I still have to this day, I had fractured two of my vertebrae. Our T.4 (XW268) was written off.



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“Looking back at my Sea Harrier time I am very proud to have been part of it. Tremendous camaraderie, front-line squadrons typically had eight pilots. We were a very close-knit bunch and I stayed in touch with a lot of the guys from that time. When I was on 800 I met Steve Holmes, who was a lovely chap and everybody liked him. He was about eight or nine months ahead of me going through the course, but when he first went through the Sea Harrier pipeline he failed his instrument rating several times. They took him off 899 and sent him to 360 Squadron (Canberras) for a while, thinking that would help him. He came back and failed again. They were desperate to keep him in the system because they liked him, and eventually he passed his instrument rating and came to 800. “We did an exercise in the Mediterranean on Invincible. I wasn’t night-qualified at that time, and was due to be on dawn patrol at first light with Frank Hopps. Steve was night-qualified and was duty pilot, launching just before dawn on 8 May 1990 on a four-aircraft Sea Eagle strike. As duty pilot he came round to give us all a shake and get us up. He knocked on my cabin door and said, ‘Rodders, you’ve got to get up now’ I shouted back, ‘Holmsey f **k off!’ – the last thing I ever said to him. Briefing was still in progress when Frank and I arrived. Howard Hughes was leading it and briefed that it was 500 feet, 300 knots until they reached the ‘gate’, and then they would join up. Steve chipped in and said, ‘300 feet, 500 knots’ – he was obviously confused and very tired. It was a classic case where somebody from health and safety should have told him to go back to bed, but we didn’t have that sort of thing in those days, we just rolled our eyes. “Steve went up to the deck for his Sea Eagle attack. Frank and I followed a few minutes later, and as we arrived on deck the first guy launched. Steve was number two (in XZ460). He taxied forward but didn’t launch when the light went green. He broke radio silence, which we weren’t supposed to do, and said, ‘It’s all OK, I’m good to go now’, obviously he had a problem – we assumed his nav system hadn’t aligned properly. Off he went into the darkness. About 35 seconds later there was a great flash just to the right of the boat – that was him hitting the sea. We think his nav system toppled, which was what drove the head-up display, giving him erroneous attitude information – he just followed it into the sea. The ship spent some time searching, finding only a piece of wreckage, some of his helmet, and a bit of his anti-‘g ’ suit – nothing really of the aeroplane. “At ten o’clock that morning I launched on an exercise going to Sardinia. I remember it vividly because we had to go up through cloud. I was No.2 so I slipped alongside the leader. As I drew alongside there on the side of his aircraft was written ‘Lt Steve Holmes’. I crossed over to the other side; I didn’t want to be looking at that all the way. “His death was covered in the usual way of doing things. We all went to the bar and put it on his mess chit. A memorial service was organised when we got back to Yeovilton, followed by a massive p***-up, exchanging stories, then we moved on. Sadly when Mike Auckland was killed it was a different school of thought – they

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Harrier GR.9 800 Squadron Ark Royal. (Robin Trewinnard-Boyle)

were getting warm and fuzzy; ‘How do you feel about it?’ You had to have interviews, and I remember one guy saying to me, ‘Do you understand what happens when a Harrier hits the ground at 500 mph?’ Yes, of course I bloody well understand, but I don’t want to think about it!”

BAE HARRIER GR.7/9 Operating units: JFH included 1, 3, 4, 20 Squadrons RAF, 801 Squadron. Embarked: Ark Royal (CVS), Illustrious and Invincible. Bill Covington “The Falklands War proved that RAF Harriers could operate at sea, however its crews were inexperienced in shipborne operations, and the GR.3 was barely fit for purpose operating from an aircraft carrier. Its inertial navigation systems were not designed to align on a moving carrier – you cannot just deploy a land-based aircraft at sea and expect it to go smoothly. People and systems need to ‘bed in’, and time is needed to prove operations from tasking to execution. Command structures need to deploy units, and allow those at the sharp end to fight without interference, providing support and resource not back-seat control. Operational commanders need to understand the limits of their delegations, and resolve areas of disfunction by engagement with supporting elements. The RAF’s 1 Squadron



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logistics were not pre-located in the naval task force as it was used to plugging into an air force structure around an airfield, or forward operating site. Attaching to a naval amphibious task force was a difficult challenge for them. It always will be so unless it is well-practised and based on experience of the maritime environment, the thinking of naval personnel at all levels, and how to live and work on a ship. “Many lessons were learnt. Some were simply down to the scale of the challenge, exacerbated by the lack of previous integration between the RAF Harrier Force and the RN. The RAF was unused to deploying units to sea and not being able to maintain close control of them, or understand how such a force has to operate. This takes nothing away from those RAF personnel who deployed and delivered a difficult close air support role 8,000 miles from home, from a carrier, in challenging flying conditions. “After the Falklands a slow path towards more integration between RN and RAF squadrons continued, recognising that 1 Squadron had a small ‘at sea’ role that needed to be practised annually. By the late 1980s the Purple Warrior exercises had developed focusing on integration with the army and RAF, and we achieved a far better joint capability than that deployed for the Falklands. In 1987, when I was CO of 801 Squadron, we were joined on board Ark Royal by 800 Squadron to operate a total of 12 Sea Harriers, plus six RAF Harriers. These largely displaced the ASW helicopters so Ark became a fixed-wing Harrier carrier – a relatively small but capable ship. It had a tailored air group for air defence and close air support of the land battlefield, with joint command and control, intelligence and tasking. It worked well. The naval squadrons led and smoothed the integration of the RAF Harriers, but left them alone to operate as a fighting unit in the air. The Falklands legacy was developed throughout the 1980s with great success. “I wouldn’t say the RAF personnel who went to sea found it comfortable, even though most of the ship’s crew and air group were trying to look after them. They were operating in a hostile, hazardous environment and it wasn’t easy for a whole squadron, engineers as well as pilots, to move into it as one. They accepted being at sea for a few weeks, tolerated the bits they didn’t like, focusing on what they had to do. We converted some compartments for the air liaison team, ensuring we developed the air capabilities which the RAF Harriers needed, particularly battlefield intelligence, forward air control and tasking. That established a mindset within the RN and RAF that the augmentation of the Sea Harrier by Harriers was valuable for UK defence capabilities. “In the late 1980s the limitations of the Sea Harrier FRS.1 were becoming more obvious. It had great strengths – it was the first UK aircraft with digital avionics enabling its software to be easily updated. This allowed BAe, at Dunsfold, to capture what we wanted, quickly converting it into something useable. There was a small but very capable team there, including Lt Cdr Taylor Scott who had previously flown Vixens and Phantoms. We even ended up with a predictor gunsight with tracer lines

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in the HUD, to show us where the bullets would go. The loft-bombing software was easy to use and accurate, and the Sea Eagle missile added real anti-ship punch. The tactics developed with the AEW Sea Kings and ship systems were challenging, but Sea Eagle ship attacks in exercises were successful. Microwave landing systems enabled the Sea Harrier to be more autonomous. Dive and laydown bombing was a surprisingly successful capability, nearly every time the Sea Harrier engaged in bombing competitions it won. This was a tribute to its systems, and the AWIs who ensured high standards of weaponry in the squadrons. “The fixed-wing element of the FAA was small, which was both a strength and a weakness. The weakness was its size, and the fact that it relied heavily on a small group of talented individuals. Initially the experience of ex-Phantom and Buccaneer aircrew and engineers was key to both the support structure and procurement; they did a fantastic job whilst we gained Sea Harrier expertise. Civil aviation recruiting reduced military pilot numbers to critical levels at times, and by then we were a service with limited experience of operating fast jets. However in many ways being small and self-contained meant the Sea Harrier force could develop quickly. It remained a strong community always looking for ways to improve. “A lot of emphasis was put on the squadron COs. They had to drive their units and provide advice upwards, particularly to operational command structures. It was quite normal for the Invincible-class carriers to have a non-aviator captain, and a commander (air) who was a helicopter pilot. They had to rely on the squadron CO for tactical and operational advice. From the Falklands War to the end of Sea Harrier this close relationship between the squadrons and carrier captains made development of capability, and ability to overcome difficulties, second to none. “In 1998 the government’s Strategic Defence Review SDR98 aligned the Royal Navy and RAF requirements. The navy wished to replace its three Invincible-class carriers with two larger ships of a size to effectively operate a range of aircraft. In the Falklands Hermes was able to generate virtually twice the Harrier flying rate of Invincible, whilst also operating a range of helicopters. The Queen Elizabeth-class carriers enabled us to have a fixed- and rotary-wing power projection capability, supporting land-based operations and defend the sea lanes. This went hand in hand with the Future Carrier Based Aircraft programme morphing into the US Joint Strike Fighter (JSF) programme. The initial sizing of the JSF was small enough to go down the lift on the Invincible-class carriers. “The RAF was looking for a future combat aircraft beyond Typhoon, for which the JSF was attractive (it evolved into the F-35). The government saw the benefit of amalgamating the requirements of the two services by creating a joint force to maximise efficiency. The RAF would lead on the aircraft, whilst the RN would lead on the carriers providing 50 per cent of the front-line joint-force manpower. The starting point was to transfer Sea Harrier to RAF control, linking it with the RAF Harriers at Wittering and Cottesmore. “This didn’t happen as initially planned. The finance-led decision not to put



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the larger Pegasus 11-61 engine into the Sea Harrier, led to it being side-lined as an operational aircraft not fit for year-long hot weather operations. Once this was accepted it was decided to scrap the fleet and transfer its support funding into the Harrier GR.7 to GR.9 conversion. The surprise to many was that the MoD wished to continue to invest in the Joint Harrier Programme, but using the RAF Harrier alone under the same formula envisaged for JSF, 50/50 RAF/RN. “I was involved in the SDR when these decisions were taken. For the implementation phase I was Captain JFH, working for an RAF air commodore, an admiral, and in turn to C-in-C Strike Command. As commodore Yeovilton the challenge was dealing with the demise of the Sea Harrier, and integration of FAA personnel with the Harrier GR.7. The admiral, who doubled as head of the FAA, was also Air Officer Commanding 3 Group at Strike Command. In 2003 the RAF decided, as a savings measure, to disband 3 Group and hence the admiral. The then Chief of the Air Service, Air Chief Marshal Sir Peter Squire, thought that to maintain some balance I should go to High Wycombe as the one-star officer for JFH, which I did until I retired in September 2006. “The nine years I was involved with creating and delivering JFH were, in the main, extremely exciting. To integrate FAA and RAF practices, taking the best from each and often finding a better new way, was very stimulating. Everyone in the force was fantastic – there was massive enthusiasm on both sides to make this work. At the same time, the RN, RAF and army formed the Joint Helicopter Command, whilst we in the JFH led on a whole range of subjects. It was difficult because many subjects, particularly those affecting other services, went far beyond what JFH needed. For example, promotion schemes, training requirements for land and sea operations, discipline and welfare, were far more different than one would expect. How many engineering branches were needed (the RAF had five the RN two)? We also had to inform the carrier procurement programme of operational matters. “All those involved were hell bent on making things work and getting the best for the force, particularly for us in JFH. Decisions that would normally take a year, would take far less time. The momentum behind JFH was draining, remaining so until the impact of our programmes started to affect the wider RAF. The move of the fixed-wing community from Fleet Command to Strike Command, and Yeovilton to Wittering/Cottesmore had already been a big upheaval for the navy. As the programme continued it was the stresses on the RAF which became more problematic. Two challenges stood out, creating a third. “Firstly the implementation plan called for the creation of four front-line squadrons (two RN led, two RAF led) and one training squadron, but without any extra aircraft. Four squadrons were based on the need to have four deployable units, in order to sustain land and sea operations whilst maintaining training. The RAF was not in favour of four smaller squadrons including a second naval-led squadron, and the plan was shelved. There was nothing the RN could do, they had surrendered control to the RAF; JFH remained as two RAF squadrons and one RN.

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“Secondly, whilst on paper it might appear that removing 650 RAF personnel from the RAF Harrier Force, and replacing them with 650 RN personnel, was straightforward, in practice it was not. It was less of an issue for FAA personnel; they had already planned the move of Sea Harrier to Wittering/Cottesmore, they were well briefed. Many had volunteered to move ‘up the A1’, as their home roots were in the Midlands or north. For the RAF personnel it was not the case. Not only was an established force being split, it was expected to amalgamate with RN personnel, engineers and pilots, who were new to the aircraft. Additionally, with the savings being made in defence, numbers were being reduced further than we wanted. It was a demanding challenge; new working practices and conditions had to change to accommodate going to sea in small carriers. Deployments of a few weeks here and there were not an issue, sustained operations were. The crunch point came when the engineering support programme came to the conclusion that a Rolls-Royce/BAe engineer produced about 35 hours a week of productive work, a naval engineer (sailor) produced circa 27 hours and an RAF engineer (Airman) nominally 23. The established work structures of the three groups made integration of a work force with three types of engineer difficult. The engineers put in place a time management trial and expected the support engineers to clock on and off in the support hangar. This was too much for the senior NCOs who complained bitterly they were being treated as civilians. It brought to the fore just how much was being expected of JFH personnel. “JFH deployed and supported air operations in Sierra Leone from sea, and in Afghanistan 6 from land. In both cases they conducted themselves in an extremely professional manner, welcomed by the army and our Allies. If the Falklands War proved that the Sea Harrier and Harrier GR.3 were extremely capable from sea, then Afghanistan showed the Harrier was extremely capable operating as the only jet capable of air-land operations from Kandahar until the airfield was upgraded. It was a great feat. “The ‘FAA Boys’ of the Sea Harrier community completed the move to Wittering/ Cottesmore, and should be congratulated on the manner they threw themselves into the task of flying and maintaining a new aircraft type in an RAF structure. The RAF personnel should also be congratulated. In many ways their task and acceptance of it was harder emotionally; they did it well, and in some cases exceptionally well. With industry, not only was the GR.7 to GR.9 conversion work done on time and to cost, it was exceptionally well-managed at all levels.”

6. Operation Herrick in Afghanistan will be included in Volume Three.



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LOCKHEED-MARTIN F-35B LIGHTNING II The demise of JFH in 2010 brought RN fixed-wing carrier-borne aviation to an abrupt halt. Ten years were to pass before that capability re-emerged with the start of F-35B carrier flying from Queen Elizabeth, later joined by Prince of Wales. With initial operational capability (IOC) being declared for the Queen Elizabeth at the end of 2020, the Fleet Air Arm was firmly back in the power projection business. It is fair to say that so far opinions are divided about the F-35B, so we conclude this chapter with some thoughts about it from former Sea Vixen pilot Allan Tarver who also trained at the US Navy’s Test Pilots’ School.

F-35B launching from Queen Elizabeth Westlant 18. (defenceimagery.mod.uk)

“My comments on the V/STOL version of the F-35; I must admit the lift fan arrangement is a very neat idea, but I do worry about the clutch, and, of course the fuel penalty. I gather the USN’s F-35C ‘cat and trap’ version carries 18,500 lbs of fuel internally compared with 14,500 lbs in the F-35B. Admittedly the V/STOL version doesn’t need the same fuel reserves at recovery time, but 4,000 lbs of fuel make a lot of difference to strike range. When you consider that the Phantom and Buccaneer both only carried about 13,000 lbs internally, and had two engines, then the F-35 should stay up for a long time. “What I also like about the USN version is that, although it has a greater wing area, it also has wing folding, which the V/STOL doesn’t. The F-35B that we have bought does seem to be all things to all men, but perhaps that’s inevitable given budget pressures.”

APPENDIX

FAA NICKNAMES SQUADRON MOTTOS – AND THEIR UNOFFICIAL INTERPRETATIONS 766 ‘Festina lente’ (Hasten slowly) – ‘Fester slowly’, ‘The ice cream men’ 800 ‘Nunquam non paratus’ (Never unprepared) – ‘Sounds dangerous count me in’ 801 ‘On les aura’ (We will have them) – ‘Jumper Tuckers’ from the 1980s fashion of tucking your jumper into your trousers 803 ‘Cave punctum’ (Beware of the sting) – Armourers called it ‘The Eight Hundred and Third Fleet Fighter Bomber, Low-Level Reconnaissance and Nuclear Armament Group’ apparently 809 ‘Immortal’ – ‘Immoral’ 819 ‘Redem feri claudum’ (Strike the foot that limps) – ‘Stumpyfoot International’ 820 ‘Tutamen et ultor’ (Safeguard and avenger) – ‘The ringbolters’ 824 ‘Spectat Ubique Spiritus’ (The wind everywhere looks on) – ‘The observer is always pissed’ 826 ‘Latet Anguis In Aqua’ (A snake lies concealed in the water) – ‘Too much water in the whisky’ 849 ‘Primus Video’ (The First to See) – ‘I saw her first’, ‘I have an oil-fired TV set’, ‘I cook as I look’, ‘The Bumblies’ from B Flight’s bee emblem 892 ‘Strike unseen’ – ‘Lash out blindly’ 893 ‘Saepe feriendum’ (Strike unseen) – ‘Often on strike’ 899 ‘Strike and defend’ – ‘The bunch with the punch’, known as ‘Monty Redwood’s Flying Circus’ by the handlers

AIRCREW Most aircrew had nicknames. Many are reluctant to admit to them, and to avoid embarrassment these are mostly anonymous: ‘Wiggy’, ‘Badger’, ‘Bomber’, ‘Cuddles’, ‘The Gherkin’, ‘Oboe’, ‘Mog’, ‘Tank’, ‘Scrabble’, ‘Bodger’, ‘Boysie’, ‘Tooty’, ‘Flaps’, ‘Kidney Hatch’, ‘Spin Dryer’, ‘Dagwood’, ‘Tidders’, ‘Tremmers’, ‘Blackers’, ‘Flatters’, ‘Mouldy’, ‘Billy Elliott’, ‘Wedge’ (the simplest tool known to man), ‘Mayhem’, ‘Ferret’, ‘Donny’ (Osman), ‘Shirley’ (Temple), ‘Santa’ (Christmas), ‘Dutch Chippy’ (Van der Plank), ‘Kipper’ (two-faced and spineless), ‘Harpic’ (clean round the bend).

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Ground crew Aircraft Handler – ‘Chockhead’ Aircraft mechanic – ‘Grubber’ Armourer – ‘Bombhead’ Electrical branch – ‘Greenie’ Radar and radio artificer – ‘Pinky’ Stoker – ‘Badger’ Aircraft ‘Cab’ – generic name for any aircraft Avenger – ‘The Chuff’ Buccaneer – ‘Bucc’, ‘Flying banana’ Gannet – ‘Bumbly’, ‘Gonk’, ‘Pregnant Duck’, ‘Ying Yang’ Scimitar – ‘Skymeter’ Sea Harrier – ‘SHAR’ Sea Hawk – ‘Squawk’ Naval helicopters – ‘Hover taxis’ ASW helicopters and their aircrew – ‘Pingers’ Commando helicopters and their aircrew – ‘Junglies’ Naval helicopters and aircrew (by fixed-wing people) ‘Whirlybirds’ Naval jet fixed-wing aircraft and aircrew – ‘Stovies’. Others Air Group – ‘Airy fairies’ to the seamen Ship’s Company – ‘Fishheads’ Royal Navy – ‘The Andrew’ ‘Pusser’ an all-purpose word for anything to do with the navy.

ABBREVIATIONS A&AEE �������� Aeroplane and Armament Experimental Establishment ACM ������������ Air Combat Manoeuvring ACRB ����������� Aircrew Refreshment Buffet ADD ������������ Airstream Direction Detector ADDL ���������� Aerodrome Dummy Deck Landing AEO ������������ Air Engineering Officer AEW ������������ Airborne Early Warning AHU ������������ Aircraft Holding Unit AMRAAM ���� Advanced Medium-Range Air-to-Air Missile AS ��������������� Anti-Submarine ASI �������������� Air Speed Indicator ASV ������������� Air-to-Surface Vessel ASW ������������ Anti-Submarine Warfare ATC ������������� Air Traffic Control AWI ������������� Air Warfare Instructor CAG ������������ Carrier Air Group CAP ������������� Combat Air Patrol CCA ������������ Carrier-Controlled Approach Cdr �������������� Commander Cdre ������������ Commodore CO �������������� Commanding Officer COD ����������� Carrier Onboard Delivery CPO ������������ Chief Petty Officer DO �������������� Directing Officer ECM ������������ Electronic Countermeasures EWI ������������ Electronic Warfare Instructor FA ��������������� Fighter Attack FAA ������������� Fleet Air Arm FAC ������������� Forward Air Control FDO ������������ Flight Deck Officer Flt Lt ����������� Flight Lieutenant FlyCo ���������� Flying Control FRADU ������� Fleet Requirements Air Direction Unit FRS ������������� Fighter Reconnaissance Strike FRU ������������ Fleet Requirements Unit GA �������������� Ground Attack GCA ������������ Ground-Controlled Approach GR ��������������� Ground attack Reconnaissance HMS ������������ His/Her Majesty’s Ship HP ��������������� High Pressure / Horse Power HUD ����������� Head-Up Display IFF �������������� Identification Friend or Foe IFTU ����������� Intensive Flying Trials Unit JFH ������������� Joint Force Harrier LABS ����������� Low-Altitude Bombing System LOX ������������ Liquid Oxygen

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LSO ������������� Landing Safety Officer Lt ���������������� Lieutenant Lt Cdr ��������� Lieutenant Commander MADDL ������� Mirror-Assisted Dummy Deck Landing MTP ������������ Maintenance Test Pilot NAM ����������� Naval Airman NAS ������������ Naval Air Squadron NASU ���������� Naval Aircraft Support Unit NATO ��������� North Atlantic Treaty Organisation NCO ����������� Non-Commissioned Officer OCU ����������� Operational Conversion Unit PAN ������������� Priority as Needed PCU ������������ Power Control Unit Plt Off ��������� Pilot Officer PO ��������������� Petty Officer QFI ������������� Qualified Flying Instructor QM ������������� Qualified to Maintain QS ��������������� Qualified to Sign RAAF ���������� Royal Australian Air Force RAE ������������� Royal Aircraft Establishment RAF ������������� Royal Air Force RATOG ������� Rocket-Assisted Take-Off Gear RFA ������������� Royal Fleet Auxiliary RNAS ���������� Royal Naval Air Station RNVR ���������� Royal Navy Volunteer Reserve RP ��������������� Rocket Projectile RPM ������������ Revolutions Per Minute SAM ������������ Surface-to-air Missile SAR ������������� Search and Rescue SARBE ��������� Search and Rescue Beacon SObs ����������� Senior Observer SOP ������������� Standard Operating Procedure SP ���������������� Senior Pilot Sub-Lt ��������� Sub Lieutenant T ����������������� Trainer TACAN �������� Tactical Air Navigation TT ��������������� Target Tug USAF ���������� United States Air Force USMC ��������� United States Marine Corps USN ������������ United States Navy u/s ��������������� Unserviceable VHF ������������ Very High Frequency V/STOL ������� Vertical/Short Take-Off and Landing VT ��������������� Variable Time Wg Cdr ������� Wing Commander WO ������������� Warrant Officer WRNS ��������� Women’s Royal Naval Service

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY Ballance, Theo, Howard, Lee and Sturtivant Ray, The Squadrons and Units of the Fleet Air Arm, Air Britain, 2006 Buttler, Tony, The de Havilland Sea Vixen, Air Britain, 2007 Jolly, Rick, Jackspeak – a Guide to British Naval Slang and Usage, Bloomsbury, 2011 Manning, Charles, Fly Navy: The View from the Cockpit 1945-1995, Leo Cooper, 2000 Morgan, Eric B., Stevens, John, The Scimitar File, Air Britain, 2000 Sturtivant, Ray, Burrow, Mick and Howard, Lee, Fleet Air Arm Fixed-Wing Aircraft Since 1946, Air Britain, 2004

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VOLUME ONE ERRATA P.12 Beira patrol. Ark Royal had engine problems so Eagle started the patrol, later relieved by Ark Royal. P.55 Radio and radar surcoats were green with a blue stripe. ‘Pinkies’ came from the colour of the radio pages in the aircraft manuals P.79 The horse’s name was Sir Ivor not Sir Ivo P.108 Sea Vampire squadrons – add 728, 759 P.134 Bob McCulloch, not McCullock P.137 Michael ‘Micky’ Brown was an observer P.139 Willy Stewart, not Stuart P.176 The photograph depicts another event described in this volume by Jonathan Whaley P.178 Sea Vixen photo – 893 Squadron in 1969, not 892 Squadron in 1962 P.187 Rod Richens not Roy P.207 XJ564 accident. The pilot’s instrument panel was insecure, coming back into his lap, forcing the stick back and causing the pitch-up. Robin Smith told John Love to eject, but was himself unable to pull the seat handle as his arms were trapped.

280

INDEX PLACES Abbotsinch, Renfrew 16, 24, 28, 29, 46, 82 Aden 32, 47, 69, 164, 195, 235, 236, 245 Afghanistan 6, 274 Akrotiri, Cyprus 128 Anthorn, Cumberland 17, 18 Beaulieu, Hampshire 82 Bedford 85, 168, 171, 231 Beira, Mozambique 88, 209, 254 Belize 90-91, 245 Biggin Hill, Kent 101 Boscombe Down, Wilts 82, 114, 188, 189, 208, 216, 239, 242 Bosnia 263 Bovingdon, Hertfordshire 64, 122 Bramcote, Warwickshire 17 Brawdy, Pembrokeshire 66, 75, 77, 110, 111, 131, 133-35, 139, 155, 159-60, 162, 168, 179, 246 Bristol, Avon 72 Burscough, Lancashire 16 Butterworth, Malaya 236-37, 248 Cairo, Egypt 58-60 Changi, Singapore 170, 209, 210, 238 Chesil Beach, Dorset 146 Christmas Island 19-22 Coltishall, Norfolk 142 Cottesmore, Rutland 148, 272-74 Culdrose, Cornwall 11, 17, 22-23, 28, 30-33, 46, 49, 50, 73-74, 85, 99-100, 105-106, 108-109, 110, 112-13, 117, 123, 145, 164, 168, 197 Dale, Pembrokeshire 105-106 Dar es Salaam, Tanzania 235 Decimomannu, Sardinia 144, 267 Dishforth, Yorkshire 101-103 Donibristle, Fife 28 Dunsfold, Surrey 271 Eglinton, Co Londonderry 22, 23, 25, 30, 45, 47, 48, 116

El Adem, Libya 224 Fairwood Common, Glamorgan 22 Falkland Islands 6, 139, 145, 256-59 Farnborough, Hants 66, 149, 156, 197, 200, 209, 240 Filton, Bristol 98 Ford, West Sussex 17, 39, 40, 41, 45, 66, 79, 104, 105 Gibraltar 32, 36, 37, 46, 70-71, 74, 78, 126, 130, 149, 150, 162, 173, 252, 260 Gosport, Hants 17, 23 Greenham Common, Berkshire 142-43 Hal Far, Malta 24, 28, 32, 45, 68, 71, 79, 80-82, 111, 120, 125, 126, 128, 130, 131, 167 High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire 273 Hinstock, Shropshire 16 Holme-on-Spalding-Moor, Yorkshire 222 Hong Kong 33, 179, 204, 237-39, 242, 252 Hyères, France 136, 143, 181 Idris, Libya 121, 126 Jordan 111-12 Kete, Pembrokeshire 77, 105, 108 Khormaksar, Aden 236 Kuwait 178 Leeming, Yorkshire 100, 102 Lee-on-Solent, Hants 66, 79, 82, 83, 109-11, 148, 261 Leuchars, Fife 111, 117, 144, 212-13, 217-18, 219 Linton-on-Ouse, Yorkshire 262 Lossiemouth, Moray 14, 40-41, 44, 54, 64, 67, 76, 88, 110, 111, 116, 117, 119, 121, 122, 133, 134-35, 137, 139, 140, 144, 170, 176, 190, 207, 208, 209, 213, 222-26, 229, 230, 235-38, 240, 243-44, 246-47, 250, 252, 254-55, 266 Luqa, Malta 129, 143, 186 Machrihanish, Argyll 26 Masirah, Oman 245

Merryfield, Somerset 40, 70 Mildenhall, Suffolk 142 Mombasa, Kenya 34, 69, 184, 235 Nairobi, Kenya 235, 252 Norfolk, Virginia 30, 74, 264 Nowra, New South Wales 27 Pensacola, Florida 239 Plymouth, Devon 114, 133, 146, 225, 244 Portsmouth, Hampshire 7, 36, 37, 146, 261, 262 Predannack, Cornwall 73 Prestwick, Ayrshire 23, 78, 144 Renfrew, Renfrewshire 30 Roborough, Plymouth 100, 114 San Carlos, Falklands 257 Stanley, Falklands 257 St Brides Bay 77, 133, 140, 168, 179 St Davids, Pembrokeshire 113, 131 St Mawgan, Cornwall 19 Stretton, Cheshire 106-107 Suez 6, 11, 35, 36, 45, 53-71, 235 Ta’ Qali, Malta 81 Valletta, Malta 77, 80, 175, 220-21 Valley, Anglesey 262, 267 Waddington, Lincolnshire 266 Watton, Norfolk 22, 23, 51, 148 Wisley, Surrey 214-16 Withybush, Pembrokeshire 159 Worthy Down, Hampshire 76, 106 Wyton, Cambridgeshire 148 Yeovilton, Somerset 11, 24, 28, 40, 41, 53, 67, 68, 70, 73, 75, 79, 94, 98, 106, 109, 110, 111, 113, 117, 132, 133, 141-43, 145, 156-57, 178, 181, 187, 189-90, 200, 213, 214, 217, 237, 238, 246, 248, 260-62, 266, 269, 273

PERSONNEL Abnett, WO Keith 12, 179-80, 214-15 Abrahams, Capt 141

281

282

FLEET AIR ARM BOYS VOLUME TWO

Allan, Lt David 12, 94-95, 190-92, 212-13 Allen, Lt Brian 12, 19-22, 25-26 Anderdon, Lt Cdr Nigel 12, 6364, 197 Anne, HRH Princess 75 Anson, VAdm Sir Edward 223, 235 Askins, Lt Simon 159 Atkins, Maurice 12, 163 Atkinson, Lt Dennis 31 Auckland, Bill 267 Auckland, Mike 267, 269 Bader, Douglas 142 Baldwin, Capt George 138 Ball, Flt Lt Ted 260 Barnard, Lt Cdr 36, 51 Barras, Lt Cdr George 43 Barrett, MAEO Bob 12, 73-74 Bartholomew, Lt Martin 12, 160-62, 169 Bateman, Lt ‘Neddy’ 196-97 Beatty, Cy 162 Bennett, Lt Paul 12, 192-93, 216-17 Beynon, Fg Off Andrew 150 Bickley, Capt Mike 12, 33-36 Black, George 58 Blanchett, Lt Chris 121 Blundell, Lt Cdr Giles 241 Bolton, Chris 12, 218-19 Bootherstone, Lt Paul 156-57 Borrowman, Doug 216 Bourke, Lt Terence 66 Brewes, George 12, 18 Bricker, Lt Cdr Gerry 21 Brown, Lt 109 Brown, Lt ‘Bruno’ 22 Brown, David 12, 168 Brown, Capt Eric ‘Winkle’ 17, 104, 118-20, 135 Bruyn, Flt Lt Al 170 Bull, Tony 73-74 Burke, Lt 31 Burns, Bobby 222-23, 230 Butler, Lt Cdr Terry 34, 37 Cadoret, Lt Cdr Pierre 12, 141, 143 Camm, Sir Sydney 142 Carmichael, Cdr Peter 12, 17

Carver, Malcolm 223 Casperd, Lt Colin 66 Cass, Geoff 176 Chambers, Lt Cdr ‘Chas’ 261 Chaplin, Lt Cdr Paul 13, 28-29 Charles, Nigel 142 Chase, Lt Cdr H B, USN 226-27 Chester-Lawrence, Lt Cdr Leon 140 Childs, Keith 13, 32-33 Chitty, Ron 13, 28 Clapp, Cdre Michael 13, 22, 27-28, 31-32 Clarke, Sub-Lt 60 Clinch, Lt 109 Cobb, Lt Cdr 156 Cockerell, Flt Lt Tim 241 Cole-Hamilton, Mike 13, 78, 114, 132-34, 137, 151-60 Coleman, John 223 Copeland, Lt Andy 13, 14, 137-38 Cotton, Keith 13, 29, 116 Covington, Cdr Bill 13, 170-75, 270-74 Coward, Lt Cdr John 13, 19, 46, 47-49 Cox, Robin 253 Craggs, Bryan 13, 163 Crane, Wg Cdr Bob 13, 193-94 Cullen, Myles 175 Cunningham, RAdm Tom 13 Darby, Tony 155 Davies, Arthur 252 Davies, Lt Cdr Brian 216 Davies van Zoen, Catherine 13, 72-73, 98, 147, 213-14, 248 de Rouvillois, François, French navy 253 de Souza, Lt Peter 210 de Winton, Capt John 13, 68-69, 99-100, 178-79, 235-39 Dimmock, Lt Cdr Roger 66, 242 Dines, Lt John 214 Dixon, Lt Cdr John 13, 187-88, 217-18, 219-20 Dorey, Flt Lt A 117 Doust, Lt M J 226 Drake, Lt Cdr Hugh 216 Duncan, Jimmy 115

Eacott, John 13, 220-21 Eagles, Lt Cdr Dave 13, 27, 198, 199-200, 239-40 Eatwell, John 244-45 Edward, Lt Cdr Bob 13, 38-43, 208-209 Edward, Fg Off William 150 Eeles, Flt Lt Tom 241 Elphick, Brian 13, 35, 36-37, 111-12 Evans, Bob ‘Crash’ 98 Farquhar, Lt Cdr Stan 40 Fieldhouse, Lt Cdr Derek 197 Fletcher, Lt Terry 195 Ford, Cdr John 13, 53-63, 64-65, 84-92, 121-23, 130, 177, 201-203, 204, 209 Ford, Flt Lt Peter 150 Forrest, Lt 108, 112 Frame, Peter 154-55 French, Sub-Lt Mike 169 Garlick, Mike 13, 135, 180-82 Gedge, Cdr Tim 13, 218 Gick, RAdm Percy 237 Gleadow, Lt Cdr Andrew 230-34, 247 Goddard, Peter 216 Goetz, Cdr Tim 13, 162-63, 164-67 Goodenough, Lt Cdr Dick 13, 224, 262-63 Goodman, Lt Benny 36 Gorshkov, Adm S G, Soviet navy 251 Gosnell, Jerry 141, 144 Grant, Brian 13, 142, 143, 200 Greening, Jimmy 13, 16 Grier-Rees, Lt Cdr Nigel 192, 209-10 Grindal, Jeremy 27 Gunning, Jock 125 Hamilton, Adm Sir John 111 Hamilton, Doug 249 Hamilton, Ian 238-39 Harris, Lt Cdr Nick 216 Harris, Sub-Lt Keith 35 Harrow, Mike 242 Hartwell, Lt Barry 39 Hayward, Lt Tony 13, 50, 228-30 Hickling, Al 216

INDEX283 Hiles, Lt Cdr Peter 13, 17, 30, 114-15 Hitchings, Sub-Lt M J 167 Holloway, Martin 142 Holmes, Lt Steve 269 Homan, Geoff 235 Hopkins, Capt Frank 43 Howard, Cdr David 141, 142 Hulett, Lt Pete 174 Humphries, Bob 157 Hussein, King of Jordan 111 Jackson, Flt Lt 171 Jackson, Lt R G F 167 James, Lt Chris 13, 22-23, 46-47 Janvrin, RAdm Richard 237 Jermy, Mike 137, 175 Johnston, CPO Brian 262 Jones, Lt Bob 69 Jones, Lt Mervyn 13, 51-52, 69-70, 123-24, 196-97 Keenan, CPO John 13, 116-17, 149-50, 167, 217-18, 225-28 Kelly, Lt Cdr Dennis 66 Kemp, Flt Lt Lou 13, 240-42 Kennedy, President John F 195, 237 Khrushchev, Nikita 195, 228 King, Lt P 231 Kistruck, Lt Dave 263 Lacayo, Cdr Tony 31 Lamb, Lt Cdr 171 Lambert, Ken 13, 108-109, 112-13 Layard, Adm Sir Michael 13, 135, 180, 195 Leahy, Lt Cdr ‘Spiv’ 66, 222-23, 235, 238-39 Leece, Lt Cdr Tom 66 Leeming, Stuart 13, 241, 242-43 Legg, Sub-Lt David 210-11 Leppard, Lt Cdr Keith 208 Lewin, Adm Sir Terence 74 Lewin, Tim 13, 95 Lobb, Lt Owen 109 Lovegrove, Lt 108 Maccabe, Ian 162 MacDonald, Cdr Doug 13, 190 Maddox, Lt Cdr Mike 13, 148-49 Markley, Lt W E, USN 226-27 Marsden, Lt Arthur 81

Matthews, Lt Albert 81 McDermott, Beverley 13, 75 McDonald, Terry 13, 67, 138 McKenzie, Lt 190 McLean, ‘Carbo’ 136 McManus, Pete 210 McQueen, Lt Cdr Paddy 56 Meecham, Roger 13, 130-31 Mellor, Lt Cdr ‘Monty’ 126 Middleton, Lt John 52 Miller, Lt M W 167 Mills, Lt ‘Freddy’ 208 Milne, Lt Cdr Jim 13, 120-21 Milnes, Lt Cdr Arthur ‘Arfer’ 137 Moore, Lt Bryn 159 Morgan, Lt Cdr Dave 13, 256-59 Morris, Lt Colin 13, 131, 189-90, 209-10 Morter, Derek 13, 141-43 Mountain, Lt Patrick 13, 23-24 Mumford, Flt Lt 208 Murricane, Cdr J D 28 Musgrove, Lt F C 109 Nash, Lt Basil 13, 104-108 Nash, Lt J E ‘Lofty’ 52 Norman, Lt Cdr Danny 208 Norman, Lt Cdr Mike 13, 100-104, 117-20, 126-30 Noyse, Lt Roy 208 O’Connell, Plt Off Max 170 Oliver, Flt Lt 32 Olsson, Lt Chris 241 Owen, Lt Brent 13, 204-208 Oxley, George 238 Parker, Lt Cdr Henry 13, 136, 243-44, 245 Parry, David 13, 225 Parsons, Lt Chris ‘Jack’ 34-35 Pearson, Sydney 13, 16 Peck, Lt Graham 13, 110-11, 139-40 Pentreath, David 66 Pepper, Lt Dave 208 Perman, Lt Cdr Don 13, 194-95 Philip, HRH Prince 237 Pickles, Dave 50 Pinder, Lt Noel 13, 169-70 Player, Lt Cdr Rod 13, 264-70 Proyer, Lt Cdr 120

Pugsley, Chris 13, 83-84 Rae, Jim 13, 51 Randall, Lt Peter 13, 35 Rawbone, Lt Noel 254 Reid, Cdre Duncan 13, 263-64 Reynolds, Lt Cdr Peter ‘Fred’ 198, 199 Richardson, Dougie 154 Ridgway, Tim 126 Roberts, Robbie 13, 203 Rose, Peter 13, 187 Rotheram, Cdr Martin 13, 171, 175-76 Rowland, Bob 108 Ryce, Sub-Lt Bill 208 Saunders, Lt Cdr Sandy 13, 77, 131-32 Saunders, Leading Wren Rosemary 75-78 Scott, Lt Cdr Robert 13, 249-52 Scott, Lt Cdr Taylor 190, 271 Searles, Dick 13, 52, 93, 197-98 Sellers, Leading Mechanic Donald 13, 78-83 Sharman, Lt Kim 13, 188-89 Sharp, Mike 142 Sheppard, Lt Cdr Peter 251 Sinclair, Lt Cdr Sandy 25 Slade, Hugh 176 Smart, Flt Lt Graham 254 Smith, Lt Dave 257 Smith, Gerry 40-42 Smith, Nick 13, 263 Smith, Lt Tony 13, 195 Speirs, CPO Jim 13, 83, 114 Spinks, Mike 24 Squire, ACM Sir Peter 273 Stanley, Lt Gilbert 131-32 Stephens, Anthony 13, 44, 140 Stephenson, Lt Cdr Digby 13, 252-54 Stevens, LAC John 13, 168 Stewart, Willy 223 Stock, Lt Cdr 31 Sturgeon, John 13, 30-31, 50-51, 70-71 Sumner, Lt Keith 35 Swann, Lt Cress 195 Swift, Lt Stacey 197 Tarver, Cdr Allan 13, 275

284

FLEET AIR ARM BOYS VOLUME TWO

Tayler, Lt Cdr Tony 13, 26-27 Thomson, Lt Cdr Sir Mark 13, 65, 196 Thorley, Lt Cdr Tim 13, 125-26, 235 Thorpe, Lt Bill 208 Threlfall, Flt Lt 100 Tod, VAdm Sir Jonathan 6-7, 13, 135-36, 211, 246-48 Todd, Mike 142 Toomey, Lt Cdr Brian 13, 65-66, 222-23 Topliss, Ginger 237 Tuite, Lt Adrian 13, 145-47 Turk Jnr, Lt Cdr Herman Lee, USN 229 Turner, Lt Clive 36 Turner, CPO Mike 13, 260-62 Tuttle, Lt, USN 114-15 Underwood, Godfrey 13, 141, 143-45 Varma, Lt Shan 135 Walker, Lt Sir Patrick 26 Walkinshaw, Cdr Colin 13, 244-46 Walmsley, Derek 243 Waring, Lt Paddy 209-10 Waterhouse, Lt Cdr Paul 13, 215-16 Weetman, Sub-Lt Don 133-34 Whaley, Lt Jonathon 13, 182-87 Wheatly, Pete 40 White, Lt Arthur 120 White, Stuart 190 Whybro, Flt Lt Mike 241 Wilcock, Lt 189 Williams, Barrie 24 Williams, Lt H J 195 Willis, Terry 236 Wilson, Lt Brian 66 Wilson, ‘Tug’ 167 Winter, Robin 13, 163 Witts, ‘Pip’ 73 Wooff, Lt G 127-30 Wyboro, Fg Off Mick 248 Yates, Dick 73 Zuckerman, Sir Solly 246

MILITARY ORGANISATIONS RAF squadrons 1 270-71 3 270 4 270 20 270 97 148 360 11, 145, 148-49, 269 361 11

Royal Navy and RFA ships Activity 15 Albion 18, 29, 31-32, 33-35, 36-37, 38, 44, 45, 53, 55, 57, 60-63, 67, 68, 70 Ark Royal (1) 7, 10, 29, 32, 36, 38-40, 42, 43, 45, 50, 52, 53, 66, 68, 84-85, 89, 93, 151, 167, 171, 175-76, 177-78, 180, 181, 201, 204, 208, 210, 211, 212, 214, 222, 224, 236, 239, 243, 252-53, 256 Ark Royal (2) 256, 270-71 Arrow 74 Bulwark 18, 29, 31-32, 38, 44, 45, 53, 54-55, 63, 67, 68, 99 Centaur 18, 19, 29, 34, 45, 46, 53, 67, 69, 78, 84, 99, 151, 153-55, 177-80, 194, 196, 201, 211, 222-23 Ceylon 204 Chichester 127 Colossus 15 Engadine 73 Eagle 7, 16, 18, 24, 26, 29, 31, 38, 39, 42, 45, 47, 53, 55, 63, 64, 67-68, 83, 114, 151, 161-62, 167, 177, 179, 180-82, 185-86, 192, 195, 201, 209, 212, 222, 225-27, 232, 237, 241-42, 244, 247, 252-54, 256 Glory 24, 29, 82, 109, 116 Hermes 7, 45, 73-74, 83, 151, 156-58, 164, 177, 178, 181, 194, 195, 197-98, 201, 222, 224, 239, 242, 247, 256-57, 259, 260-61, 272 Illustrious 7, 15, 16, 18, 24, 38, 45, 53, 99, 104, 114, 116, 256, 270 Implacable 15-17, 24, 108, 116

Indomitable 15, 16, 24 Invincible 83, 256, 260, 262-63, 269, 270, 272 Ocean 24, 80, 99, 116 Pretoria Castle 15, 18, 112 Prince of Wales 9, 10, 275 Queen Elizabeth 9, 10, 275 Reliant 195 Smiter 15 Theseus 15, 18, 24, 81, 116 Triumph 80, 99, 104, 116 Unicorn 116 Venerable 15, 24 Vengeance 15, 24, 83, 116 Victorious 18, 29, 36-37, 45, 67, 69, 151, 164, 177, 201, 208, 222, 224, 226-28, 235-38 Warrior 18, 19, 21, 22, 24, 44

Royal Navy squadrons and units 700Z 222, 224, 235, 237 703 15, 16, 24, 38, 45, 53, 99, 104, 109, 114, 116, 125 719 15, 24, 45-47 720 79 728 45, 79-82, 104, 111, 113, 114, 115, 125, 126, 131 728B 24, 125 736 7, 11, 16, 24, 67, 125, 132, 134, 145, 207, 222, 224, 234, 241, 246, 247, 249 737 15, 24, 25, 45, 46, 47 738 16, 53, 66, 67, 132, 134, 135, 139-40 744 15, 18, 19, 24, 45, 47, 115, 116 750 7, 15, 24, 110, 116-17, 131, 132 751 18, 22-24, 104 758 16, 113 759 16, 125, 134-35, 137, 139, 155 762 79, 104, 109 764 24, 38, 39, 53, 125, 132, 134-38, 140, 201, 207 766 24, 27, 132, 134, 177, 178-79, 181, 182, 190, 276 767 15, 18, 24, 53, 125, 212-13 778 15, 16, 18, 24, 29-30, 79, 104, 116, 125

INDEX285 781 24, 53, 99, 100, 110-11, 113, 116, 125, 132 790 24, 104-105, 108-109, 112-13 800 7, 53, 59-60, 66, 167, 201, 208, 211, 222, 225-26, 231, 237, 241, 242, 244, 246, 247, 252, 256, 260-64, 269, 271, 276 800B 201, 209-10 801 7, 53, 79, 97, 222, 224, 226, 228, 235-39, 242, 247, 256, 262, 270, 271, 276 802 53 803 7, 53, 201, 207, 210, 222, 247, 276 804 53, 80, 201 807 53, 81, 208 809 67-69, 85, 87, 89-90, 132, 156, 207, 220, 222, 224, 237, 240, 243-44, 250-55, 256, 276 810 24, 45, 46, 53, 81 811 53, 104-105 812 15, 24, 45, 47 813 16, 17, 24, 38, 108, 125 814 15, 18, 19, 24, 26, 45, 73, 74 820 18, 23, 24, 45, 254, 276 822 15, 16, 24 824 15, 18, 24, 45, 252, 276 826 24, 45, 156, 276 831 18, 22-23, 38, 40, 42, 45, 50, 51, 67, 116, 132, 148 849 10, 29-36, 45, 49, 52, 133, 139, 151, 161, 164, 171, 175, 176, 276 890 67, 132, 177, 178, 180-81 891 46, 67, 69, 132 892 67, 77, 85, 87, 90, 156, 177, 181, 197, 212, 214, 217, 221, 276 893 67, 69, 117, 178-79, 181, 190, 196-97, 276 894 67, 70, 77 897 53, 77 899 53, 77, 181 1830 18, 24, 28, 116 1831 24, 99, 106, 112, 132 1840 24, 45, 99, 116 1842 45 1843 28 1 Ferry Flight 106

ADTU 67 Britannia Flight 100, 113, 238 FONAC 217 Fred’s Five 198-99 FRADU 11, 67, 134, 141-45, 177, 181, 200, 217 FRU 11, 53, 67, 104, 106, 125, 132, 134, 143, 145, 201 Historic Flight 28, 53, 98 NASU 214 PTF 212, 219 Red Hawks 66 Simon’s Sircus 198, 240

MISCELLANEOUS A&AEE 15, 24, 38, 44, 45, 53, 82, 99, 104, 132, 151, 177, 201, 212, 222 AFEE 82 Airwork 11, 68-69, 104, 106, 113, 131, 134, 200 Bismarck 8, 237 Clemenceau 253 Exercises: Dawn Patrol 242 Phoenix 42-43 Poker Hand 197 Royal Knight 89 Scatter 121 Strong Express 162 Flight Refuelling 89-91, 108, 156, 171, 185, 194, 197, 203, 209, 216, 245, 247, 250 JATE 264 JFH 9, 256, 270, 273-75 Operations: Damon 47, 69 Deny Flight 263 Grapple 19 Musketeer 38, 43, 53, 67 Royal Australian Navy squadrons: 851 19, 27 Sverdlov-class cruiser 65, 251-53 Torrey Canyon 189-90, 245-47 US Navy ships: America 197 Birmingham 8 Forrestal 220-21 Lexington 239 Nautilus 73 Pennsylvania 8 US Navy squadrons: VMFA-531 220-21

Navy Wings aims to catalyse remembrance and inspire future generations by bringing together the aircraft, people and story of flying from ships, and we do this primarily by flying our heritage naval aircraft around the UK. The Navy Wings Collection unites a range of owners and operators of historic Naval aircraft. This outstanding array of aircraft, when considered together, provides a unique insight into the full suite of Naval aviation achievements, from the very earliest days of flying aircraft over the water to the breathtaking technological advances that enable high-speed jets and heavy helicopters to land on the moving decks of ships at sea.

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