Trials and Errors

by Mike Brooke

  Visits were usually flown in our Andover, XS 606, and I can recall several amusing happenings involving such passenger flights. The first was when John Thorpe and Keith Crawford were flying us to Rochester airfield in Kent for our visit to the avionics company of Marconi-Elliott. The airfield at Rochester was all grass; normally no problem for our Andover, but on this day we arrived just after it had been mowed. This became very apparent after landing when John selected reverse pitch on the propellers and we disappeared in a green cloud. The engineers were picking bits of grass out of all sorts of places on the aeroplane for days afterwards!

  On another occasion we were on our return leg from a visit to Singer Link-Miles at Lancing in Sussex; this time it was my turn to be co-pilot to John Thorpe. We had left Shoreham Airport a little later than planned and so we were cruising at the best speed to make it back before the airfield at Boscombe closed. I was, as is usual duty for the ‘co’, doing all the radio chat. As we got closer to Boscombe Down I was instructed by Farnborough radar that the Boscombe approach controller had us on his radar and that I should now call him. So I did: ‘Boscombe, this is Tester 54, we are an Andover, over Andover, on a radar handover, over.’ Bless him, his reply was, ‘Say again?’ So I got to say it twice. Opportunities in life like that come along so rarely!

  When I flew the Andover, especially as captain, I liked to use the on-board Public Address (PA) system. I would welcome everyone on board this ‘Sunshine Airways’ flight to wherever we were going, with all the ‘Captain Speaking’ bits about heights and speeds, time of arrival and weather. Such fun!

  Somewhere along the route I liked to ask the folks down the back to look out for a major landmark and, if they spotted it, to please let the navigator know. I usually closed in-flight messages with: ‘… and there is nothing wrong with the starboard engine.’

  However, on one return to base the port engine had a problem that required it to be shut down. Once we had feathered the prop successfully I put out the following message on the PA system: ‘Those of you sitting on the port side and are still awake may be aware that the port propeller is not doing its usual thing. Please do not be alarmed. We are continuing our journey back to Boscombe Down – and be assured there is nothing wrong with the starboard engine.’ We landed safely off a single-engine approach.

  On another occasion Boscombe greeted us with the news that some sort of mishap had blocked the main runway and that the second runway was, as we already knew, being resurfaced. We were told that we were diverted to RAF Lyneham.

  ‘Boscombe, Tester 52, is the grass runway available?’ I asked.

  ‘Affirmative,’ came the reply.

  ‘OK, we’ll use that.’

  I then got on the PA system and told the talking ballast that we could not use the runway and that we were being diverted; however, I purposely omitted to say to where. It was Friday afternoon and Happy Hour was due to start in thirty minutes. There was an audible collective groan from the back. It was time to let them off the hook.

  ‘Oh yes, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. We are diverted to the grass strip. You’ll still make it to happy hour!’ I announced on the PA system. Cheers all round.

  Another thing that we did with the Andover was to renew the procedural element of our instrument ratings by flying on the airways system and carrying out an ILS approach and landing at our destination. Occasionally we used to fly these sorties to and from Guernsey in the Channel Islands. This gave us an opportunity to re-qualify two of us and show our collective thanks to all those folk around Boscombe Down that helped the school in its work: such as typists, technicians, mechanics, photographers, secretaries, scientists and painters.

  The flights would be arranged and the word put around that places were available on a first-come, first-served basis. We rarely had trouble filling the forty or so seats and the excursion, aft of the cockpit door at least, would quickly take on the atmosphere of a school trip or works outing! After landing at Guernsey Airport at about 11 a.m. there would be about three hours’ free time for people to take a bus or taxi into the island’s capital, St Peter Port, for duty free shopping at Bucktrouts drinks emporium or sightseeing and a pub lunch; or any combination of the three!

  One time I was doing my test and so sitting in the left-hand seat. I had settled the aeroplane down on the airway and the autopilot was tracking us towards the next radio beacon. We had received a request for some of the ladies from the typing pool to come and look at the flight deck, which had been approved by Ron Rhodes, my examiner and captain. It was time for a ‘wizard wheeze’!

  I pulled the oxygen hose out of its box on the left-hand side and fitted one of my gloves over the end of it, securing it with an elastic band supplied by our navigator, Cliff Ware. I turned on the oxygen supply and the glove inflated, then I wedged it onto the left-hand end of the control yoke and dropped my right hand onto the autopilot control panel alongside my right thigh. The women arrived. The usual question, ‘how do you look at all those instruments?’ was answered with the usual answer: ‘One at a time.’

  Then one of the women noticed the thin green ‘arm’ and its podgy ‘hand’ on the controls. ‘What’s that?’ she shrilly enquired.

  ‘Oh, that’s the autopilot – we call him George,’ I enlightened her. Nervous giggles ensued. ‘Do you want to see it work?’ I asked.

  Curiosity got the better of them, ‘Oooh, yes please.’

  ‘Turn right please, George,’ I intoned politely. With my right hand, resting casually on the autopilot control panel and well out of the ladies’ field of view I turned the bank controller to the right. The control yoke moved and, of course, ‘the hand’ went with it.

  After a few seconds I said, ‘OK, George, please now turn left back onto our heading.’

  I hit the required button and the aeroplane did exactly what it was programmed to do. More nervous giggles followed.

  ‘Would you like to tell George what to do?’ I asked. Eventually one of the women said she would.

  ‘OK, go ahead,’ I said.

  Rather timidly she said, ‘Turn left, George.’ Nothing happened.

  ‘It doesn’t work – I don’t believe you!’ she said, now less timid.

  ‘It does,’ I replied, ‘but you forgot to say “please”.’

  ‘Oh. Turn left please, George.’

  I did my fiddling with the autopilot controls, still unnoticed, and there were squeals of delight. It was all getting a bit too much for dear old Ron so we asked the women to leave and I got on with the rest of the test! I passed.

  Then there was the time when we nearly didn’t get home from Paris. On 2 June 1983, the Boss, Wg Cdr Robin Hargreaves and I, as co-pilot, flew the school staff and students to Paris Le Bourget for a day at the Paris Air Show. It was great to be able to deliver our chattering cargo right into the heart of the show. After we had parked, lowered the rear ramp and the whole aircraft through the unique ‘kneeling system’, all were warned to be back at 5 p.m. at the latest. We had a departure slot at 5.40 and if we missed that we would probably not get out of Paris until well into the evening.

  With that caution ringing in their ears the hordes departed for their day out and individual invitations to various aerospace companies’ hospitality chalets. When our engineer, Flt Lt Brian Hemming, had secured the aircraft, we crew set off for our individual dates with destiny; however, unlike the rest, we would not be partaking of the rouge or the blanc with our lunch.

  We reconvened by the Andover well ahead of time, opened up and I got on the radio to confirm our departure slot. ‘Tester 50, eeet eez still at 17.40 hours,’ was the reply. ‘Please call when you start your engines.’

  As our watches (aircrew for the use of) approached 5 p.m. the noise in the cabin had increased markedly as everyone related their stories of the day, in voices no doubt amplified by their consumption of good food and wine. Brian Hemming went to do a head-count.

  ‘We’re two down,’ he announced when he re-entered the cockpit.
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  ‘Who?’ asked the Boss.

  ‘The two Aussies,’ came the almost predictable answer.

  ‘Well we can’t wait much longer. We’ll start the engines but I’ll leave the ramp open. Keep the ladder handy in case they turn up,’ the Boss instructed. ‘Mike, call the tower for permission to start.’

  I did so and they replied with yet another confirmation of our departure slot. By the time we had got the engines going and carried out the after-start checks we were still two short. I called for permission to taxi, which was instantly approved. We had to reverse out of our parking slot, so Brian stationed himself on the ramp and plugged into the intercom, so he could warn us if anything got in our way. Or even if any Aussies suddenly appeared.

  ‘Feet on the floor!’ stressed the Boss. He and I had to keep our feet well clear of the toe-operated brakes so that we did not instinctively try to stop or slow our rearward motion with the brakes and so endanger the aircraft by tipping it tail-down. He then selected reverse pitch on the props and the aircraft slowly started its rearwards journey. Once we had moved a few metres the Boss used the nose wheel steering to turn us onto the taxiway that had been behind us. Now we had to stop, so reverse pitch was cancelled and a modicum of forward thrust was selected. After a few seconds we stopped and then started moving forward. We followed the taxiway towards the centre of the airfield and as we passed the end of the crowd barriers we heard, ‘There they are!’ from Brian at the back. He had seen two figures vaulting the crowd barrier, being chased by a small group of Gendarmes. The Boss stopped and Brian lowered the ladder. The escapees ran directly towards us, gradually outstripping the long arm of the law.

  ‘Tester 50, why ’ave you stopped?’ enquired the tower controller, ‘Do you ’ave a problem?’

  ‘Only a minor one,’ I replied, ‘We will be on the move soon.’

  ‘Well you only ’ave three minutes to make your take-off. Eef you miss zat, you will not be able to go before 19.45.’

  I looked at the Le Bourget airfield plan I had in front of me and noticed that there was an access taxiway to the runway well before the far end.

  ‘Are you happy to take off with 5,000ft of runway available?’ I asked the Boss.

  ‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Are those reprobates aboard now?’ he asked Brian.

  ‘Yes, Boss, you can raise the ramp now,’ came the reply. I selected the appropriate switch as the Boss set off at a merry pace.

  ‘We are OK now and we request departure from taxiway Charlie,’ I transmitted. We had one minute to go. The Boss went through the pre-take-off checks with Brian, who was now back up front with us, and completed them just as we arrived at the runway.

  ‘Tester 50, you are cleared for departure. Follow ze standard Le Bourget departure procedure and call Paris Control on 123.55 after you pass 1,000ft. Bon voyage!’ We arrived home before the airfield closed and drinks were on the Aussies that night!

  The other visits to the Continent included the French Test Pilots’ School and Dassault Aviation, both based at Istres in Provence; the Italian Flight Test Centre at the airfield of Pratica di Mare outside Rome; and the German Air Force Flight Test Centre at Manching near Munich. All these locations made for a motivating, educational and entertaining time for us all, especially the students. There was usually some flying on offer and plenty of interaction with test pilots and engineers involved in some of the latest aerospace R&D. Of course, as was usual when industry has the opportunity to influence possible international future movers and shakers, they tend to entertain royally. The high spot each year was the Dassault lunch, which included ample quantities of their own wines; the short straw of each tour was to be nominated as crew for the leg from France to Germany! Perhaps the low spot, for me at least, was the Schweinshaxe to which we were treated in Bavaria. Lots of people seemed to rave about it, but I was with Andy Mechling, one of our US Navy students, when he spotted a Bavarian branch of McDonald’s on our way to the hotel. ‘Great! There’s a McDonald’s – real food!’

  In Rome the Italians always gave an introductory lecture that included the history of Italian aviation, which started surprisingly early and was very innovative. While visiting Pratica we always stayed in hotels in Rome, about 20km north-east of the airbase. The coach journeys to and from Rome were invariably full of incident and entertainment. Once we collided with a lorry, on another occasion our driver took a shortcut down some narrow Roman backstreets and eventually became firmly wedged between parked cars; the Carabinieri were not amused, nor were the owners of the several Fiat 500s involved, which had to be lifted out of the way!

  However, evenings out in the Eternal City were a wonderful experience, although the highly inflated Italian currency, lire, made the bills seem inordinately expensive. Strangely the international four-letter code for the air base at Pratica di Mare was Lire! During my sojourns in Rome I took in most of the sights: the Colosseum, Vatican City with St Peter’s Square and Basilica, the Spanish Steps, eating al fresco in the Piazza Navona, the Trevi Fountain (with the obligatory coin chucked in) and much more. However, the historical site that made the biggest impression on me was the Roman Forum; it just oozed times gone by. But in Rome’s present the fearsome pace of the traffic and the habitual triple parking by the natives made me resolve to never bring a car into Rome! In speaking of this to one of the Italian test pilots, Luca Evangelisti, he explained that Roman traffic lights had more than three colours. There were not only red, amber and green, but also red-red and red-green as well as green-green and green-red! He tried to explain it but soon lost me; it was all to do with the adjacent pedestrian crossing lights! No wonder there are so many road traffic accidents in Rome!

  While at Pratica I flew an Aermacchi MB-339 jet trainer, an Aeritalia G.222 transport and an Agusta-Bell 204 (Huey) helicopter. All the pilots I flew with were very trusting and accommodating in letting me fly for most of the sorties. The MB-339’s performance was not as good as the Hawk, but it had an HUD and an on-board navigation system that needed some management. In lacking these the Hawk fell short, at least in my opinion, as a trainer for the likes of the Harrier, Jaguar and Tornado. The G.222 handled very nicely and had an amazing trick up its sleeve: reverse pitch could be selected in flight so allowing astoundingly steep dives and approaches to be made. I thought that there might be some safety loopholes with this. The trip in the ‘Huey’ was brilliant. In typical Italian fashion the captain, the Boss of the test centre Col Anzani, seemed to assume that I knew how to fly helicopters without asking me. Fortunately, of course, I did. All I needed were a few numbers to aim at. The AB 204 was as rugged and basic as it appeared and we ‘wokka-wokka’ed’ our way around looking at the scenery. The good colonel did all the navigating and got me to fly over the Pope’s summer residence at Castel Gandolfo and the adjacent Lake Albano. It was a pretty impressive holiday home sitting on the ridge of the hills overlooking the glassy waters of the lake. I wondered if the Pope ever took a bit of time out to go fishing! Back at base I asked if I could try an engine-off landing but was politely but firmly told that such things were not done unless absolutely essential!

  During our visits to Istres I only flew once. There was some more exciting stuff on offer, such as Mirage and Alpha-jet, but all I got was a flight in the left-hand seat of a pocket-sized twin-turboprop transport aircraft called a Nord 262 Frégate. It was a sort of high-winged, two-thirds scale Andover with about two-thirds of the latter’s performance. Commandant Thomas and I took the aircraft out over the Camargue at around 8,000ft and I stalled it, flew around on one engine, tried to establish its critical speeds and looked at the 262’s handling and stability. It was all fairly unremarkable and we then returned to Istres where we used a very small portion of the 4,000m runway for a few circuits and landings.

  But the most memorable flight of all our European trips was to happen at Manching on 16 October 1981. On the second day there I was told to go meet with Herr Horst Philipp. Horst had been a civilian test pilot with the Ger
man Air Force Flight Test Centre for almost twenty years and already was a bit of a legend in his own lifetime. He had flown many experimental types including the Harrier-like VFW VAK 191, and its ‘Flying Bedstead’ predecessor the SG 1262, both of which were VTOL research machines. Horst had also flown many operational types from around the world, including the American F-15, F-16, F-18 and F-20 as well as French types such as the Mirage 3 and Mirage 2000. But he probably had most time on the Lockheed F-104, which the Luftwaffe had procured in the mid 1960s. And it was the dual-controlled version of that very sharp-pointed flying machine that I was going to fly, with Horst sitting in the back. What a brave chap!

  We walked out to the shiny, low slung, almost wingless fighter and Horst showed me round. It didn’t take long! There were red flexible guards on the wing leading edges because they are so sharp that they could cut and be easily damaged. The wingspan was only just over 20ft! The high T-tail at the back of the tube-like fuselage looked too big – but at Mach 2 the directional stability would need all the help it could get.

  I climbed into the front cockpit and Horst gave me the guided tour. Like most American cockpits there was sufficient room for comfort, if not for swinging felines, and the instrument panel was very typical of the era. Horst talked me through the engine start sequence and very soon the Pratt & Whitney J-79 was rumbling satisfyingly behind us and it was time to go. But then the trip almost came to a stop before it had started. Horst had showed me the button on the stick for selecting nose wheel steering and I had my middle finger poised over that as I waved the chocks away and added a modicum of power before releasing the brakes. After rolling forward a couple of metres I stabbed the toe-brakes to check that they were working. They were. We were parked outside a hangar and the doors ahead of us were partly open. It was then that I noticed that a crowd of ETPS folk were standing there watching. Ignoring them I pressed the required button to select nose wheel steering on. There didn’t seem to be a light or a caption to tell me that it was, nevertheless I put on full left rudder to turn us away from the hangar doors. Nothing happened.