Trials and Errors

by Mike Brooke

  We recovered and went home. He was feeling OK and we didn’t have a repeat of the previous sortie. By the time that we landed we had been airborne for all of forty minutes. Simon was pleased and relieved. The ground crew presented him with a polished and engraved Hunter starter cartridge, which he proudly displayed in the studio on the day of the transmission. My kids were impressed only a little that their daddy had been on Blue Peter, and a tiny bit more that he had met Simon Groom, but they were very disappointed that he hadn’t met the Blue Peter dog-of-the-day, Goldie! It later transpired that the internal camera facing Simon had failed just after we had entered the spin. Fortunately we did have a recording of his face before he lowered his tinted visor so the kids could see that it was really him. What the producers wanted was shots of someone with a helmet, showing its Blue Peter badge, and the tinted visor down during the spin. One of our engineers, Brian Hemming, volunteered to be Simon’s stand-in and we just went up and filmed a couple of inverted spins with the camera on top of the instrument panel viewing Brian’s head. On the programme they used some of that and edited it in over the original soundtrack – it all looked very genuine. They also asked if we could get some external shots while the Hunter was spinning. Fortunately we had already done that during some filming in 1982 for a Central Office of Information film. On that occasion John Thorpe had volunteered to fly a Hawk with one of our photographers in the back and I had another on board the Hunter with me. I knew already that John was an exceptional pilot but I had thought that chasing an inverted spin would be nigh on impossible. In the event we had a couple of goes at it and on the second I was aware of a red, white and blue shape flashing by the cockpit – not that far away! As I recovered JT’s voice came loud and clear over the radio: ‘DON’T TURN LEFT!’ So I didn’t. Then he appeared as if by magic on our left wingtip to follow us home. The resulting video was amazing and showed the world just what a masterful pilot JT was. I was glad that I had no idea at the time just how close he had got!

  Another spin-off (excuse the pun!) from the anniversary year was a proposal from Wg Cdr Chris Greaves, via Allan ‘Woody’ Wood of the Boscombe Down Workshops, that an ETPS First Day Cover be designed and flown. In negotiations it was agreed that 1,000 covers would be prepared and that we would fly all 1,000 at 1,000mph in the Lightning. Accordingly on 25 April ‘Woody’, having been medically cleared to fly and fully kitted out, met me by the Lightning. He was carrying a cardboard box. I hadn’t realised just how much room 1,000 envelopes occupied. The Lightning is a very dense aeroplane and has little or no space for cardboard boxes. So I told Woody that he would have to sit with the box on his knees! If we had to eject he would have to take it with him! To reach 1,000mph I had to calculate the indicated Mach number, which meant translating mph to knots and then, using the forecast temperature at 36,000ft, applying the numbers to my little-used Dalton Aviators’ Computer to get the answer. When I’d got that I decided that we would go for 1.5 Mach to make sure that we had travelled for a minute or two at 1,000mph. We took off and climbed at 20,000ft per minute on the familiar south-west track over the English Channel. I levelled off and when the London Military controller told me I turned left into the supersonic corridor. Once on heading I selected full afterburner and we accelerated smoothly through the ‘sound barrier’. Allan was wide-eyed, sitting there quietly taking it all in. ‘We’re going faster than our sound now, Woody,’ I said. ‘So it’s no good shouting!’

  Soon the speed arrived at 1.5 Mach and I cancelled the afterburners but held full, dry power to hold the speed for at least a minute; it seemed the right thing to do! Then I slowed down gently and once we were subsonic I got clearance to turn left back towards Boscombe Down. During the recovery I talked through everything that I was doing and showed Woody the autopilot approach. I kept my hands clear of the controls right down to a couple of hundred feet then disconnected ‘George’ and landed. Job done! Well, actually not quite job done. I then had to take the box home and sign every single envelope in exactly the right place and, having been given my share of the stamps, stick them on, very carefully, absolutely upright with just the right amount of envelope showing around their top and right edges! But it was all well worth the effort and I got another Lightning flight out of it!

  37 CHOOSING A NEW PATH

  The year 1982 was as busy as ever but, while I was running to keep up, my wife, Mo, had very little to do. She had worked while we were living in Bedfordshire, but now she was finding herself with a lot of time on her hands. In the middle of the year she came across information on a government subsidised Training Opportunities or TOPS Course in Systems Analysis. She followed this up, went to take the ‘entrance exam’ and passed! Eventually she was notified that the course would be a six-weekly residential one, based in Swindon. So she was looking forward to that, with all the possibilities of a satisfying second career ahead.

  That year’s 22 April meant something significant for me: my 38th birthday; significant because it was a potential exit point from the RAF, with a sizeable gratuity and a deferred pension. As I was on a Permanent Commission it was my call. During late 1981 I had been telephoned by a personnel officer, known as my Desk Officer, to ask whether I was going or staying. I told him that I probably had some prospects of getting a test pilot’s job in industry. He advised me that if I decided to stay then I could be selected to go to the RAF Staff College at the end of my time at ETPS. However, he warned, that was by no means a given, competition for places was stiff and, in his words, ‘You’re not getting any younger.’ I could take a hint. I contacted some of the ‘mates’ in BAe and by April I had decided that I would stay with the RAF; prospects outside were in decline and none of the locations were that attractive.

  Mo went off to Swindon in early August and started her course. After she had finished all her training things became quite different at home, but I put that down to the stress that Mo was finding and the uncertainty she had about her next steps back into full-time employment. Of course that uncertainty was not helped by my own over my future.

  On Friday 5 November I arrived back from Honington, where I had spent the week supervising the Buccaneer Preview Team. When I got home we got the family ready for that annual British Beano – Bonfire Night. There was to be a fireworks display outside the gates of Boscombe and then mulled wine and nibbles in the Officers’ Mess. We went along, but all the time I could sense that things were far from warm between us. When we got home and were alone I asked what was wrong.

  Mo told me that she had fallen in love with one of the guys on the course and that he had asked her to marry him. Well that explained a lot – but I didn’t see it coming! We talked long into the night. But in the end it was to be divorce. At the beginning of 1983 I had taken over the reins of the horse called Principle Tutor Fixed Wing and one of the traditional duties of the PTFW was to host a party at home for all the fixed-wing course students and staff. By now I was friendly enough, in a fairly platonic way, with a lady who lived in Oxford and her name was Linda Cooper. Eventually I was emboldened enough to ask her if she would like to come and help me host the party, which was to be on a Friday night in late March. Linda was a fabulous hostess and no doubt some of the staff wondered whether this was my new ‘partner’. I didn’t commit myself one way or the other! However, over the coming months we realised that our friendship had blossomed into love. I couldn’t see that coming either! By Christmas 1983 I was sure. I hid her engagement ring in a chocolate wrapper and gave her the box on Christmas Eve. The last nine months had been a tale of growth and recovery; it now felt right. During the year Linda had told me that she had decided to start going to church again, something she hadn’t done regularly for quite a long time. That struck a chord with me too. I had been brought up to go to church and Sunday School and had a yearning to start again. We went, when I was in Oxford at the weekends, to the nearest church to Linda’s home – St Ebbe’s. My private life was slowly recovering from the shock and awe of the divorce. I was now a
single parent, trying to manage a very busy working life and keeping house and home together. However, there were some odd things about this new way of living. Such as going down into Amesbury, in uniform, on Thursday mornings and queuing in the Post Office for the Family Allowance (as Child Benefit was called then) among all the ladies and OAPs. After a few weeks the lady behind the counter took pity and gave me a form so that I could get the money paid into my bank account.

  Many of my colleagues had no idea how difficult it could be at times, well all except John Thorpe. Earlier, before Mo and I had actually separated, he came into my office.

  ‘What’s up, mate, you don’t seem to be yourself these days?’ I told him, confidentially, that we were going to get divorced. Before he could stop himself he blurted out,

  ‘Oh, thank goodness for that – I thought your gastric ulcer had come back!’ Then he realised what he’d said and turned on the sympathy. I forgave him – after all he was my best buddy.

  By the middle of 1983 I had decided what I would do if I didn’t get into Staff College: I would change my terms of service to Specialist Aircrew and keep flying as long as I could. I thought about applying to return to the front line in Germany, now twenty years since I was there for the first time. Now there were Buccaneers, Phantoms, Jaguars and Harriers and the Tornado was coming into squadron service. Back to low-level operations – but also back to QRA! When I thought more about it two things came to mind. One was walking out to the same aircraft type every day. By now I had served for eight years on flying units where I had flown an average of six very different types every month. That would take some getting used to. The other was that I was a long time away from that strike/attack world and approaching 40; I decided that I would, if necessary, do something completely different. So I rang my Desk Officer to answer the question that had started this train of thought.

  ‘About those options for the non-Staff College route,’ I said. ‘I’d like to transfer to Specialist Aircrew and go either to Search and Rescue helicopters or VC10s.’ My rationale was that I already knew how to fly helicopters and SAR bases were usually near the seaside in nice parts of the UK. On the other hand I would like to learn to fly big aeroplanes properly and the VC10 Squadron was based near Oxford, where Linda and I were planning to buy a house.

  ‘OK, old boy, I’ll put that into the mixing pot. I’ll call you when the Staff College selections are out, then we’ll action Plan A or B as required. Cheers.’ In the autumn of 1983 the call came. ‘Mike, you’re off to No. 76 Course at the RAF Staff College starting at the end of next February. Best of luck!’

  So that was it. I was going to take another step up the career ladder, a bit belatedly at my age, but I never had aspired, or had the talent, to go to the top floors. I just hoped, fervently that I would get to fly again. I shouldn’t have worried. I would do another fifteen years in the test flying world. But that, as they say, is another story.

  APPENDICES

  Appendix A: A Brief Lesson in Aerodynamics

  Here I will try to set out, in the simplest of terms, the way that an aircraft flies and the forces that act on it while doing so, as well as explaining some of the more esoteric terms that might have crept into my story from time to time. Those who wish to know more should seek further reading in books by the likes of world-renowned aerodynamicists Babbister, Maughame, Hill or the very readable, late and much-missed Darrol Stinton.

  So here we go! When a powered aeroplane1 is in steady flight there are four forces acting upon it. The force that holds it in the air is lift, generated primarily by the wings. In level flight this force is equal and opposite the aeroplane’s weight, which pulls it towards the centre of the Earth. If the aeroplane is flying at a steady speed then there are two forces acting in equal and opposite fashion to each other in the horizontal plane; one is the thrust from the engine(s) pulling or pushing forwards and the other is drag from air-resistance pulling backwards. An important factor in the way that these forces are balanced is related to the point through which the weight always acts, known as the aeroplane’s centre of gravity (CG). This can vary with the way that the variable bits of the aeroplane’s load are distributed; these bits are such things as cargo, passengers, the crew, fuel and, in some cases, weapons. The CG should always remain within defined limits or loss of control may occur. Some variation of the CG may occur in flight as the weight of some of these items reduce, such as fuel, or the dropping of bombs or cargo by parachute. Passengers moving about also will have a transient effect on the position of the CG, especially when they transfer some of their bodily contents to the WC tanks at the rear of the aircraft!

  An important factor is that the three forces of lift, thrust and drag do not all act, as the weight does, through the CG. Where they act in relation to the CG will vary with the design of the aeroplane. But because they do not act through the CG they each can cause a moment around the CG tending to push the nose up or down in a variable way. To help control this moment and to allow for the variations that come from a whole range of changeable factors another surface is usually added to the tailplane.2 This is called the elevator, or, in American, the ‘stabilator’ and is connected to the pilot’s control column (often called the stick), which allows the pilot to move the aircraft’s nose up or down as necessary for any given condition of flight. That movement is called pitch and it acts around an axis that passes from side to side through the CG; this axis can be easiest to envisage as a line from wingtip to wingtip in a straight-winged aeroplane. The way that the aircraft behaves around this axis is described as its longitudinal stability.

  But flying in straight lines is not sufficient to guarantee a safe arrival; although many an airline pilot may feel that the only time the aircraft is turned through any significant amount is when it has landed at its destination and has to make its way to the terminal building! In the very early days of aviation the pioneers soon discovered that they needed to control their direction as well as their elevation. So they copied boats and put a rudder on the back end. This was controlled by the pilot’s feet with a centrally pivoted bar near the floor; it was, unsurprisingly, called the rudder bar. So we ended up with aeroplanes having another moving surface at the back end, much like a tailplane and elevator, but mounted vertically. A fixed part, the fin, that gives stability and a moving part, the rudder, that allows control. Movement initiated by the rudder acts around an axis that runs vertically through the CG and is referred to as yaw; the way that the aircraft behaves around this axis is described by its directional stability. An important element in this respect is something called sideslip, which is when the air no longer comes directly at the aircraft’s nose but comes slightly from one side. Sideslip can have an effect on many things: lateral control and stability, drag and structural stress among them.

  But this arrangement alone was insufficient for total control because when the rudder was used one wing or the other would usually go up or down. This also happened in even the lightest of gusts of wind or thermally induced turbulence. Somehow those magnificent men had to find some way of varying the lift of each wing of their flying machines in a controllable manner. The first attempts at doing this was by stretching wires from the end of the wings to the pilot’s control column or wheel. These wires would then be moved by the pilot to twist the wing and so increase the lift on the wing that had gone down, reduce the lift on the other wing and so regain equilibrium with the wings once more level. This method was called wing-warping.

  However, as flying machines became less like gossamer butterflies and stronger and sturdier the effort required by the pilots to warp the wings became too much. So some bright spark put small flaps at the back of the wing, near the end, where they would have the most effect. Perhaps the first such bright spark was French because these things became known as ailerons (aile being French for wing). The ailerons allow movement around the third axis, which effectively runs from nose to tail, and that is called roll; the way that the aircraft behaves around this axi
s is described by its lateral stability. Invariably the lateral and directional stabilities of aeroplanes interact in such a way that it is nigh impossible to isolate one from the other.

  In order to allow some shorthand in the description of stability and control and the manipulation of the associated mathematical equations, terms called stability derivatives were invented. They come from alphabetical labelling of axes, motions and quantities; some in Arabic and some in Greek. Many of these terms become a natural part of the test pilot’s vocabulary!

  All the above are the major elements of something called stability and control characteristics and are fundamental as to how any particular aircraft handles. This is the prime concern of designers and test pilots. Questions as to how easy or hard the aircraft is to fly become paramount during design, development and testing and is the province of the test pilot. Whereas stability and control parameters are described mathematically, thus objectively, the way that the aircraft responds and feels to its pilot is subjective. In order to try to give some measure of objectivity to the variable of pilot opinion a numerical scale was first introduced by the USA’s National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA) at their Ames Laboratory, outside San Francisco in California; NACA became NASA (the National Aeronautics and Space Administration) in 1958. The man who drove the development of the scale was George Cooper and the Cooper Pilot Opinion Rating Scale was initially published in 1957. After several years of experience gained in its application to many flight and simulator experiments, and through its use by the military services and aircraft industry, the scale was modified in collaboration with Robert (Bob) Harper of the Cornell Aeronautical Laboratory and became the Cooper–Harper Flying Qualities Rating Scale in 1969, a scale which remains the standard for measuring flying qualities.