Address at the Service of Thanksgiving
for the Life of
Squadron Leader Raynham Hanna AFC*
1928 – 2005
St Clement Danes Church, London
2nd March 2006
‘The best pilot of his generation, in the world.‘
‘The best display pilot, ever.’
‘He was my role model.’
‘I became a pilot after watching him fly.’
‘He was the Master.’
Such were the epithets which echoed around the aviation world when the sad news broke that aviation had lost one of its most respected pilots, and one of its most respected men.
Where did it all begin?
What has brought hundreds of us here today, to the Central Church of the Royal Air Force?
It all began with a teenager in a small town called Takapuna, just outside Auckland, who loved being taken by his parents to Auckland airfield to watch the aeroplanes through the fence. Ray’s dream was to fly and, after leaving Auckland Grammar School, he set about turning that dream into reality, learning to fly Tiger Moths and going solo in just over 8 hours.
In January 1949 at the age of 20, Ray worked his passage on a steamer from New Zealand in the hope of joining the RAF.
Having earned a modest promotion during the voyage, he arrived in England with additional funds. What was a young chap to do - with unexpected money in his pocket and all the delights of London on offer?
Go flying of course!
March and April 1949 saw Ray at Redhill using up what remained of his savings – and going solo in a Magister in 1½ hrs.
It was May 1950 before Ray began his flight training in the RAF. Despite not having flown for a year, he went solo in a Prentice in under 4 hours, and graduated to the Harvard a few months later. Many years later, Mark and I were to share a Harvard. Ray’s affection for that aircraft remained - despite the numerous more exciting and more exotic aircraft he’d flown in the intervening 35 years.
Earning his Wings before piston-engine fighters were superseded began a passion which was to last a life-time and give pleasure to literally millions later in his life.
Ray’s first operational posting to 79 Squadron at RAF Guttesloh was an extraordinary achievement for a pilot of then limited experience - flying the Meteor in the fighter reconnaissance role was one of the most demanding for a single-seat pilot. Ray loved it. Not only was he now authorised to indulge his passion for low flying – he was required to do it.
“Four years never above 100 feet, and usually lower", as he once fondly described it to me, enabled Ray to hone a skill which was to enthral spectators, and earn the respect of other pilots, for decades.
Ray was subsequently posted to the Overseas Ferry Unit at RAF Benson. He flew virtually all the early jet fighters, ferrying many of them to and from India and the Far East. The flights were not always uneventful: In October 1956, while returning a Vampire to Britain, the aircraft's engine failed over India. Ray made a skilful forced landing amongst a series of giant ant-hills close to a railway line. He waited for a passing train which eventually came, and stopped for him. One problem - the guard refused to let him board because he was unable to pay the fare. Ray offered his watch as payment, the guard scribbled out an IOU and he was allowed to travel.
Ray's log books contain a virtual history of the RAF over two decades: Tiger Moth, Auster, Prentice, Harvard, Chipmunk, Provost, Balliol, Tempest, Sea Fury, Oxford, Anson, Devon, Beaufighter, Hastings, Jet Provost, Vampire, Venom, Attacker, Sea Hawk, Hunter, Swift, Javelin, Canberra and, of course, the Gnat.
You’ll be relieved to hear I’m not going to go through every type. It would take too long. For most of us, it’s an honour to be invited to fly someone else’s aircraft – owners regarded it as an honour if Ray Hanna flew their aircraft.
Ray’s posting to Benson did more than allow him to fly a wide variety of types - it gave him the opportunity meet someone very special: the young lady Royal Navy officer who was to be his loving and loyal wife, and greatest supporter, for 48 years.
Going through Ray’s logbooks – what a fascinating read - I noticed a civvy entry for May 1st 1961 which was a very special flight. Passengers: EH & MH. Eunice & Mark - then aged 18 months!
Ray was already an outstanding fighter pilot with noted aerobatics talent and considerable experience in squadron formation teams, when an official Royal Air Force aerobatics display team was formed in 1965. The ‘Black Arrows’ of Treble One and the ‘Blue Diamonds’ of 92 Squadron had been particularly successful but, with the loss of fighter squadrons because of budget constraints – plus ça change - Central Flying School where Ray was then a QFI was asked to provide an official full-time team: The Red Arrows were born.
He was an obvious choice for the team and, within a year, was made Leader.
Ray epitomised the qualities required to lead a group of brilliant fighter pilots. An experienced fighter pilot himself, his outstanding flying skill, determination, modest authority and professionalism proved an inspiration to his colleagues. He earned the respect and total confidence of his team.Dickie Duckett, who's here today, flew under Ray in those early days and led the team himself a decade later. He says: “Ray had an instinctive feel for display flying. His exceptional flying ability and air of calm confidence inspired us to follow him without question. We had complete trust in him.”
Ian Dick, another Leader here today, who originally flew as a member of Ray’s team says: 'He was my hero, my role model. He was simply the best.'
The team didn't only have enormous respect for him as a pilot and as their Leader, flying in Ray's team was enjoyable.Henry Prince, who's here today, was a member of the team in its first three years and led the the synchro pair. He recalls two new members joining at the beginning of 1966, during the shake down period in readiness for the season - Doug McGregor and the late Frank Hoare who led the team himself in later years. They were taken to the pan to watch Ray air test a Gnat.
He took off from the very end of Fairford’s long runway and, as was possible if the Gnat was light and without slipper tanks, was airborne with the gear up half way along the runway. Ray banked left through the pan, did a wing-over and came back to do a tight turn between the hangars before departing for the short air test and then returning to do a low level ‘beat-up’ before landing.
The new members' faces were incredulous by then - but their eyes were positively out on stalks when Ray got out and warned them in feigned seriousness (and to the amusement of the old hands) “Now, I don’t ever want to see you flying lower than that!”
But Ray’s mastery of the display pilot’s art went far beyond his legendary handling skills; he knew how to display. His leadership brought a style and panache into displays which took the Red Arrows to new heights of excellence which earned worldwide acclaim.Raymond Baxter, WWII Spitfire pilot and distinguished broadcaster, whom I see here today, put it so well when we were chatting a few weeks ago: “Ray brought a new element of spectacle and artistry to display aerobatics.”
Ray's approach changed formation display flying for ever:
· His formations were tighter: Distance between the aircraft varying between 10 and 4 feet, depending upon the manoeuvre being flown. The formation flew as if it was one big aircraft.
· The highlights of previous and contemporary formation aerobatics displays, here and abroad, were achieved at the expense of intervals of empty sky while the team repositioned. Ray’s underlying philosophy was that each manoeuvre should flow seamlessly into the next or, as he often told his team: ‘If the crowd have time to lick their ice creams, we aren’t doing our job properly!”
It worked. The transformation wasn’t gradual - the Red Arrows almost instantly became a star attraction across the world.
The Team was originally a 7-ship, but Ray was eventually given two more aircraft and the ‘Diamond 9’ remains the team’s ‘signature’ formation – and eventually became the Squadron badge.
There was the occasional brush with higher authority who felt some manoeuvres were a little too punchy - but Ray stood his ground well, and usually persuaded the Air Marshals that they were carefully designed to look exciting but were actually quite safe.
Ray pushed to the limits, but never over them – although he was sometimes on them:In 1967, at Rimini, Ray set off with Red 2 ‘Dinger’ Bell (again, who’s here today) to do a recce of the airfield in readiness for the display. Henry Prince and his synchro pair partner went with them to choose their reference points. At the end of their practice, the four did a Cascade Break and flew very low over what was to be the VIP enclosure for the display. As they pulled up to regain formation, Ray signalled to Dinger Bell that his radio was u/s. Closer inspection showed a gash in the alternator bulge under the fuselage. When they landed, it was obvious that Ray had hit something, but repairs were made in readiness for the next day.
At the following evening’s traditionally wonderful pilots' party, after the Arrows were awarded their gold medals of thanks, the Colonel who was leader of the Freccia Tricolore announced that he had a special award for ‘Maggiore Hanna.’
He presented, mounted on a plinth, the top of a tall whip aerial that Ray had taken off one of the vehicles the previous day!
It remains in his study at home in Parham to this day.
Those were the days - official limit 50 feet. Unofficial (and actual) limit 10 feet!
Such was the team's impact that, as early as 1967, a commentator at an air show introduced them as ‘The Red Arrows – the best aerobatic team in the world.’ Nothing remarkable about that, you may think – but it was the commentator at a French air show!
Ray served a record four years as ‘Red One’. In recognition of his exceptional leadership of what quickly became (and is today) the public face of the RAF, he was awarded a Bar to the Air Force Cross he had been awarded seven years earlier for outstanding airmanship as a fighter pilot.
Furthermore, under Ray’s leadership, the team was such a success that the Red Arrows display team was made a Squadron in its own right, no longer a unit of Central Flying School.
You may think the Red Arrows Squadron motto ‘Eclat’ (conspicuously brilliant) could not be used more appropriately than to describe Ray’s skills and professionalism.
In 1969, after conspicuous success leading the Arrows, the outstanding pilot was, for reasons only understood by those who inhabit the inscrutable world of postings and rostering, posted to a Staff job.
Ray tried but, for a man born to fly, a desk job was unbearable. He resigned.
Continued below