Memoirs of a WW-II Typhoon pilot Part 13
Onto Typhoons at last...
With typical service efficiency I was posted to 164 Hurricane squadron at Warmwell. The aircraft were Mk.IV 'Tank busters' fitted with 2 x 40mm cannons, and they had their full complement of pilots. Thus, I never did get to fly one of these machines, which I was led to believe was really something to be experienced -especially when you fired the cannon, which caused a sudden drop in airspeed due to the recoil! After just one day with this squadron I was posted on to 183 squadron at Harrowbeer on Exmoor. At the time of course I had no means of knowing that much later I was to become a Flight Commander (and for a short time Acting Squadron Leader) on 164.
I arrived at Harrowbeer on 28th July 1943. Then for two days I did nothing but read the pilots' notes on the Typhoon and undergo the oral and written examination on that aircraft. During these two days I spent as much time as I could climbing all over the Typhoon and watching the takeoffs and landings. The first thing I noticed was the noise! The Typhoon had an engine which was more than twice as powerful as the Hurricane and this drove an enormous propeller 14ft in diameter. The terrific noise on take off has been variously described as "tearing calico" and a cross between a roar and a scream. To hear a formation of four taking off together was really an ear shattering experience!
On the 30th July I was told to take up the station Hurricane and do some local flying around the airfield under the watchful eye of the Squadron Commander. By this time I had had over 60 hours flying in a Hurricane, more than most ex OTU pilots, and I must admit that I did a bit of vulgar showing off. I took off in a very steep climbing turn, did one circuit climbing and then dived down and did a runway 'beat-up" followed by pulling up into a roll. I then went round the circuit and came in high so that I could do a sideslipping approach and then landed. It was one of my better landings, and, as soon as I touched down, I opened up and went round again. A couple more circuits and then I landed properly.
The C.O. didn't mention my showing off but just said "O.K. it's Typhoon time tomorrow!" Thus on 31st July 1943 I made my first flight in a Hawker Typhoon. Having read and been examined on the pilots' notes, and having been taught engine starting I knew theoretically what to do but the practice was something different again. Firstly the size of the aircraft was daunting. The wingspan was some 42ft, the cockpit was eight feet off the ground. The total weight was around seven tons! Sitting in the cockpit, which was entered by opening a car-type door and raising up the roof flap, the first impression was of space. There was ample room for me to sit upright without having the seat on the lowest setting and my shoulders were at least six inches away from each side. The instrument panel seemed to be further away and the consoles each side of my knees gave a further impression of space. Looking forward, with the aircraft sitting on the ground with the tail down, all you could see was this enormously long nose stretching away for some six or seven feet in front. It gave the impression of driving a steam locomotive from the foot plate! Taxiing was impossible in a straight line and you had to swing a long way from side to side in order to be able to see what was ahead. Even on takeoff it was not possible to see very far ahead since it was inadvisable to raise the tail too far on the takeoff run. With the aircraft in full flying attitude the clearance under the propeller was less than six inches, and therefore we were advised to take off in a tail-down attitude, especially from grass airfields!
The engine starter on the Napier 'Sabre' engine, with which the Typhoon was fitted, was unusual in that it was operated by a cartridge. This cartridge, when fired, generated high pressure gas which was used to force a cylinder along a barrel. The horizontal travel of the cylinder was converted to rotary motion by a worm thread and this turned the engine over. Providing the pilot had carried out the correct priming procedure the engine nearly always started first firing. Under-priming caused a false start and then a backfire. Over-priming either caused a fire in the air intake (a ground crew member always had to stand by with a fire extinguisher when starting), or, more likely, sheets of flame from the exhausts which washed down each side of the cockpit. It was a favourite trick of the engineering staff, when teaching a new pilot how to start the engine, to have the pilot standing on the wing leaning into the cockpit. They would then slightly over-prime the cylinders and the unfortunate pilot would find himself knee-deep in flames. This was not as serious as it sounds, since the flames were immediately blown back and away by the propeller wash before they could do more than feel slightly warm. If by any chance the engine did fail to start, you had four more attempts available before having to have the ground staff come and reload the cartridge magazine. In normal squadron operation it was very unusual for the engine to fail to start since the standard of maintenance was, in my experience, unfailingly high. The fitters, riggers, armourers and all the ground crews took a fierce pride in their work and most of them looked on the aircraft as if it were their own. They kindly lent it to the pilots to fly but woe betide any pilot who damaged the aircraft through carelessness or bad flying. Damage by the enemy however was a different matter, and was treated as an honourable battle scar.