Oh darn it Feathers, if you insist (LOL).
First of all, what is rotating stall? All gas turbine engines are prone to this to some degree or another, the Olympus was particularly prone (so we discovered to our cost). What happens is that extremely LOW figures of N2, small cells of stalled air rotate around the anulus of the early stages of the HP compressor (at approximately half the rotational rpm), resulting in parts of the airflow becoming choked and highly distorted. This often results in the combustion process being disturbed to the extent that combustion instead of occuring in the combustion chamber, occurs in the turbine itself. This of course results in massive overheating of the turbine blades and stators (and is what is suspected occured in the #2 engine on G-BOAA in 1991.
To prevent running in rotating stall, the Olympus automatic fuel start schedule would accelerate the engine quickly to around 67% N2 before dropping back to the normal idle figure of around 65% N2. (The stall clearance N2 figure was ambient temperature dependant, the higher the temperature the higher the N2 that was required and hence scheduled by the automatics).
What had happened on G-BOAA was an engine starting/accelerating problem, where the N2 ran at a sub-idle of around 40% N2 for several minutes. This was enough for the malignant effects of rotating stall to take hold, and the resulting turbine blade failure over the Atlantic the following day. In all fairness to everyone involved, none of us, including Rolls Royce realised just how potentially serious this phenonomen was, and salutary lessons were learned by one and all. (The following year Air France had a similar failure; their first and last also).
I flew out to Shannon on a BAC 1-11, that was sent to fly the Concorde passengers back to London. As I and my colleague were coming down the ventral door steps of the 1-11, a chirpy Aer Lingus engineer asks 'have you guys come to fix the broken engine?, there are bits of it lying in the jet pipe'. Now up to now, from the information we'd been given in London, we thought that we were going to be looking at either an intake or engine induced surge, a few systems checks and boroscope inspections and we'd all be on our way, so we naturally thought the Aer Lingus guy was joking. He was most certainly was not; as you looked into the jetpipe (through the secondary nozzle buckets) you could see a large quantity of metal debris, accompanied by a strong smell of burnt oil. I remember this day well, it was the day that the first Gulf war ended; how ironic.
The aircraft departed on three engines, flown by a management crew late the following day, my colleague and I returned to London by Aer Lingus one day later. (No passengers whatsoever are permitted on ferry flights, even expendable ones like me).
Dude
