Danny gets airborne for the very first time.
(He has also changed his typeface, the better to keep track of his humble offerings from now on).
The first ten hours of military flying instruction are critical. This is where the sheep are sorted from the goats. In civil life, a flying club will keep on taking your money till the cows come home, irrespective of whether you're ever going to make a pilot. The Army can't afford to do this, it's working to a timetable.
An average pupil will go solo after eight hours. Nine hours is stretching it. Ten, and your instructor will hand you over to a check pilot, who will take you up and assess your performance, and who may give you a second chance, with a different instructor. But this rarely happens. You're "washed out".
It sounds hard-hearted, and we think of late developers and helping lame dogs over stiles. But, as is pointed out, your dog is still lame after you've got him over the stile, and there are more stiles ahead. Better to chop him now.
Once the decision is taken, the bitterly disappointed pupil was always whizzed away quickly. Back in Canada, most retrained as Navigators or Wireless Operators/Air Gunners, so all was not lost. But never a second chance as a pilot! (Or so we were led to believe at the time; I have subsequently heard that there were second chances - particularly when these were disciplinary cases, and the pupil's flying ability was not in question). Obviously, this information was hidden from us then: otherwise it would offer a sort of "soft option" to the Arnold scheme for those who wished to take it.
The majority of these losses took place in the first ten days. After that they became progressively fewer. One of my room mates disappeared after a month, having absent-mindedly blundered through the circuit at our Relief Landing Ground. "Dangerous tendencies", they said, and he was out. Two others had fallen at the first hurdle, so now I had the room to myself
The Arnold Scheme had a "washout" rate of around 50%, I believe. Whether this was due to the impossibly high standards, or whether simple arithmetic had more to do with it, I have often wondered. My Course at Carlstrom started out some fifty strong. When we went on to Basic School, there were about twenty-five of us left. But we didn't find any "vacant chairs" when we got there. I think Carlstrom simply had to get rid of half of their intakes.
I do not propose to go into a lengthy account of all the stages of elementary flying training. They are much the same everywhere - a few Posts ago there is an excellent list of all the usual lessons, which was issued to pupils at British EFTS. As far as the Arnold (US Army) Scheme was concerned, the major difference was that we had to do without an ASI - did anywhere else do this? (We felt no pain). They exploited the strength of the Stearman to teach "Snap Rolls" and "Snap Vertical Reverses": we would call these "Flick" Rolls, did we do them in the Tiger? (I would have been afraid of tearing the wings off!). They taught a movement called a "Chandelle", which seemed much like a Stall Turn to me, and a "Lazy Eight" (imagine a large (maths) Infinity symbol on the horizon, and follow it round with the nose of your aircraft). It was rather pleasant and relaxing, but I could not see any practical use for it.
However, if I had been one of the real heroes which: "thank the Lord I wasn't, Sir", who went out night after night over the Third Reich (and there are a few in our company, and we should view them all with the admiration, respect and gratitude which is their due.), then the Lazy Eight might have been more comfortable than the "corkscrew", and just as effective, in foiling a Ju88 with Schrage Musik fitted (I'm told the exact meaning is "Ragtime"). And it would have been easier for the Pilot to keep a Course (which we later called a "Heading"), for all he had to do would have been to keep the "bridge of the spectacles" on it, and he would have a happy Navigator into the bargain.
Bob turned me loose after eight and a half hours. Before that we had a little excitement on a dual C&B session at the RLG. A plug blew out. The noise would waken the dead, and the metal propeller was known to fracture from vibration after this particular event. Bob took over and put it down.
My great day came on 19th September, 1941. You never know in advance. I'm doing dual circuits and bumps, taxying back down the edge of the field after each landing. Half way back, Bob tells me to stop, and climbs out with his 'chute. "Off you go - remember what I've told you!" Another instructor is sitting on his chute, with a cigarette. (I suppose he'd just sent his pupil off), and Bob joins him.
This is no time to feel nervous. You have to move the aeroplane. I taxi warily round to take-off point (no runways), make sure nothing's coming in to land on top of me, turn into wind and push the throttle open.
I swing a little, travelling diagonally across the field, and into the air. So far, so good. There is supposed to be a special Providence which looks after first solos, the same one which takes care of drunks and toddlers when they fall down. A first solo never comes to harm, at least not in my experience.
Round I go, mechanically following routine, and come in for quite a decent landing (I've done many worse). I trundle round back to Bob. He waves me off again. This time I keep the take-off straight straight, again I put it down in one piece. This time Bob's on his feet - clearly he thinks he's pushed our luck far enough for one day. He climbs in: "Take me back to Carlstrom".
From that day on, I'll always be a pilot. I'm still a long way from my "wings", but I've been up "alone and unaided"; I'm down alive, and the aircraft can still fly!
Danny42C
Sun's over the YardArm!
Last edited by Danny42C; 21st Feb 2012 at 19:12.