Back in British skies.
We were only going to spend less than three weeks (7th to 26th June) flying here, so we got down to business at once. Two hours dual on the Master, and we were off. We were glad of the wide wheel track, for the field was anything but level - and rough. Most of our remaining time was taken up with dual and solo navigation exercises. Everyone had one trip to see the Old Man of Cerne Abbas - one of those white horse type figures cut out of the chalk by our ancestors. This one was renowned as a fertility symbol, and you could see why.
They picked a moonless night for night flying: two dual circuits and two solo. There were no luxuries like runway or taxiway lights, just a row of goosenecks (kerosene flares) laid out into wind in the middle of the field. From memory, I think there were at eight at hundred yard intervals, with a double flare at 300 yards to indicate the ideal touch-down point. You taxied down one side of this line, turned round the last flare onto the other side, took off and landed on it, and round again.
There was an approach aid in the form of an Angle of Approach Indicator. This primitive kit was positioned near the first flare, and set up so that it would show you a green pin-prick of light if you were more or less right on approach, amber if too high and red if too low. A car battery powered a car sidelamp bulb as the light source. The light was interrupted by a slowly turning fan, so that it blinked to avoid confusion with a flare. As the battery drove both the fan motor and lit the bulb, the result was "dim as as a Toc-H lamp" - but better than nothing. I think there was an airman there, too, with an Aldis lamp, to give you a green if it was safe to turn round the corner for take-off, and a red in the air if you were coming in to land on top of someone on the ground.
It all sounds very Heath Robinson now, but it worked quite well. My night was very dark. With no natural horizon, you had to stick to the AH like glue all the time. And whatever you did, you mustn't lose sight of that flarepath, or you'd be hopelessly adrift over blacked-out Britain. We had no radio aids of any kind.
So we hogged the flarepath all the way round, and came round on finals with infinite care. With luck, you were "in the green", and carried on down with the flarepath tucked close on your left. Now the problem was when to "round out". You could estimate roughly where the ground was from the perspective of the flarepath, but there was a very useful trick. You watched the closest flare intently, until the point of light suddenly turned into a recognisable flame. That was it - you eased back on the stick and you wouldn't be far wrong (a variant of the blades-of-grass trick by day).
After two dual circuits the instructor thankfully climbed out and left you to it. Checking out a student at night from the back seat (when you can see even less than he can) must put years on the poor devils - nearly as bad as being a driving instructor in today's traffic! (No, I've never done either job).
Very Old Joke:- Student to Instructor: "What's it like, Sir, flying at night?" - "Much like daytime, but a lot smoother, and you'll find the controls a lot heavier". - "Why's that, Sir?" - "Because I've damn' well got hold of them!"
After all this effort, I never flew a minute after dark for the next seven years, and never in India. I stll think night flying is akin to black magic. After all, "only birds and fools fly, and the birds pack it in when it gets dark".
'Night, all!
Danny42C
Ground tested and found servicable.
Last edited by Danny42C; 14th Mar 2012 at 00:24.