They let Danny loose in a Hurricane.
I quite liked the Master. It was roomy and comfortable, smooth and simple to fly; it would have made an excellent thing to take away for a weekend (fat chance!) However, as a fighter advanced trainer it was nowhere as good as the the Harvard: in a straight fight the Harvard would win every time, other things being equal. But the Master was fine for our purposes, and as the feared British weather (perversely) turned nice and warm for the fortnight, our course had no trouble finding its way round the (usually) triangular plots. The corners of a solo exercise were always two airfields, and on the signal square of each a letter was displayed which we had to record. Of course, the staff had to telephone ahead to both airfields to pre-arrange a new letter for each trip.
After we had had about ten hours on the Master, and they were satisfied that we hadn't forgotten how to fly, they let us have a go on the Hurricanes. Their undercarriages were narrow and bandy-legged, the poor old things rolled about like drunken sailors over the lumpy meadow. Not only that, but they had little dihedral, and so from the cockpit the wingtips looked to be very near the ground. And the Hurricane struck me as one of those aircraft you sat on rather than sat in (unlike the Spitfire, which you wear like a glove); we have all known cars like that. I was terrified of putting a tip in every time (well, only four) I took one off the line. Thankfully I didn't bend one.
With only two hours I would not dare express an opinion of the Hurricane, and in any case we were forbidden to fly them in any but the gentlest way - or they might fall to bits. All we did with them was take off, fly round for a few minutes, come back and land. All I can remember about them was the little metal "gearbox" style "H" gate for the hydraulic selectors. You had a "neutral" in the middle for your car-type lever; where Reverse and First lived in your car selected wheels up and down; Second and Third (that's the lot in those days) did the flaps. (Or was it the other way round?) When you made a selection, nothing happened until you pressed an actuating lever to get pressure up. I think the Harvard had the same idea.
A Funny Thing happened to me at the end of my final Nav test. This time, the letters weren't necessary, for a navigation instructor (the Link Trainer F/Sgt) was riding shotgun. One of my corners was Weston Zoyland, in Somerset. Twelve years later I would land a Meteor there for the very last time, at the end of my flying career.
The navigation was fine, and we came back into the circuit at Castle Combe. "Do you mind if I do the landing?", asked my examiner "I like to keep in practice from the back seat". Be my guest! I came downwind, did the checks and handed over. His approach was fine, and the landing as smooth as you could expect on the rough surface. The Master rolled to a stop.
He raised the flaps - or thought he had. He'd grabbed the undercarriage knob instead. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the control in my cockpit move, and made a frantic grab at it. Too late, the Master flopped down like a weary camel. I felt a heavy thud, and saw a broken piece of wooden propeller blade fly off.
A horrified silence fell. I don't remember who broke it or what was said. We'd to think about our position. We were in the middle of an undulating grass field, and as ill luck would have it, in a hollow so that, lying flat, we couldn't easily be seen from the flight line. I don't think we had any form of radio contact. This was common on grass airfields, you simply looked after yourself. Obviously we had to stay where we were until somebody spotted us. It would be far too dangerous to try to walk across an active flying field. It seemed ages before a truck came out.
I was sorry for the F/Sgt, but very glad it wasn't me. I don't think anything drastic happened to him. The Master wouldn't be badly damaged. They'd just have to jack it up and drop the wheels. A new prop would have to go on, but the engine wouldn't be shock-loaded as it was only ticking-over when we flopped. It was no worse than stalling your car at the lights.
Next time, I'll tell you all the things you wanted to know about the Link Trainer, but were afraid to ask.
Say something, somebody, even if it's only Goodbye!
Danny42C
Get weaving!
Last edited by Danny42C; 16th Mar 2012 at 23:33.