Danny gets out to the runway.
There was a trick in taxying the Spit, and once you got the knack, you could move along briskly with just a trickle of power. At first we crawled along awkwardly, fighting the engine against the brakes - you could almost watch the coolant needle creeping up.
But if you started on one side of the track, put on full rudder and a one-second blast of power, you'd coast across the track. Then opposite rudder and a tap of brake (which would all go on the one wheel), another shot of
throttle and you zig-zagged back. A pendulum swing built up, and as speed increased you needed less power (and heat) each turn. Once you got into this rhythm, you could go for miles without "coming to the boil".
Coolant temperature permitting, you turned onto the runway for your first take-off (you had look out for yourself, traffic was far too heavy for any form of Aerodrome control as we know it today). It had been hammered into us to tighten up the throttle friction nut hard; people who hadn't paid attention would soon regret it. Power on smoothly, check the swing, keep it straight, don't lift the tail too high (or the prop may hit the tarmac), and you'd soon float off effortlessly. It was just like a Stearman again.
Now a loose friction nut bit the unwary. You had to use your right hand for the undercarriage control, but still needed to keep a hand on the stick, because the full right rudder trim you had on (to counteract swing) was trying to roll you over. No problem, move left hand from throttle to stick to free right hand for wheels. You did this, the throttle shot back smartly of its own accord and your power died. Uncomfortable near the ground !
Frantically, you grabbed the throttle and rammed it back open. Now you've run out of hands. You couldn't let go of the throttle with your left, or the stick with your right. You'd no hand for the undercarriage, so the wheels had to stay down. You certainly couldn't wind off rudder trim, so the aircraft yawed ever more to the right as it speeded up, even though you held it level with the stick and pushed on the left rudder pedal as hard as you could to oppose the trim.
Critical watchers on the ground (ie anyone who'd had it happen to him, which was just about everybody) chuckled as they saw you crabbing away with wheels still down. You were stuck until you'd reached a couple of hundred feet, when you could safely let the throttle go for a few seconds, and have a free hand to sort things out. From then on, you had the friction nut tight every time ! Even then, your troubles might not be over. Some of our Mk.Is went so far back that they didn't even have an engine driven hydraulic pump. It wasn't just a matter of selecting wheels "up", you had to pump them up (and down) by hand.
Our tyro would have the stick in his left hand while he rowed away with his right on the pump handle. The Spit is highly sensitive in pitch. You can land one, or do a loop, with just the end of your little finger in the spade grip. So while our chap's right hand pumped, his left moved in sympathy. He couldn't help pushing and pulling a bit, a little goes a long way, and he'd porpoise away out of sight to the amusement of the bystanders. It wasn't the only aircraft of the day to rely on muscle power for the undercarriage. The early "Anson" was notorious for the 149 turns of a crank handle needed. Luckily, "Repetitive Strain Injury" hadn't yet been invented.
The most terrifying part of every trip was getting back on the ground. Not that the Spit was difficult to land, far from it, provided you didn't come in too fast, for then you'd float down the runway like a piece of thistledown, until there wasn't enough tarmac left, and you'd have to swallow your pride and go round again.
No, the trouble was the congestion. If you flew a wide, timid circuit, you'd never get down. Some one would get inside you and cut you out. Grinding your teeth, you'd have to go round and try again - tighter this time. The loss of time might be serious. Mid-morning and afternoon the NAAFI van made its round of the Flights. Joining the circuit at such times, you scanned the field for it to see how far round it had got. If it was at or near your flight dispersal, it was imperative to get down at all costs, or you'd miss your "char and wad".
You had to learn the "Spitfire Approach", variously known as a "steep turn round the caravan" or "a dirty dive at the runway". It looks to the uninitiated to be a highly skilled, flamboyant and dangerous procedure. It is none of these things. Any fool can do it (look at me). The secret lies in the Spitfire's wing flaps, which are like no others in aviation. They operate on compressed air (which also works wheel brakes and gun firing) instead of the usual hydraulics. So there's no intermediate setting, it's all or nothing, they go up or down with a bang. Or rather with a malign hiss from the Flap Gremlin, which lives behind its neat little chromium lever on the left of the panel.
The drill was this: you flew downwind hugging the runway - so tightly that it looked impossible to get round to land on it. At the end, you throttled right back, banked almost vertically left and pulled round hard. Now you're losing height very fast - more falling out of the sky than gliding - without increasing speed much. Half way round, it looked hopeless (and would have been so in any other aircraft). You were still far too high and too close, and couldn't possibly turn tight enough without stalling.
Time to work the magic. Put the flaps down. Level, this would push your nose up hard. But you're not level - you're "on your left ear". Your Spit spun on its left wingtip like an old London black cab in a narrow street. A runway which looked completely impossible a moment before had miraculously swung round into easy reach. All you had to do now was to take off turn and bank smoothly as you came down the last two hundred feet, the masterstroke being to space out the turn so that you straightened-out a mere moment before touchdown.
If you did this right, nothing but a bird could get inside you. But if you weren't tight enough, surprising things could..........
Bedtime now. Perhaps more tomorrow.
Goodnight, all.
Danny42C
Panic over.
Last edited by Danny42C; 22nd Mar 2012 at 00:14.