GLIDER PICK-UP TRAINING
Hello again Danny & friends:- Following on from departure from 1333 TSCU Leicester East shortly after VE Day, this is my last reminiscence of the long drag from grading school, through the wings stage to the point where one was considered (hopefully) ready for posting to an operational squadron.
Passing through Oxford, my long-suffering mother was on the platform to hand over a .22 rifle I hoped to use against New Forest bunnies. During the stop a couple of coaches holding many companions who had been with us since Wymeswold days were drawn away for eventual attachment to the Fairford branch line train, their ultimate destinations airfields such as Fairford itself, Broadwell, Blakehill Farm or Down Ampney, (the latter three now long since reverted to agriculture, and the branch itself vanished). For us, onwards to Southampton where railway officials attempted to eject us, saying the train did not stop at Brockenhurst (junction for Ringwood, our final destination); but the officer i/c our party stood firm, pointing to the routing label on our coach and demanding that it proceed accordingly. In the end the platform inspector went to consult higher authority by telephone, but it was no good - we were now on Southern Railway territory, and the Southern apparently operated to different rules - so perforce we had to pile out and continue the short distance to Brockenhurst by the next train. Here awaited what appeared to be a mobile museum exhibit, a collection of ancient, flat-roofed non-corridor stock headed by a quaint little loco that in later years might almost have qualified as a companion for Thomas the Tank Engine.
However we had already noticed the attractive New Forest scenery during the run from Southampton, its spring greenery becoming even more fetching as we trundled slowly westward towards the then unspoilt and pleasant little town of Ringwood. Ibsley itself lay a few miles north, just off the Salisbury-Bournemouth road, and proved to be a thoroughly delightful, bucolic little airfield whose ambience was further improved by a distinct lack of the "bull" normally associated with larger establishments; indeed we soon found that, provided one appeared for flying when required, it mattered not what we did or did not do in our own time, of which commodity there was no shortage. Numerous hoardings beside the railway track had already informed us that this was the "Strong Country", so we were not slow to avail ourselves of this and other firms' tasty products on offer in the surrounding alehouses.
Situated in a gaggle of ramshackle huts on the edge of the New Forest, no.1 Glider Pick-up Flight's HQ at RAF Ibsley offered a few scruffy offices plus a small lecture room where we would learn the rudiments of what awaited us. Despite previous vandalisation of the HQ notice board outside, where some anonymous wag had painted a crude "O" in front of "GPU", there was no hint of coercion and we enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere and friendly attitude of the instructing staff who plainly regarded us as near-equals rather than students. Although small-scale glider towing still survives at gliding clubs today, large gliders as such have now ceased to exist; indeed, the very idea of grabbing them off the ground with the aid of a hook dangled from a moving aeroplane would no doubt be condemned as highly dangerous and illegal to boot. Yet, done properly with the correct procedures & equipment, it proved to be both enjoyable and reasonably safe.
A large winch carrying steel cable (approx 3/8” x-section), electrically powered and fitted with an automatic brake, was securely fitted inside the Dakota’s main cabin, the cable ducted to a wooden arm about ten feet in length hinge-mounted just outside and below the main door. In flight, this arm normally lay flush with the aircraft fuselage, but was lowered to an angle of about 700 when pick-up was imminent. Sliding in a track on this arm was a large hook attached to the cable, said hook retained by a spring catch at the arm's end. On the ground, a large loop of nylon rope was suspended between two "goal posts" about ten feet apart and the same height, with a further length of rope attached to the loop's bottom half at ground level via a sliding eye; the far end of this length being attached to the glider sitting to the left and in rear of said posts. There was a "weak link" at this end, very necessary as we shall see even though the glider provided was the Hadrian, an American product somewhat smaller and lighter than the Horsa which we had just finished hauling around the Midlands countryside - but the latter would have been too heavy for the Dak's capability in the snatch role.
Having identified the pick-up site and ascertained surface data by radio (i.e. glider weight, soil firm or soggy, grass long, short, or wet, surface wind etc etc), a wide circuit was flown while the winch crew set their gear accordingly, the most important item being pre-setting of the automatic brake controlling cable payout following engagement of the hook. Turning on a long, shallow final approach, flap was lowered to about 10 degrees, propeller rpm set near maximum and manifold pressure adjusted to about 18-20 inches so as to give a descent rate of about 400 fpm with the certainty of instant engine response being available at the moment of engagement; the aim being to pass over and slightly rightwards of the goalposts at a height of about twenty feet. Now came the critical part: as the posts were about to disappear out of one's line of vision, the control spectacle was moved smartly back and simultaneously the throttles advanced rapidly to full power, producing a tremendous roar from the momentarily overspeeding propellers along with an initial surge of acceleration. However this rapidly degraded again into deceleration as the glider's weight was taken up, accompanied at the same time by a frightful din, heavy vibration and a strong smell of burning brake lining as the winch (hopefully) brought everything back under control. The initial turmoil over, the pilot's essential task was then to keep the whole ensemble climbing at whatever rate could be achieved; in our case, it was only necessary to stagger up to circuit height and fly downwind, where the glider pilot would cast off and land to prepare for the next snatch.
In practice the success rate was no more than about 60%. Disregarding an occasional case of misjudgment resulting in the port propeller rather than the hook contacting the rope, with more or less spectacular (though never, fortunately, serious) results, the most frequent source of failure was breakage of the weak link immediately after pick-up. This invariably occurred at the moment of greatest strain, before the glider was airborne, and was of course immediately apparent to the tug pilot who then had to rapidly reduce power to a more normal setting; the cause always due to a combination of weight plus excessive drag resulting from poor ground conditions, especially so after rain and/or if the grass was overdue for cutting. Although these conditions were taken into account when setting the winch brake, it was an inexact science and available data not always as reliable as it might have been. For myself, I experienced my share of weak link fractures but can say (hand on heart) that all pick-ups performed by our course were always by the hook and not the prop; which is more than our chief instructor could say, who landed ignominiously one day with about a hundred feet of rope trailing from his port propeller.
Watching from the ground could provide some worthwhile free entertainment, indeed a few locals sometimes turning out to watch. There was usually an air of slight tension among the spectators as the Dakota droned steadily down towards the waiting posts; as they fell away at the moment of contact, the tug roared back into the sky, the rope whipping taut behind it and the glider (hopefully) leaping into the air after only a few yards' run. As they climbed away initially, the distance between the two noticeably increased due both to the winch paying out and the nylon rope's natural hysteresis; however the process was soon reversed, and as the winch slowly motored the cable back in the gap once again narrowed. On the not infrequent occasions that the weak link broke, the nylon rope would lash viciously forwards and then trail along behind the tug while the glider trundled a mere few yards along the ground. At this distance in time, I cannot recall how the nylon rope aft of the hook was dealt with following glider release, but fancy that it was either recovered by hand into the aircraft once the steel cable was fully wound in or just dropped during a second run over the field. The tug pilot was of course provided with a means of dumping the glider in emergency, this taking the form of an explosive-powered cable cutter which mercifully was never used during my stay at Ibsley; nor; if the staff were to be believed, at any other time.
The whole business was a tremendous tribute to the Douglas Co. and Pratt & Whitney, makers respectively of the Dakota and its engines; day after day, many times each day, the long-suffering motors were subjected to this punishing ordeal of being slammed from near idle to full power, yet never once did they falter or object in any way. This earned our profound gratitude, for even with provision of the aforesaid cable-cutter any engine failure at the critical moment would quite probably have proved fatal; at an undesirably low speed, and very close to the deck with full power on one side and a suddenly windmilling, powerless propeller on the other, there could well have been only one possible consequence.
Deciding that I ought to savour this unique business from the glider's point of view, one sunny morning I walked over to the pick-up site where a Hadrian was waiting ready by the goal posts, its army pilot lying on the grass and nonchalantly smoking a fag while the Dakota rumbled its way downwind. Obtaining his slightly surprised OK to my request, I watched it turn crosswind, line up on final approach, lower flap and commence the run-in; still he puffed away, making no move to board. The Dak's steady drone became audibly louder, and now the lowered arm with its hook was clearly visible; uneasily eyeing it and then the glider, I attempted a time & distance calculation based on the probability of us perhaps not quite making it - surely we must move soon, or was it already too late? At last, when I had already resigned myself to seeing a pilotless glider whipped into flight before our very eyes, he stretched languidly upright, chucked away his half-smoked cigarette, and strolled slowly towards the Hadrian's door followed so closely by yours truly that we must have looked like a comedy turn - for had I not kept in step, I would assuredly have tripped him up. Once inside, with the now urgent din of engines increasing by the second, all pretence of dignity was abandoned as I scrambled into the copilot's seat and felt fruitlessly for a safety belt that maliciously eluded my panic-stricken fumbling; finally, abandoning all hope of locating it a split second before the Dak roared deafeningly overhead, I grabbed a frame member with both hands and prayed hard.
Coincident with an intense but momentary impression of the glider standing on its nose, an enormously powerful acceleration whipped my head backwards as we positively leaped into the air as if fired from a gun. Ahead, a white rope extended from the attachment point just above us towards a distant and still receding Dakota, while the ASI had apparently jumped instantaneously from zero to over 100 mph; meanwhile my hat, hurriedly placed on a ledge by the seat, had vanished without trace. Suddenly speed was falling again after the nylon rope reacted to its initial stretch and, having temporarily closed the gap, dangled ominously in front; but this was only for a second or two, and as we once more felt the pull of the tug I was able to enjoy this brief period of almost silent, vibration-free flight while the winch slowly drew us back in. This was still in progress halfway along the downwind leg when, to my surprise, the pilot pulled the release knob. There was little effect initially, for speed hardly decayed at all and we continued for a while with minimal loss of height; for as against the Horsa's brick-like qualities, quite evidently the Hadrian was a true glider.
Gravity continued to have only a small effect, and we drifted crosswind in near silence onto the final approach without use of flap. Unlike many of the glider pilots at Leicester, those at Ibsley were all highly experienced and this one obviously knew his business off pat. Whispering over the airfield boundary at hedge-clipping height we came to rest at exactly the right spot, the ground party having only to re-attach the rope ready for the next pick-up; a superbly skilled piece of flying, and a perfect end to an enthralling, one-off experience now (so far as I know) totally unavailable anywhere.
All too soon, our short stay at this idyllic little airfield came to an end. Not only had the work been interesting and demanding but plenty of spare time had been available in which to explore, using our bikes on near-empty roads, the delightful local countryside and its welcoming hostelries. My little single-shot rifle had come in handy too, not for attacking the local fauna which had proved adept at avoiding me when thus armed, but for competitions with my crew in potting at old bottles & tin cans on an adjacent gravel pit. Oddly enough, driving by thirty years later I was surprised to notice that this pit and its associated buildings looked totally unchanged, but that is by the way. Dispersing to our various homes on two weeks leave, at the end of it we looked forward to certain posting to the Far East where the war against Japan seemed far from over.
POSTSCRIPT
As a slightly ironic tailpiece, I never dropped supplies or paratroops in anger, nor snatched gliders or even towed them again; so were the weeks at Leicester & Ibsley a complete waste of my time and the taxpayers' money? The answer is, given the benefit of hindsight, yes with a capital "Y", but at the time there was every prospect that some or all of our expensive training would be put to good use. During my short time in Burma prior to VJ day, it was common knowledge that preparations for the re-conquest of Malaya & Singapore were well in hand, with the operation expected to take place in September 1945; and, had this come about, the air transport fleet would have been heavily involved. Requiring a several hundred-mile flight from Rangoon down the coasts of Burma and Malaya, quite possibly with gliders in tow, this would have been no picnic during the monsoon's tail end. The return distance was close to the Dakota’s max range, so (reputedly) the plan was to have been for the invading forces, having previously been delivered by us to battle via parachute (or glider, maybe), to capture and prepare airfields on which we would (hopefully) land. How true this was I can't say, but none of us were sorry when the Hiroshima & Nagasaki bombs finally forced the Japs to see sense!
The pick-up concept had been devised as a method of recovering gliders for re-use, without going to the bother or expense of providing landing strips for normal towed takeoffs. However, in the event it was seldom used for real; not only were most gliders damaged beyond feasible repair as the result of their inevitable semi-crash arrivals, actual operations using them were relatively few and so it was simply not worth the risk or trouble of attempting to recover them.