Thanks, Megan. I haven't seen that painting before. About three years ago I talked to Pete Middleton's daughter Michele who lived in Melbourne and she kindly lent me a folder of newspaper cuttings of her Dad's career during and after the RAAF. He had joined DCA as an Examiner of Airmen for several years and then went to live in USA where he wrote for a country newspaper. He died in USA many years ago.
Here is one more story involving Peter Middleton and myself and which happened in 1962 or thereabouts. I apologise in advance if this story has previously been in Pprune, but it sometimes is hard to keep records of such things. Here goes:
During the early Sixties I was in a desk job as the RAAF Aero Club Liaison Officer at Victoria Barracks in Melbourne. This involved the administration of flying scholarships to RAAF Air Training Corps cadets around Australia. Selected cadets were trained to Private Pilots Licence standard by local flying schools at RAAF expense While it was mainly a public relations exercise, the spin off from the RAAF point of view, was that some cadets might be tempted to make the RAAF their career. Some did and eventually reached high rank, while others continued to fly in general aviation and eventually joined the airlines. Despite lack of regular flying, it was arguably the best desk job in the RAAF because it gave me the opportunity to fly aero club aircraft, with the RAAF footing the bill. I used that to my advantage where possible.
Every now and then I would fly a Vampire from Laverton to the RAAF bases of Richmond or Edinburgh. Then have a leisurely lunch at the Officers Mess and meet old friends. A staff car would take me to Bankstown or Parafield aerodromes in the afternoon where I would flight test ATC cadets in a Chipmunk or a Cessna. After discussions with the local RAAF aero club liaison officer and flying school instructors, it was back to the Mess for dinner and a bed for the night, followed the next day by an unhurried trip back home. A real tough life, but comfortably bearable for someone supposedly deskbound.
In between running the ATC cadet scheme and inventing reasons to get out of my gloomy office at Victoria Barracks, I had the secondary appointment of Headquarters Support Command Flight Safety Officer. Each RAAF squadron had its own flight safety officer, so I had little to do except read flight safety magazines and unashamedly pinch other people’s ideas on how to improve flight safety in the RAAF. Never an original thinker, I worked on the comfortable theory that someone was bound to have invented a brilliant idea before I did – so why bother? But bother I did, after reading a frightening article in a United States Air Force (USAF) magazine about a pilot that was killed after his canopy jammed in his F80 Shooting Star fighter. The pilot had aborted his take off after the engine had ingested a flock of birds. The fighter went off the end of the runway and caught fire. The canopy jammed shut, trapping the pilot inside the cockpit. Because the ejection seat was the early type unsuitable for ground operation, it would have been suicidal for him to use it under the circumstances. Unfortunately, by the time rescue vehicles arrived on the scene, the pilot was dead.
Trapped in the cockpit with the aircraft on fire is every pilot’s nightmare, and so the USAF designed a special canopy breaker tool to be carried in the cockpit in case of such eventuality. This tool was actually a solidly built knife with a heavy handle and hardened pointed steel blade. It was now standard installation in many US military aircraft. At the time, the RAAF were operating Sabre jet fighters as well as Canberra twin jet bombers. The Macchi trainer was about to enter RAAF service and the Mirage fighter was already operational. In fact, Slim Talbot had done much of the Mirage test flying during its introduction into RAAF service.
I thought it would be a good idea to find out more about the canopy breaker knife with the view to putting it into RAAF fighter aircraft. So, with the magazine in hand, I approached my boss who, at the time was Group Captain Ted Fyfe the Senior Air Staff Officer at Victoria Barracks. I suggested we obtain drawings of the knife from the USAF and have one made up at No 1 Aircraft Depot at Laverton, the RAAF engineering base. Ted was a brusque individual whose main interest in life was golf and getting out of the office to fly a Canberra bomber from Laverton Our conversation lasted a scant two minutes and he grunted his approval for me to tackle the project as I wished. I liked his approach to things. Forget the paperwork – just get results.
Within weeks we had two prototype knives ready for testing. First I had to convince the brass at Department of Air in Canberra that the canopy breaker knives were a Good Thing. That done, someone had to decide which aircraft should have them. I decided to arrange for the testing of the knives on a real aircraft and, working on the theory that a picture is worth a thousand words, the tests would be filmed. The RAAF Aircraft Research and Development Unit (ARDU) was based at Laverton with Sabres, Vampires and Macchis. These were used by unit test pilots on experimental trials and were among the type of aircraft that I envisaged should be equipped with the knives. However, canopies were expensive items and there was no way that the CO of ARDU was going to allow me to smash one open, just to test a knife. As luck would have it, there were several surplus canopies in store that had been damaged or badly scratched, and which were unsuitable for operational use. They included one Sabre and one Vampire Mk 31 (single-seat) canopy.
The next problem was to find someone who would be willing to risk flying glass shards in smashing his way out of the cockpit. I was happy to do the job myself, but being a coward who couldn’t punch his way out of a paper bag, I felt that the whole project would be jeopardised if my failure to break out of the cockpit was recorded on film. What was needed was a real tough bloke (RTB) who had the strength of ten good men. I figured that if a RTB failed to break through the canopy with the knife – then the average built fighter pilot would have no hope – even if charged with adrenaline. We needed a strong knucklehead - the derogatory term given to all fighter pilots the world over. And I knew the right Knuck for the job.
Flight Lieutenant Peter Middleton DFC, had flown Meteors during the Korean war and when I first met him in 1953 he was a Fighter Combat Instructor (FCI) at No 2 Operational Training Unit at RAAF Base Williamtown, NSW. Pete was a tall strongly built man who had a Degree in martial arts. I think it was a Black Belt in Karate. Not the sort of chap one would like to upset. I had already felt his ire some years earlier when I was learning to be a fighter pilot on Mustangs. I was not much good at dog fighting and Peter, who was my flight commander, would ruthlessly criticize my lack of hack-flick-zoom spirit in mock air combat tactics. While I had no problem with formation flying in a Mustang, as soon as it came to a line astern chase I was hopelessly outclassed. .
Middleton was now the adjutant of Base Squadron at Laverton. He was bored behind a desk and jumped at the opportunity of some excitement other than strutting the parade ground with a ceremonial sword by his side. I felt that if Pete was unable to break out through a Sabre canopy, then no one else could. So the stage was set. Pete would dress the part with protective helmet (popularly called a Bone Dome), flying suit, gloves and the knife. The canopy would be locked in place with Pete at the controls of the Sabre, and on the order, would attempt to break his way out using the knife. The event would be recorded on film and the results sent to Department of Air.
If all went as planned, money would then be allotted for knives to be installed in various RAAF aircraft. Lives would be saved, and I would be a hero for thinking of the idea in the first place. I would, of course, conveniently forget that the original concept came from the USAF and that some hard working airman in a cold and draughty hangar at Laverton actually fashioned the knife. Minor details in the great scheme of things!
The day dawned and Peter Middleton climbed a ladder to the cockpit of the Sabre. One inside, he strapped in and closed the canopy. The airman from the RAAF School of Photography (no amateur, he) carefully focussed his Leica on the cockpit area and held up his sign for Take One. There could be no second chance if a stuff- up occurred as condemned canopies were in short supply. Suddenly Middleton waved furiously from inside the cockpit, and wound back the canopy. He said that he had a good idea. The camera man looked up, puzzled, his finger poised on the button. Middleton called out to the waiting throng (all the airmen in the ARDU hangar had downed tools and gathered around to watch the show) that before using the knife he would first try to karate his way out. An event somewhat akin to those fellows who can break bricks with one mighty blow of the hand. This was going to be interesting and the camera man refocussed his lens.
With a fearsome shout, muffled by the tightly closed canopy, Middleton lashed out with the side of his gloved hand against the hard surface of the Sabre canopy. The onlookers watched, open mouthed. Admiration turned to unrestrained laughter as Middleton swore a frightful oath, while shaking his hand in agony as his blow bounced harmlessly off the canopy. His muffled curses were terrible to hear with the dreaded F-Word being clearly seen from his lips. So much for smashing a load of bricks at one blow. There was a short delay for morning smoko and for a nurse to treat poor Pete’s badly bruised hand.
The show was soon back on. This time, Pete had the knife in his hand and he looked real mean. Already embarrassed by his failure to karate his way out in front of the audience – he was not going to go under too easily this time. At the sign of Go, the camera rolled, and Middleton attacked the canopy with the savagery of Ghengis Khan. Huge cracks appeared within seconds of the knife smashing into the canopy and after half a dozen more blows, Middleton had beaten through the glass and heaved his way out of the splintered wreckage. I was delighted that the experiment was successful. One more canopy to go.
This time the aircraft was a Vampire with tough double width glass which I thought would prove more difficult than the lighter Sabre canopy. Again, in front of the now admiring airmen, Pete was through the canopy is less than 35 seconds. In fact the knife blows were so effective that the canopy frame actually lifted off its sliding rails. Applause - another smoko, and everyone went back to work. Pete, still nursing a bruised hand returned happily to his office and ceremonial sword.
After viewing the films, Department of Air quickly approved the installation of canopy breaker knives to Sabres, Macchis, and Mirage aircraft. I don’t recall if they were fitted to Vampires. In later years, I noticed that the PC9 has the knife installed on the right hand side of the canopy fuselage wall. The senior RAAF officer responsible for bomber operations, refused to approve fitment of the knives in the Canberra. His reasoning was that the pilot’s canopy of that aircraft was already fitted with explosive bolts and that these could be triggered by the crew to shatter the glass. Although I knew nothing about the Canberra electrical system, I felt that with failure of electrical power, perhaps the explosive bolts would not operate. In my view, the knife was easily installed and cheap insurance for any aircraft. In the event, superior rank and bureaucracy won the day and the Canberra bombers were never fitted with the knife.
There is a satisfying end to this story. Some months after the knife was installed in Sabres, a RAAF pilot took off from a base in Thailand and hit some birds. The engine failed and he was forced to land wheels up in a rice paddy field. The aircraft caught fire and the pilot was trapped inside, unable to wind back the canopy. He unclipped the knife and smashed his way through the canopy, escaping the flames. I would like to think that he owes Pete Middleton and me, a beer…