In the 1960's the Royal Australian Air Force had two Convair 440 Metropolitans based at Canberra, Australia. They were set up as VIP transports and I was the local QFI (Qualified Flying instructor) on type.
I was scheduled to conduct a period of dual instruction on a new pilot to the squadron. The P&W R2800 engine was difficult to start; particularly in cold weather. The pre-start throttle setting was critical and if too much throttle was set, extremely loud back-firing occurred and would continue until the offending throttle lever was pulled back.
The starting technique included running the engine on prime fuel alone until reaching a certain RPM, when the mixture control was slowly moved out of the cut-off position. Once the mixture cut in the engine would momentarily lose RPM and it was important to release the primer switch at that instant. Failure to do so would result in an over-rich mixture with a guarantee of an exhaust fire. Because of the complicated and quite critical starting procedure, pilots were given at least twenty practice starts before being signed off as competent to operate the engines. Not so the RAAF ground staff, who were lucky to be shown two starts before being cleared for solo engine runs.
Arriving at the Convair on the tarmac I was surprised to see three airmen boarding prior to an engine run. One of the airmen was “Taffy” an electrical fitter whose job today was to adjust the generator output of the engines. The other two were engine fitters with one being given his first dual exercise on engine starting.
I watched with interest and then some alarm as the starboard propeller turned slowly and the engine caught with several huge backfires that reverberated between the hangars. Eventually the engine ran normally. Hands could be seen flashing around the cockpit as switches were selected and the port engine started. It died initially then started again with a series of backfires then died again. To my consternation a long flame shot out of the open cowl flaps at the top of the engine and then it was on for young and old. On the ground, a fire-guard quickly moved his wheeled fire extinguisher towards the now slowly rotating propeller while at the same time another airman warned him to stay well clear while the prop was turning.
In the cockpit, the supervising engine fitter directed his student to keep the propeller turning in the hope of blowing out the fire. He failed to notice his student was still actuating the primer switch and feeding the fire. ATC saw the fire and sounded the emergency siren and fire engines set forth from the other side of the airfield. With the fire still erupting from the cowl flaps, the supervising engineer called for Taffy the electrician to open the hydraulically operated door.
I could see Taffy’s white face pressed against various windows as he ran up and down the cabin in fear. With Taffy having panicked at the sight of the flames, the engineer was forced to leave the cockpit to open the door himself. Meanwhile the student engineer kept his fingers on the starter switch and the primer.
As the air-stairs touched the tarmac I raced up the stairs only to be knocked flat by a gibbering Taffy bounding down the stairs to safety. Having managed to regain lost dignity I again headed for the cockpit and saw that the mixture control was in the forward or rich position and the student was still toggling the primer switch. I told him to stop priming and cut the mixture control – which he did. The fire went out almost immediately and apart from scorching of the cowl flaps there was no damage. The fire crew were quite disappointed that they weren’t needed.
Hearing the commotion, the squadron leader engineering officer, a cranky former pugilist known for his general belligerence, arrived puffing on to the scene and immediately laid charges on both engineers for dereliction of duty or whatever the official term was. I thought that was unfair since it was clear that neither airman had received proper dual instruction on starting Convair engines. Certainly they were qualified to start the engines of the squadron Dakotas, but no way were those engines comparable to the big R2800’s of the Convair 440.
Later over a beer I suggested to the CEO (chief engineering officer) that he drop the charges against his airmen but he stubbornly refused. I tried another tack and asked if he himself had started a Convair engine and he admitted he hadn’t. I then suggested he should at least be qualified before hearing the charges which he himself had initiated; otherwise how could he prove dereliction of duty when he did not know that duty himself?
I suggested he should carry out a couple of engine starts under my supervision and he went along with that. The following day I was due to fly the same Convair, so the CEO and I took our seats and I showed him the multi-fingered switching technique. Looking out of the right hand cockpit window I noticed the fire-guard in position near the wing was the supervising airman under charge. The engineering officer tried to start the first engine and rocked the hangars with a series of loud back fires. He had set the throttle just a bit too wide. At each backfire I thought I could hear the sound of cheering.
Glancing outside I saw a crowd of airmen clapping their hands and cheering at each explosion. The fire-guard winked at me from his safe position under the wing. The CEO had the same problem with his next attempted start and this time he saw his men cheering.
After I manage to convince him that his men had never been given a course of dual instruction on engine starting and had been learning on the job, he realized it was his own lack of supervision of his ground staff that had led to the current situation. The next day, all charges against the two airmen were dropped. It was a happy ending, more so when a six pack of beer from the airmen was left at my locker in the crew room.