Cabaret time
The two events I am about to relate were certainly aviation close calls so in that respect they qualify for this forum. However the stories offer no information that could possibly be of use to other aviators so I thought three times about posting them. Anyhow here goes.
When something happens in this life which cannot be explained by ‘normal’ analysis then it is usually termed ‘para-normal’. My attitude to the para-normal is that it is the height of arrogance on our part to deny that something could happen just because we can’t explain it. However I realise not everyone shares that view.
The first event goes back to the late 50s just after I had got my wings on the Vampire T11 and when I was a new student on the Hunter 4 OCU at Chivenor. Because the two seat Hunter 7 was yet to happen we were given a dual Vampire T11 instrument ride with an instructor, then a dual sector recce where “sir” pointed out local area features and diversions. We then did a solo T11 sector recce before being fired off in the Hunter. I was briefed for my solo sector recce and told to be back in the overhead at 10,000ft with 1000lb of fuel to do a QGH (controlled descent through cloud). For a QGH one was given R/T steers to base and when the approach controller saw your bearing flick round on his radio direction finder screen (no radar in those days) he gave you an outbound heading to start the descent. As I reached the overhead the fuel gauge read exactly 1000lb. “What an ace you are” went through my head. Then as the controller said “check again for overhead” I saw the gauge move smartly almost to zero. Now gauge failure was not that uncommon on the T11 and pre wings I had a gauge go to zero on a dual sortie just after take-off. On that occasion when I pointed this out to my “sir” he said that we either had a massive fuel leak or a gauge failure “…and we shall know which in a moment Farley so carry on with the climb”. At the top of the climb he said “We will do 40 minutes instead of the usual 50 just to be on the safe side”. So I knew about fuel gauge failures.
Now for the point of this story. When I saw the fuel gauge collapse at the start of the QGH I had what I can only describe as a totally overwhelming sensation that the engine was about to stop. It was so overwhelming that I closed the throttle, called “Over to tower” to the surprised approach controller and spiralled steeply down through the cloud. I broke out on the downwind leg among several Hunters going about their normal business and turned tight onto finals calling that I was “three greens short”. Not surprisingly this unannounced arrival on finals resulted in several reds being fired from the caravan, but despite this I continued and threw it on the runway passing a poor bloke taking off in an Anson in the process.
In dispersal the refuellers arrived as I climbed out and went to the line hut to sign in. On my way back to the crew room I asked them how much they had put in. I can still see the expression on the lad’s face when he replied “We have put in 328 gallons and it’s not full yet”. The tank capacity was 330.
Back in the offices of course all hell had broken loose on account of my arrival behaviour and I was quickly bounced up the chain of command. My description of the gauge behaviour as a reason for the mayhem seemingly cutting no ice. The only reason I continued on the course was because the next day a signal came in not to refuel T11s in the rain because it could cause some of the new capacitance gauges (introduced to replace the older ones that kept failing) to over-read in mid-range. Mine had the mod and was refuelled in the rain before my trip.
Some fifteen years later, out of the blue and with no abnormal cockpit indications, I again suddenly had a totally overwhelming sensation that my engine was about to stop. This time I was in a Harrier and doing some conventional manoeuvres, prior to the V/STOL stuff, during what was an important overseas sales demonstration.
It was a lovely blue sky day so the marketeers had asked me to include a vertical zoom from a high speed pass until I was nearly out of sight - not a problem of course. However to come back down for the V/STOL I decided to put the gear and full flap down and do a very steep and prolonged noisy slow descent above the airfield in full reverse thrust. Since no other fighter could descend very nose down without building up speed I figured this would make a point! It was during this descent that I got that feeling again. My reaction to the sensation was to immediately close the throttle, abandon the demo and roll the thing onto the runway. The marketeers were not happy.
Later, back in the UK, I went and saw the fuel system designers and told them about the prolonged nose down manoeuvre I had been doing. Their response was that it would have stopped all fuel transfer to the booster pump tanks and the engine would have stopped after some 30 – 40 seconds of such prolonged nose down.
So what is the explanation for these overwhelming feelings that led me to such extreme actions? All I can offer is that a few months before the first story I was out with my girlfriend in Holyhead when she said that her parents ran “spooks evenings” and that the night before “Henry” had “come through” saying that he had seen her out with me and to say that he would look after me. I asked who Henry was and was told that he was a decorated WWI pilot relative who had died in a crash just after the war. I asked what he flew and she said “I think Camels”. I said thank you but hoped he was checked out on jets.
Google Henry Fox Russell.