The first flight
Learning to fly in the RAF, 1937-8
Arthur’s first flight was as a sixteen-year-old, in 1932. His aunt paid for him to take a joy-ride in an Avro Cadet that took up holiday-makers, from a field behind Margate beach. It was a biplane with an open cockpit… with the noise, the slipstream and the view, it must have been enthralling! A later flight in Gypsy Moth sealed it… he wanted to learn how to fly. But with a meagre salary from his job as a fabric salesroom assistant, there was no way he could afford the cost. He turned to the (part-time) Royal Auxiliary Air Force, but this came to nothing; the RAuxAF was an exclusive organisation and its pilots tended to be rich playboys drawn from Society’s elite.
However by 1936 there were rumblings of another war with Germany. The Government began a civilian-run scheme to train pilots, called the RAF Volunteer Reserve. It was a chance for civilians who lived within reach of an appropriate aerodrome, to learn to fly on weekends and during their holidays. The invitation to apply was open to all, irrespective of their background. Having passed the selection process, Arthur attended evening classes in airmanship, navigation, armaments and aircraft servicing. After which, he was assigned to Hanworth’s London Air Park, a grass airfield, in 1937. He joined the first intake of 32 pupils at No. 5 Elementary and Reserve Flying Training School. It was equipped with Blackburn B2s (similar to the Gypsy Moth) and the instructors were all ex-short service RAF pilots.
The most memorable instructor was F/O Louis Rowley, who had been the top pilot at Alan Cobham’s Flying Circus. Rowley could pick-up a handkerchief with a hook on his wing tip. On one occasion, Rowley took over control as they took-off, turned the aircraft on its side and shot through the narrow gap between two trees on the side of the airfield. There was good advice from him too. Rowley told him: ‘I wish you wouldn’t land so close to the boundary hedge when you come in to land… I sit here with my arse squeezed tight, urging you on! It’s much better to hit the far fence at taxiing speed than it is to hit the near hedge at flying speed!’ Arthur never forgot his words.
Soon after Arthur made his first solo flight, he was told to fly circuits of the airfield. Disobeying instructions he tried to get high enough to visit the clouds. The next moment he had lost his bearings… he was lost. Flying on, looking for an airfield, his fuel gauge was getting low… the B2 carried just an hour’s worth of fuel in its top wing tank. Then he saw an airfield, put down and asked at the duty pilot’s hut where he was. He was at Farnborough… miles from Hanworth. The duty pilot telephoned Hanworth and was told not to let Arthur take-off! Rowley and a colleague arrived in another aircraft and flew him back. He got a reprimand for not doing as he was told: to stay in sight of the airfield!
A later forced landing occurred when flying aerobatics. The engine cut-out at the top of a loop, either because of fuel-starvation, or because Arthur had lost too much speed. He rolled out of the loop, pushed the nose down to gain speed and landed in a field of barley. He had no brakes or chocks in front of the wheels, so to restart, he swung the propeller then had to dash around the wing to climb-in, as the aircraft started to move forward by itself. On landing back at Hanworth, a mechanic asked him why barley stalks were caught in the undercarriage. Happily he didn’t report him.
Several student pilots lost their lives. One was an eighteen-year-old who was waiting to take-off. An RAF pilot landed on top of him, having failed to make the usual curving descent to check if it was clear. Both died in the inferno. The inquiry, that followed, recommended that some form of ground control be introduced to over-see landing and take-off.
After passing elementary flying (after 6.5 hours), he progressed on to the larger and more powerful Hart and Audax, where training included gunnery, bombing, photography and navigation exercises. They were delightful planes to fly. However, Arthur was taken by surprise, one beautiful day, having climbed to 21,000’. He didn’t realise that oxygen had to be used at that height. He went very dizzy and vague. He quickly lost height and soon recovered his senses, yet another lesson-learned!
His cousin recounted how one Sunday there was an aircraft circling their house, in Berkhamsted, and his mother wondered if it could be Arthur. A short while later, Arthur and a colleague, both in flying overalls, stepped through the garden gate. A quick cup of tea and then they all walked up to the common, helped to turn the aircraft, after which Arthur took-off, narrowly missing the golfers! [To be continued]
Beside the Hawker Audax