Thrills and (almost) spills with a Beverley
Thanks JW411, Skyways did seem to indulge in a rather unnecessary game of musical chairs why couldn't the pilots remain in their usual positions, after all the York had a full set of dual controls? On the other hand I think it was probably good practice for the flying pilot not to handle the throttles on landing; not only was placing the bird on the deck better done as a two-handed job on the control yoke, but due to the throttles being roof mounted and thus moving in an upwards arc as they closed they were better handled for landing by someone giving his full attention to that task.
Mention of flight engineers reminds me they were not initially part of the Beverely crew, and anyway could not handle the throttles as each pilot had his own set captain to his left hand, and co-pilot on his right. Which further leads me on to an account of an exciting few minutes in that likeable monster:-
The Transport Command Examining Unit was carrying out the first of its usual bi-annual visits to RAF Abingdon since conversion of no. 47 Squadron to the Beverley. So, having self-authorised to undertake a Categorisation Test Parts 1 & 2 on one of the squadron flight commanders, Sqdn Ldr 'Eddie' Sleeman, the bright, clear morning of 28th January 1957 found us taxiing towards RW18 for a simulated instrument take-off and departure. Additional to the normal crew we had on board a third pilot who, awaiting type conversion, had volunteered to earn his passage monitoring the engine oil temperatures. I was only too glad to have this boring but essential task taken off my hands for, what with watching Eddie's performance and taking notes thereon, setting throttles, props and other ancillaries according to his calls plus maintaining a general look-out I had more than enough to do; for the Beverley flight engineer lay some years in the future, while thanks to a (typically British) lack of forethought so also did the autopilot.
Engine and other checks completed we taxied into position on RW 18, halting a moment while Eddie donned the dreaded 'tin hat', a metal visor supposedly restricting the candidate's field of view to his flight instruments. This curious contrivance, bodged up in station workshops, was secured (?) to his cranium by means of a large spring clip that was either uncomfortably tight or so loose that it tended to fall off; it was also a flight safety hazard, causing an inevitable blind spot on the wearer's side of the aircraft. In later years the advent of flight simulators thankfully relegated this awful object a dark corner of aviation history.
Take-off and initial climb were normal and on passing 200ft agl I switched off the No 4 ICO, a legitimate training exercise at that time. I had previously briefed Eddie that practice engine failure(s) might occur at any time after attainment of a safe height and he coped well enough, correctly identifying the 'failed' engine and calling for the correct feathering and shut-down procedures to be carried out. However no sooner had I done this than our third pilot reported the no 3 oil temperature uncontrollable, the cooler flap wide open with the gauge needle hard against its stop; so, advising Eddie of my actions, I unfeathered no 4 and then killed 3 once 4 was restored to climb power.
By the time we had struggled to 800 ft or so it was painfully clear that not only were both port engines now showing similar signs of distress, so was the recently restarted no 4 while during this excitement the tower passed the glad tidings that all our engines were trailing black smoke, thus suddenly making thoughts of terra firma highly appealing. Time to revert to reality I thought, telling Eddie to remove his visor and continue ahead in level flight while I assessed the rapidly deteriorating situation. All oil cooler flaps were now wide open to no avail, and with all oil temperatures off the clock (and yes, the cylinder heads going the same way) it was obvious the engines would not last much longer - so, on the principle that any help was welcome I restarted no. 3 and advised Eddie to make an immediate 1800 turn, at the same time telling the tower we required an emergency landing on RW36.
So, levelling off at 1500ft we staggered back towards the airfield, meanwhile keeping a wary eye open for sites possibly suitable for what our forebears aptly termed a 'pancake' landing (presumably meaning 'spread thinly all about', our possible fate). Mercifully our engines kept going and, knowing that the Bev was closely related to the Hamilcar glider, I advised Eddie to keep some height in hand while making a semi-glide approach: which he did very well, using minimum power all the way down and turning off at the 26/08 intersection. Miraculously all four motors were still turning, but clanking and clattering in the most appalling fashion with the highest oil pressure indicating 5 psi the idling minimum being 80!
All four power units were subsequently changed, filters and oilways clogged with shredded metal and vast amounts of carbon burnt off the engines' innards by the gross overheating. As always follows such incidents there were many willing to point the finger alleging that the oil cooler controls had been incorrectly operated, however similar but less serious incidents involving other aircraft soon afterwards forced the official mind and others to apply intelligence rather than innuendo. Plainly, either contaminated fuel or oil was the likely culprit and it was soon established that avtur had somehow got into the avgas storage, but in the longer term there seemed to be a conspiracy of silence on the whole affair and only much later did I get the true story.
This was years later in Changi Creek's Sundowner Bar, when a Rolls Royce (Bristol) engine rep gave me the sad tale. It seems a tanker driver delivering a load of jet fuel was mis-directed by the guardroom, emptying bis load into the avgas storage bunker to the subsequent great discomfiture of the Beverely fleet. The resultant witch's brew caused severe detonation followed by gross over heating, resulting in heavy carbon deposits (mainly from beneath the pistons) breaking up and choking oilways, filters etc. What little oil did find its way through was anyway grossly overheated, insufficient for proper lubrication and heat-degraded so that the engines were not far off total failure by the time we got XB264 back on the ground. We had indeed been very lucky not to have become headline news on the day rather than some months later, and it was fortunate the extra pilot had been on board for without his undivided attention to the vital oil temperatures, the unfolding drama may well have gone un-noticed until too late.
As for the afore-mentioned reference to a later time, following a fatal accident near Abingdon soon afterwards the Sunday Express somehow got hold of our story and gave it full frontal treatment, serving it up as a general condemnation of the Bev's alleged lack of airworthiness in a typical piece of yellow press muck-raking. To my intense chagrin I was given the hero treatment while Eddie, who had done all the hard work, was not even mentioned!
In later years the questionable practice of actually shutting down engines during training flights (except for demonstrating engine re-start, and then only in level flight at a safe altitude), was rightly prohibited. For my part, from then on I never, ever, simulated loss of power at any stage of flight until a reasonable time had elapsed since the first take-off and all systems proven to be in proper working order.