Danny (#11364) I later had a demo of an alternative means of engine start, thanks to a failure of the Coffman article............
During a regular TCEU visit to Aden in the early sixties, I was ordered to categorise the Twin Pioneer squadron commander. Having no Twin Pin experience whatsoever I was not over-happy with this situation, but consoled myself with the knowledge that he already held a "B" category and was therefore presumably fairly competent.
And so it proved. The circuit work was an eye-opener, and included a backwards flight demonstration achieved by flying at minimum airspeed (something absurd like 35 knots max) into a strong headwind at circuit height. Opportunities for a route check were limited to a choice of up-country strips so, never having been to Dhala, I decided to see it from an aircraft for which restricted field length held no terrors.
Checking in at the appointed hour, I was advised that my presence would render the aircraft overweight. An easy solution was found by giving the navigator an afternoon off, the Captain saying (truthfully) that the TP knew its way without human assistance. In view of the circumstances I raised no objection, being well aware that in this theatre rules had to be bent more than occasionally if the job were to get done, and recalled an occasion six months before when I had expressed surprise on boarding an engines-running Bev and found two of the oil pressure gauges reading zero. On my remarking this to the captain (the wingco flying no less), he pointed out that if they were forced to await spares from UK at least half the fleet would be grounded; besides, oil pressures must be OK or the engines would surely stop, a logic with which I was forced to agree.
The Twin Pin CO had of course been to Dhala countless times before, so following a very short transit we were soon on the slightly alarming final approach toward that forbidding rock face at the runway’s far end; offloading of the cargo was a fairly swift process, so we were soon back inside. Now the Twin Pioneer had a bang-start system, with a rotating magazine holding about half a dozen cartridges positioned on the cabin partition above and behind the captain's head. Following firing-up of the first engine the magazine had to be rotated, this achieved by the pilot reaching behind with his right hand and pulling on a sort of lavatory chain arrangement. No problem with the starboard engine, but subsequent pulling of the chain resulted only in a string of curses for apparently the magazine had failed to index properly. A quick investigation revealed it to be immovable; "feel like staying the night here?" I was asked, "not much I can do about this, and it's too late to get help from Khormaksar". Having heard lurid tales of small men with long knives who reputedly lurked unseen thereabouts, I enquired what his local knowledge might suggest. "There is a way out", he replied," but highly unofficial and definitely not approved of even in Aden". Saying I had been party to the breaking of a few rules already, I intimated that one more sin would make no difference to me.
"Stay here, and press the booster coil button when I give you the sign"; saying which, he exited the aircraft with a large coil of rope round his shoulder in the manner of a hangman off to a job. Finding some steps lying around, he gave one end of the rope several turns round the port propeller boss and walked off to the side, hailing the inevitable solitary Arab squatting on a nearby rock: ‘...hey, Ali, come and give us a hand’. Receiving his sign, I pressed the button while he and his companion hauled vigorously on the rope, the engine burst into life, and with a wave to Ali he came back inside. In no time at all we were off again, carrying out a mail drop somewhere en route. The actual disgorging of the bags fell to me, but at this distance in time I recall little about the process other than getting covered in dust; I rather think the bags were ejected through a hatch in the floor. All in all, the whole trip was completely and utterly different from the Shiny Fleet way of things that was then my usual lot; not just a window on a different way of life, but also an interlude that much increased my respect for those to whom it was routine.