Roving, in your #11418 you refer to the Beverley's open rear doors. I presume this refers to the pax doors, rather than those of the clamshell variety? So far as I recall, it was illegal to carry pax in the main hold when the clamshells were removed but then rules and the Bev did not always go together!
However, you are so right about the noise! The only transport that could compare was the York, its freight compartment of the PCF version giving a fair version of hell - this aided at night by flames streaming from the inboard engines' exhaust stubs, their colour giving a fair indication of the degree of throttle opening - deep orange at takeoff, shading to blue for cruise.
Chugalug2, many thanks for the re-post of Danny's face-losing episode, I missed it first time round. To keep him company in the hall of bad memories here is one from my Britannia days:
As yet another course drew on, ATS staff and students looked forward to the final treat (or trial, depending on one's viewpoint) of the route trainer. Globals lay in the future, so the expected routing would normally have been the standard Hong Kong via Changi in both directions. On this occasion however, one of the periodic Middle East crises erupted shortly before the due date, with the inevitable result that all available aircraft were required for area reinforcement.
Given this need, the trainers' accustomed leisurely progress was now out of the question and so our commitment was slotted in as part of the operation; having shed passengers at Bahrein, we would then proceed onwards in the normal instructional role. Staff crew would be reduced to one (per trade) per aircraft, but trainees would not be reduced pro rata and so I found myself saddled with four u/t copilots plus the usual other variegated crew members; plainly my workload would be somewhat enhanced as compared with a normal tasking, and especially so since our young hopefuls were prohibited by ASI's from carrying out takeoffs or landings with pax on board.
The op. was fairly intensive, with flights departing every few hours. Drawing a short straw I was allocated a late evening departure, the prospect leaving me distinctly unchuffed; commencing a maximum duty period at a time when the body would normally expect rest, we could surely look forward to a condition of living death prior to final destination. As expected, afternoon sleep proved a lost cause, so that the flight planning stage found me at least in an even less alert condition than normal.
Out on the ramp the Station Commander hovered around, proof of pressure from high places that all must go well. Off blocks on time, everything looked good until the very last moment; but the spring of '64 had been fairly lush, and with the airfield mowers having been hard at work the loose grass bogey struck again - one engine well down on torque, its compressor blow-off valves clogged with grass clippings. Taxying back in, I prayed we might be granted a night's rest but it was not to be. Already XL 640 was parked in the next bay, ready and waiting; all hands set to with a will to transfer our load, even Alastair lending his services as a baggage handler and then finally pushing us up the steps. This time all was well and soon we were climbing into the now-dark sky, feeling more ready for bed than for the interminable hours confronting us.
Of the long drag to Akrotiri I remember little, other than total time off flight deck amounting to a few minutes necessary for a dash to the toilet and back. The sun was well up when Cyprus came into view, and arrival presented no problems despite our general exhaustion; but by the time onwards flight planning had been completed I felt like a zombie, and awaited the next stage with some apprehension in so far as my fitness for duty was concerned. On the other hand, barring further delay we would (just) be within the legal duty time limit, and so there was little option but to proceed and hope that nothing testing occurred. Recalling the cryptic saying that "an aviator of superior ability is one who uses that ability in such a manner as not to have to make use of it" I climbed back aboard; but in my head was an uneasy feeling that I, at least, was already functioning in autopilot mode, while a sure prospect of the morning sun blazing into our eyes during the run east further degraded an already low morale.
Acknowledging the marshaller's farewell wave, I noticed a 3-ton truck parked on slightly rising ground to the left of the short taxyway leading to Runway 29. Although closer than either desirable or necessary, I judged clearance to be adequate; a judgement reinforced by the lack of any visible sign of alarm from the truck's passengers, plus a distinct impression that the curve of the taxyway would take us well clear. A second or two later the aircraft lurched sickeningly to the left, and although it then continued normally I braked to a halt at once, enquiring if anyone knew what had happened; incredibly, my addled brain refused to deduce the obvious. Reality was restored by the signaller pointing out that our port wing tip was "sticking up out of that 3-tonner"; unwillingly craning my head round, the grisly sight told me everything-------every pilot's nightmare, the unforgivable sin, was there right in front of my eyes, and it was all my own work.
But even accidents sometimes have redeeming features. By a stroke of fortune the lorry's tilt frame had taken the tip off dead clean; all retaining rivets had sheared off neatly, leaving the wing's virtually undamaged stub end ready to receive the replacement. This arrived only hours later in a back-up aircraft, when I was already facing a hastily convened inquiry.
It did not take long; the cause of the accident was only too plain, and having been in sole control at the time it was both impossible and unreasonable to try and duck my responsibility for what had occurred. However, a lot of flak landed on the MT section; not only was the truck in flagrant disregard of MT standing orders by being parked where it was, the driver had no airfield driving permit and had not even signed his section order book. As for me, the board's president was kindly and sympathetic, finding something to say about our ludicrous scheduling as a mitigating circumstance (although obviously not in so many words), but his conclusion was nonetheless inevitable: my fault, open & shut case.
Five days later we flew our now repaired Britannia back home, the students soon to depart again on a proper Hong Kong trainer but this time without me. Weeks passed, the administrative mills ground as slowly as ever, but sure as fate came the expected summons to a formal interview with the Station Commander. As I listened to him politely deliver a formal admonishment, I unworthily wondered if he too was thinking of his episode at Gan some months before; but of course the words were not his, he was only acting under orders in relaying a bollocking from on high.
Although the C-in-C had chosen to ignore anything the Board said in mitigation concerning fatigue, scheduling & so on, it was a lesson I did not forget and in the years to come did what little I could by way of sundry reports etc to moderate the severity of excessive and poorly planned crew duty times often wished on us by those above. I like to think that perhaps something was achieved thereby, even if not very much; however, given the economic imperative for large transport aircraft to be flown round the clock, plus the human body's natural limitations, this is a problem which will surely remain with aviation so long as there are aeroplanes.