Church Fenton
An organisation which cannot even invest in training its own instructors and which thinks that a contractor with a non-sustainable plan for future military training is the solution, is an organisation which has a serious problem.
First question to the MFTS snake-oil salesmen is "And where do you think your next generation of QFIs will come from?" - which usually elicits a guppy fish at feeding time response. They have no idea - it's all about short term savings and contractor's profits.....
So if the pyramid collapses, as a former QFI and civil FI, I won't be sad. Along with many of my former colleagues, many of whom are still serving, it'll be a case of "We told you so....".
Because the MFTS concept is complete and utter bolleaux; the training courses and aircraft may be one thing, the sustained availability of high-quality instructors beyind the initial cadre quite something else.
And therein lies the rub. The UK armed forces are now so small that there are virtually no aircrew in ground tours or surplus to other needs who could be sprung to be trained as QFIs and to build up instructional experience. There is no-one left to augment CFS for any surge need and there are neither aerodromes nor aircraft available to facilitate such a requirement. Too much has now been sold off and too much reliance placed upon contractor solutions.
First question to the MFTS snake-oil salesmen is "And where do you think your next generation of QFIs will come from?" - which usually elicits a guppy fish at feeding time response. They have no idea - it's all about short term savings and contractor's profits.....
So if the pyramid collapses, as a former QFI and civil FI, I won't be sad. Along with many of my former colleagues, many of whom are still serving, it'll be a case of "We told you so....".
Because the MFTS concept is complete and utter bolleaux; the training courses and aircraft may be one thing, the sustained availability of high-quality instructors beyind the initial cadre quite something else.
I would like to think that we are quite adaptable and could change our policy in the future.
Talking of Church Fenton, am I the only pilot ever to do a Cat 3C landing there? Read on:
One incident caused me particular concern and I’ll come onto that in a while. Years after my tour on the mighty Chippy at RAF Church Fenton, whilst flying for British Airways, I was trained to fly what was termed ‘Category 3c Autoland; that is landing at an airport which was completely fogged out. That procedure is totally safe if the aircraft is properly equipped with Cat 3 landing avionics, the crew are properly trained and current and the airfield is certified for Cat 3 landings. However, my first ‘Autoland’ was actually in a Chipmunk, which I don’t think is ‘properly equipped’.
Anyway, one starry night my student and I found ourselves plodding on across the North York Moors. We navigated partly by the lights of towns (fat lot of good over the moors), accurate heading and time (difficult with an antiquated P11 compass) and as I said, the occasional true bearing from the very few RAF airfields open at night.
But at least it was peaceful and the flying was smooth.
Just before we were due to make our final turn for home, ATC called me to suggest I hurry up as fog was beginning to form over the airfield. Well in my trusty ancient flying machine all I could do was to increase speed by a few knots and thus we started our labourious trek home.
Then the bottom fell out of my world. ATC “R83, hurry up, we are now down to 250 metres”. Well with at least 20 minutes flying time to go I made the sensible decision and decided to divert to RAF Leeming, a large airfield and closer by. Sadly, upon stating my decision, I was told that too had gone out in fog. So too had the local civil airport, Leeds Bradford. Given that I had insufficient fuel to reach anywhere else, I had no choice but to continue at top speed towards base.
Amid more and more gloomy met reports, we gradually approached Church Fenton. As I flew into the Military Air Traffic Zone, ATC piped up to tell me that the visibility had now dropped to a mere 50 metres. It was now impossible for me to land.
Was this going to be my first for real parachute jump? Church Fenton was my only option and I was down to my last ten minutes of fuel. I was worried! I had a right to be ☺. However, as I flew into the overhead, I could make out the runway, albeit bathed in a rather ghostly haze. No problem, I thought. I was wrong!
ATC cleared me to land and I started my approach. By now I was flying the aircraft from the rear seat, hardly able to trust my teenage student. Actually I think he was wetting himself! Initially all seemed fine, but as we approached two hundred feet above ground I entered the fog. Mega pea soup. Trouble was I had to continue, as for the last 20 minutes or so I had been flying on full throttle and I was rapidly running out of fuel. Not that I could see how much we had anyway. Moreover, we had nowhere else to go and I probably had insufficient fuel to even climb to 2000 feet to bail out. But at just two hundred feet per minute rate of decent, I thought that the landing might not be any worse than the usual student touch down.
I was right. I felt the main wheels touch Mother Earth and I closed the throttle, keeping straight by the direction indicator. I could see nothing, not even the runway lights, however I knew that that there was nothing serious to hit. In a very short space of time we came to a halt and I breathed a great sigh of relief. We were alive and had even stopped on the black stuff! A short transmission to the control tower told them I was down safely and they replied that a Landrover was on its way to pick us both up. There was no way I was going to taxi back to dispersal in that pea soup.
Minutes later we were on our way back to the crew room for the usual tea and medals. However, having managed to perform a miracle and successfully land my aircraft in thick fog, I was less than pleased to be almost killed by the ATC Landrover nearly mowing us down as it hurtled passed us in the zero visibility. My pent up feelings that night were directed towards the hapless driver, but we lived to fight another day!
One incident caused me particular concern and I’ll come onto that in a while. Years after my tour on the mighty Chippy at RAF Church Fenton, whilst flying for British Airways, I was trained to fly what was termed ‘Category 3c Autoland; that is landing at an airport which was completely fogged out. That procedure is totally safe if the aircraft is properly equipped with Cat 3 landing avionics, the crew are properly trained and current and the airfield is certified for Cat 3 landings. However, my first ‘Autoland’ was actually in a Chipmunk, which I don’t think is ‘properly equipped’.
Anyway, one starry night my student and I found ourselves plodding on across the North York Moors. We navigated partly by the lights of towns (fat lot of good over the moors), accurate heading and time (difficult with an antiquated P11 compass) and as I said, the occasional true bearing from the very few RAF airfields open at night.
But at least it was peaceful and the flying was smooth.
Just before we were due to make our final turn for home, ATC called me to suggest I hurry up as fog was beginning to form over the airfield. Well in my trusty ancient flying machine all I could do was to increase speed by a few knots and thus we started our labourious trek home.
Then the bottom fell out of my world. ATC “R83, hurry up, we are now down to 250 metres”. Well with at least 20 minutes flying time to go I made the sensible decision and decided to divert to RAF Leeming, a large airfield and closer by. Sadly, upon stating my decision, I was told that too had gone out in fog. So too had the local civil airport, Leeds Bradford. Given that I had insufficient fuel to reach anywhere else, I had no choice but to continue at top speed towards base.
Amid more and more gloomy met reports, we gradually approached Church Fenton. As I flew into the Military Air Traffic Zone, ATC piped up to tell me that the visibility had now dropped to a mere 50 metres. It was now impossible for me to land.
Was this going to be my first for real parachute jump? Church Fenton was my only option and I was down to my last ten minutes of fuel. I was worried! I had a right to be ☺. However, as I flew into the overhead, I could make out the runway, albeit bathed in a rather ghostly haze. No problem, I thought. I was wrong!
ATC cleared me to land and I started my approach. By now I was flying the aircraft from the rear seat, hardly able to trust my teenage student. Actually I think he was wetting himself! Initially all seemed fine, but as we approached two hundred feet above ground I entered the fog. Mega pea soup. Trouble was I had to continue, as for the last 20 minutes or so I had been flying on full throttle and I was rapidly running out of fuel. Not that I could see how much we had anyway. Moreover, we had nowhere else to go and I probably had insufficient fuel to even climb to 2000 feet to bail out. But at just two hundred feet per minute rate of decent, I thought that the landing might not be any worse than the usual student touch down.
I was right. I felt the main wheels touch Mother Earth and I closed the throttle, keeping straight by the direction indicator. I could see nothing, not even the runway lights, however I knew that that there was nothing serious to hit. In a very short space of time we came to a halt and I breathed a great sigh of relief. We were alive and had even stopped on the black stuff! A short transmission to the control tower told them I was down safely and they replied that a Landrover was on its way to pick us both up. There was no way I was going to taxi back to dispersal in that pea soup.
Minutes later we were on our way back to the crew room for the usual tea and medals. However, having managed to perform a miracle and successfully land my aircraft in thick fog, I was less than pleased to be almost killed by the ATC Landrover nearly mowing us down as it hurtled passed us in the zero visibility. My pent up feelings that night were directed towards the hapless driver, but we lived to fight another day!
Great tale, Blunty!
You must have more lives than a cat - what with engine fire in a Canberra whilst 'getting some hours for the boss' wall' and your Close Encounter of the Goose Kind.....
Happy New Year, you old rogue!
You must have more lives than a cat - what with engine fire in a Canberra whilst 'getting some hours for the boss' wall' and your Close Encounter of the Goose Kind.....
Happy New Year, you old rogue!
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How nice to be back on topic, thanks Sharpend!
My memories of Church Fenton are all happy ones. A great bunch of studes and instructors, hard work both in the air and on the ground, Chippies and Bulldogs sharing the circuit, and some stupendous Mess Dinners - which usually incurred the displeasure of the station C.O. (or should that be O.C.?)
two dinners spring readily to mind even after all these years.
The first was a Taranto Night (demanded by the RN as a right!) where we studes invited the pale blue hierarchy outside the main doors of the (C shaped )mess to watch a re-enactment of the attack, whilst unbeknown to them the doors behind them were locked tight. At the climax of the valiant attack by cardboard Swordfish models they were assaulted with rockets, hosepipes and bags of flour dropped from the roof above. There were very few blue uniforms of any hue, light or dark, that didn't end up white that night!
The second was the dining out of a very unpopular station C.O. who had made the decision that "Officers do not ride bicycles".
As he made his farewell speech odd bits of bicycle were floating above his head and above the assembled throng via a very complicated pulley system kept loaded with bits from outside the french windows. I think this man also decreed that "Officers never run"!!!
Ah, the rosy wine-fuelled memories of yesteryear
My memories of Church Fenton are all happy ones. A great bunch of studes and instructors, hard work both in the air and on the ground, Chippies and Bulldogs sharing the circuit, and some stupendous Mess Dinners - which usually incurred the displeasure of the station C.O. (or should that be O.C.?)
two dinners spring readily to mind even after all these years.
The first was a Taranto Night (demanded by the RN as a right!) where we studes invited the pale blue hierarchy outside the main doors of the (C shaped )mess to watch a re-enactment of the attack, whilst unbeknown to them the doors behind them were locked tight. At the climax of the valiant attack by cardboard Swordfish models they were assaulted with rockets, hosepipes and bags of flour dropped from the roof above. There were very few blue uniforms of any hue, light or dark, that didn't end up white that night!
The second was the dining out of a very unpopular station C.O. who had made the decision that "Officers do not ride bicycles".
As he made his farewell speech odd bits of bicycle were floating above his head and above the assembled throng via a very complicated pulley system kept loaded with bits from outside the french windows. I think this man also decreed that "Officers never run"!!!
Ah, the rosy wine-fuelled memories of yesteryear
Thread Starter
Ripping yarn Blunty!
I'm just trying to place the student flying training syllabus that required night navigation in a Chipmunk? And was that before the Cat III experience or after?
Surely you should have been able to read the fuel guages with the torches that the SOP required both of you to carry? And if you could not read the guages, how did you know you only had 10 minutes left?
What on earth were you doing so far from home? It would have taken you at leat 20 minutes to get to Pickering and the pretty inhospitable parachute country beyond.
You don't mention the instrument approach but I assume it was an ACR7 or a QGH, those being the only aids available at Fenton in Chipmunk days I seem to remember. Nice bit of flying and controlling accordingly!
As I said, ripping yarn!
I'm just trying to place the student flying training syllabus that required night navigation in a Chipmunk? And was that before the Cat III experience or after?
Surely you should have been able to read the fuel guages with the torches that the SOP required both of you to carry? And if you could not read the guages, how did you know you only had 10 minutes left?
What on earth were you doing so far from home? It would have taken you at leat 20 minutes to get to Pickering and the pretty inhospitable parachute country beyond.
You don't mention the instrument approach but I assume it was an ACR7 or a QGH, those being the only aids available at Fenton in Chipmunk days I seem to remember. Nice bit of flying and controlling accordingly!
As I said, ripping yarn!
Top West, read the script. We had plenty of fuel until the fools at base recalled me urgently. Flying flat out in a Chippy uses 3 times more fuel. Of course, I did have suitable diversions, and all TAF'd CAVOK. But the met man got it very wrong. Like he did that day at West Raynham.
Fly Pro, I was at that dinner... You owe me for dry cleaning!
Fly Pro, I was at that dinner... You owe me for dry cleaning!
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Having insructed at Cranwell, Swinderby and Barkston Heath, I took early retirement in 2010 as for the first time in nearly 40 years of aviation, I no longer enjoyed it. The military has gone from training for excellence to one of adequacy - it is such a shame.
Ask BEagle about the duck. I very much doubt if you would believe that either!
Sqn Ldr Derek Sharp and his navigator Flt Lt Lester Pearce, a former Vulcan navigator, were flying at low level when they hit a duck as the Hawk was flying at around 500 mph. The duck shattered the cockpit canopy. The Daily Telegraph reported the event in detail as described by Sqn Ldr Sharp:
"Suddenly there was a great big thud in the face and I couldn't see any more. The wind was making an infernal noise. I pulled back the stick and closed the throttle. I felt no pain. I wiped what I could away from my eyes and I could just see a little out of my right eye. There was muck and blood and feathers everywhere. I couldn't open my left eye. I could just about make out the cockpit, but couldn't see out. I latched on to the instruments and crouched down under the dashboard because of the gale. As we slowed down to 150 mph I was able to talk to the navigator in the rear seat."
Les Pearce helped to keep the dual-controlled trainer jet in the air, reading out the speed and height and they headed for Wittering, Cambridgeshire, about six minutes flying time away.
Then the aircraft's speed reduced as it came into land, and the fierce air flow into the cockpit eased.
"I said we would probably be ejecting because I couldn't see, but in the end I just had sufficient vision to put her down in the middle of the runway. The fire crew couldn't believe it. They just stood and stared when this gory, blood covered character got out. It was a bit like driving up the M1 at 150 mph with a shattered windscreen while only being able to see out of one eye."
Sqn Ldr Sharp had three operations, including, he says, "Chromo-therapy and welding the eye back with a very cold gas." He explained, "My nose is better than before I broke it as a kid and the surgeons have finally straightened it out."
Sqn Ldr Sharp was awarded the Air Force Cross ( AFC) for this action.
"Suddenly there was a great big thud in the face and I couldn't see any more. The wind was making an infernal noise. I pulled back the stick and closed the throttle. I felt no pain. I wiped what I could away from my eyes and I could just see a little out of my right eye. There was muck and blood and feathers everywhere. I couldn't open my left eye. I could just about make out the cockpit, but couldn't see out. I latched on to the instruments and crouched down under the dashboard because of the gale. As we slowed down to 150 mph I was able to talk to the navigator in the rear seat."
Les Pearce helped to keep the dual-controlled trainer jet in the air, reading out the speed and height and they headed for Wittering, Cambridgeshire, about six minutes flying time away.
Then the aircraft's speed reduced as it came into land, and the fierce air flow into the cockpit eased.
"I said we would probably be ejecting because I couldn't see, but in the end I just had sufficient vision to put her down in the middle of the runway. The fire crew couldn't believe it. They just stood and stared when this gory, blood covered character got out. It was a bit like driving up the M1 at 150 mph with a shattered windscreen while only being able to see out of one eye."
Sqn Ldr Sharp had three operations, including, he says, "Chromo-therapy and welding the eye back with a very cold gas." He explained, "My nose is better than before I broke it as a kid and the surgeons have finally straightened it out."
Sqn Ldr Sharp was awarded the Air Force Cross ( AFC) for this action.
Last edited by BEagle; 31st Dec 2013 at 19:46.
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Surprised you never edited the names out.
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Why would he/we? The story is in the public domain and it is a 'good' story, which deserves a view. I hadn't heard of it before and I very much admire the skill shown. That is what flying is all about. HNY.
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I realise that, but some people like to hide behind the anonymity of their forum name. Maybe they do not mind, and maybe he asked first... Who knows.
