Instructors - any favourite "bon mots" ?
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BEagle, wasn't there something like 53 ways for off, closed, shut, no pressure, up, down, left, right, push, pull for the switch process? A co-pilot wrote a ditty on it.
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On take off on the Vulcan the correct response was 1,3 and 4 on 2 off. This was because no 2 engine air had no pressure regulation to allow cross feed starts to the other engines. One day when very inexperienced I got the on and off positions mixed up although my responses were correct. The net result was the bootstrap turbine oversped on full throttle on take off and we all nearly blew out our ear drums. I was not popular and was made to sit at another table to eat the post flight meal.
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À propos of nothing in particular, the honour of the attempted asymmetric roller to end all asymmetric rollers should surely go to the Middleton Ghost (name forgotten) who, seeing he was going to go off the far end after an attempt at an asymmetric Meteor landing at MSG, whacked open the good one and described a wide arc through the camp before meeting his own room in the Mess, through the window of which he inserted the nose.
Might have got away with it, too, but the aircraft took out a lot of the supporting brickwork, and (in the words of John Henderson, an ATC oppo of mine, in the Tower at the time: "The lintel fell on his Swede").
John was later SATCO of Teeside airport (MSG that was). Seems the stude's Ghost haunts the West Wing of the (now) St. George's Hotel to this day.
So the story goes.
Might have got away with it, too, but the aircraft took out a lot of the supporting brickwork, and (in the words of John Henderson, an ATC oppo of mine, in the Tower at the time: "The lintel fell on his Swede").
John was later SATCO of Teeside airport (MSG that was). Seems the stude's Ghost haunts the West Wing of the (now) St. George's Hotel to this day.
So the story goes.
"Mildly" Eccentric Stardriver
Danny. In my old airline, we used to stop in the hotel. Our attempt to persuade the female cabin crew that their rooms were haunted and they should share with us didn't work ( at least, not for me. I can't speak for the young First Officers).
À propos of nothing in particular, the honour of the attempted asymmetric roller to end all asymmetric rollers should surely go to the Middleton Ghost (name forgotten) who, seeing he was going to go off the far end after an attempt at an asymmetric Meteor landing at MSG, whacked open the good one and described a wide arc through the camp before meeting his own room in the Mess, through the window of which he inserted the nose.
Might have got away with it, too, but the aircraft took out a lot of the supporting brickwork, and (in the words of John Henderson, an ATC oppo of mine, in the Tower at the time: "The lintel fell on his Swede").
John was later SATCO of Teeside airport (MSG that was). Seems the stude's Ghost haunts the West Wing of the (now) St. George's Hotel to this day.
So the story goes.
Might have got away with it, too, but the aircraft took out a lot of the supporting brickwork, and (in the words of John Henderson, an ATC oppo of mine, in the Tower at the time: "The lintel fell on his Swede").
John was later SATCO of Teeside airport (MSG that was). Seems the stude's Ghost haunts the West Wing of the (now) St. George's Hotel to this day.
So the story goes.
I kept looking for that nice fellow while living there flying for Bristow out to the Ekofisk in T-Birds.
The only thing that scared me there was the thought I would get the wrong wake up order....and find myself looking at a Glass of Warm Milk and Smoked Kippers.
It was also said what a nice Chap he was for seeing that not only was it his own room he destroyed...but also his automobile in the car park as he passed through on the way to his room.
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Don't you believe it....my one and only incident whilst instructing on the Gazelle occurred when my fairly experienced student (actually someone else's student until that trip) pulled the cyclic hard back when he should have been raising the collective to cushion the touchdown. That resulted in a slight "Boing"......and a subsequent slight bollocking for me, for not being quick enough to stop him doing it!
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I know someone who thinks he met the Middleton St. George ghost, in the gents loo! Mind you, he was once in the Royal Navy. I think the ghost is meant to be of a Plt Off. Norman, the ill fated pilot. He supposedly took out his own MG, which was the only car in the car park.
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My favourite response from a student
My most memorable response from a student came when flying a 'Practice Double Engine Failure' in Snowdonia. The Shawbury stude was used to flying these over a very nice, flat, Shropshire - not down the side of a mountain. Into wind was down the slope. As we mirrored the surface, like on a ski-jump slowly getting closer and closer to the slope, I looked across at the wide-eyed student and asked 'what are you thinking?' to which the response was " I don't know sir - I've run out of ideas" - followed swiftly by my response "I have control"! At least he was honest!
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Herod (#109),
Hard luck - should've used more finesse ! This afternoon I've wasted an inordinate length of time trying to trace a relevant tale I told on "Pilot's Brevet" years ago (no problem; I am in "boarding kennels" ["Respite Care"] to let daughter Mary, who takes tender care of me, have a few days to herself with pals in the Lake District). Inmates here all brain dead, so my time is my own. Predictably, "Search this Thread" no use at all, Google cannot help, so here it is again, from memory:
During the war, the Grand Hotel in Calcutta would allow through its portals officers and Sgt aircrew (but no other sgts or other ranks); Rs10 a night full board (say 13/-). Only you were in a shared room for two (males only), who you got as a "roomie" was pot luck. On this occasion, I got a friendly young American with an interesting background.
He'd entered the USAAC as a flight cadet (same as me) but got chucked out from Primary with 40 hrs Stearman time, left to go back to civil life (which was his right), trotted round to the China National Aircraft Corporation (that distant forebear of Cathay Pacific), who operated DC-3s "over the Hump" Calcutta-Chunking with American crews - and got taken on as a second dickey !
Really he was little more than a human autopilot minder. His Captain would do the navigation, and all the take-offs and landings. He was there to keep an eye on the autopilot and look out for mountain tops, and for someone the Captain to talk to (and to make the coffee). For this onerous task they were paying him Rs700 a month, which was three times what I was getting as a Sgt Pilot (and getting shot at into the bargain). And I'd completed the very Course that he'd been washed out of ! But it was really "danger" money, for the mountains were about at the ceiling of a heavily loaded freight Dak, weather was dicey and they ploughed in with monotonous regularity.
Now for the beef in the sandwich: occasionally they flew VIPs as well as freight, so of course they then needed a hostie on board. I think they sourced them from Pan Am. In those days it was a top job for a girl, like Top Model today, and there was no lack of applicants: naturally they chose the stunners. For that reason, they never lasted long before they snagged their millionaire, and there was a rapid turnover (no comment, please).The possibilities were obvious: one hairy old Captain devised a Fiendish Plan for each new girl. Picture:
It is a sunny lunchtime; a "slip" crew is chatting idly over coffee on the terrace. the Captain tells a strange story of Old China. Seems that, on another of the Company's routes, they overnight stop somewhere in the firm's "resthouse". This is an old mansion, formerly the residence of the high powered mandarin in charge of the province. Naturally he had a string of concubines, but #1 was getting a bit long in the tooth, #2 was getting more and more attention. This was getting up #1's nose, she consulted the Apothecary, and #2 expired, seemingly of Natural Causes. But the Mandarin queried the verdict, did a bit of digging, and got to the truth. #1 then expired horribly in turn, and #3 took over: what happened to her is not known.
The Spirit of #1, however, did not rest, and on moonlight nights returned to the scene of her former triumphs, and checked the place out to see what was going on. She looked into every bedroom, a girl in bed with a man was no threat to her, but a girl alone was Clear and Present Danger. She appeared to any such, screaming and threatening with claw-like talons to tear her (potential) rival's eyes out. Of course, being only a spirit, she could not in fact do any harm, but the performance was so vivid that the victim (who, oddly, was the only one who could see or hear anything) was reduced to a piteous mass of abject terror, packed her bags and left.
But of course, these superstitious Chinese will believe anything, won't they ? Another coffee all round ? .................Nothing more was said about the story.
What the Captain knew, but kept to himself, was that his crew were due to be swapped onto this very route in a couple of weeks.. Again, nothing was said, and after dinner the hostie retired to her virginal couch at one end of the corridor, the chaps to the other. Now you know how these old wooden buildings creak and groan with the fall in temperature: the night birds call eerily; moonlight shadows move as the night breezes rustle the trees .... and the girl remembers the story. She tries to put it out of her mind. But auto-suggestion is very powerful, pretty soon she is visited by the Demon .... The Captain (whose room is, by chance, nearest to hers) lights a cigarette and waits ...... Eventually a terrified little waif scratches at his door, begging for sanctuary in his bed. .... Let Conscience be your Guide !
In the light of dawn, the now throughly ashamed hostie gives up her job and returns to the States. Her replacement comes out, on a sunny terrace with a coffee .......
Neat, eh ? True ? How do I know ? It's just what he told me.
Hard luck - should've used more finesse ! This afternoon I've wasted an inordinate length of time trying to trace a relevant tale I told on "Pilot's Brevet" years ago (no problem; I am in "boarding kennels" ["Respite Care"] to let daughter Mary, who takes tender care of me, have a few days to herself with pals in the Lake District). Inmates here all brain dead, so my time is my own. Predictably, "Search this Thread" no use at all, Google cannot help, so here it is again, from memory:
During the war, the Grand Hotel in Calcutta would allow through its portals officers and Sgt aircrew (but no other sgts or other ranks); Rs10 a night full board (say 13/-). Only you were in a shared room for two (males only), who you got as a "roomie" was pot luck. On this occasion, I got a friendly young American with an interesting background.
He'd entered the USAAC as a flight cadet (same as me) but got chucked out from Primary with 40 hrs Stearman time, left to go back to civil life (which was his right), trotted round to the China National Aircraft Corporation (that distant forebear of Cathay Pacific), who operated DC-3s "over the Hump" Calcutta-Chunking with American crews - and got taken on as a second dickey !
Really he was little more than a human autopilot minder. His Captain would do the navigation, and all the take-offs and landings. He was there to keep an eye on the autopilot and look out for mountain tops, and for someone the Captain to talk to (and to make the coffee). For this onerous task they were paying him Rs700 a month, which was three times what I was getting as a Sgt Pilot (and getting shot at into the bargain). And I'd completed the very Course that he'd been washed out of ! But it was really "danger" money, for the mountains were about at the ceiling of a heavily loaded freight Dak, weather was dicey and they ploughed in with monotonous regularity.
Now for the beef in the sandwich: occasionally they flew VIPs as well as freight, so of course they then needed a hostie on board. I think they sourced them from Pan Am. In those days it was a top job for a girl, like Top Model today, and there was no lack of applicants: naturally they chose the stunners. For that reason, they never lasted long before they snagged their millionaire, and there was a rapid turnover (no comment, please).The possibilities were obvious: one hairy old Captain devised a Fiendish Plan for each new girl. Picture:
It is a sunny lunchtime; a "slip" crew is chatting idly over coffee on the terrace. the Captain tells a strange story of Old China. Seems that, on another of the Company's routes, they overnight stop somewhere in the firm's "resthouse". This is an old mansion, formerly the residence of the high powered mandarin in charge of the province. Naturally he had a string of concubines, but #1 was getting a bit long in the tooth, #2 was getting more and more attention. This was getting up #1's nose, she consulted the Apothecary, and #2 expired, seemingly of Natural Causes. But the Mandarin queried the verdict, did a bit of digging, and got to the truth. #1 then expired horribly in turn, and #3 took over: what happened to her is not known.
The Spirit of #1, however, did not rest, and on moonlight nights returned to the scene of her former triumphs, and checked the place out to see what was going on. She looked into every bedroom, a girl in bed with a man was no threat to her, but a girl alone was Clear and Present Danger. She appeared to any such, screaming and threatening with claw-like talons to tear her (potential) rival's eyes out. Of course, being only a spirit, she could not in fact do any harm, but the performance was so vivid that the victim (who, oddly, was the only one who could see or hear anything) was reduced to a piteous mass of abject terror, packed her bags and left.
But of course, these superstitious Chinese will believe anything, won't they ? Another coffee all round ? .................Nothing more was said about the story.
What the Captain knew, but kept to himself, was that his crew were due to be swapped onto this very route in a couple of weeks.. Again, nothing was said, and after dinner the hostie retired to her virginal couch at one end of the corridor, the chaps to the other. Now you know how these old wooden buildings creak and groan with the fall in temperature: the night birds call eerily; moonlight shadows move as the night breezes rustle the trees .... and the girl remembers the story. She tries to put it out of her mind. But auto-suggestion is very powerful, pretty soon she is visited by the Demon .... The Captain (whose room is, by chance, nearest to hers) lights a cigarette and waits ...... Eventually a terrified little waif scratches at his door, begging for sanctuary in his bed. .... Let Conscience be your Guide !
In the light of dawn, the now throughly ashamed hostie gives up her job and returns to the States. Her replacement comes out, on a sunny terrace with a coffee .......
Neat, eh ? True ? How do I know ? It's just what he told me.
Early 80s at TTTE. Student Pilot solo supersonic run (flown at 2000ft over the North Sea), Rather inexperienced Staff Nav in the back.
With wings 45 stude selects reheat and electric jet leaps forward , (clean jet, no tanks, no pylons). As speed winds through about 550 kt, Nav calls:
“Check Wingsweep!”
In response Stude grabs WS lever and moves it the wrong way, selecting 25 wing instead of 67. Jet instantly climbs about 1500ft.
Slightly bent jet flown carefully back to base, Staff Nav ruminating on choice of words.
With wings 45 stude selects reheat and electric jet leaps forward , (clean jet, no tanks, no pylons). As speed winds through about 550 kt, Nav calls:
“Check Wingsweep!”
In response Stude grabs WS lever and moves it the wrong way, selecting 25 wing instead of 67. Jet instantly climbs about 1500ft.
Slightly bent jet flown carefully back to base, Staff Nav ruminating on choice of words.
"Mildly" Eccentric Stardriver
Lovely story Danny. If only we had that sort of time. Sadly, 60 min report before departure can't compete with a couple of hours on a sunny terrace. 
Shy,
I can recall a very similar down the mountain ride...except it was for real....and I was both the senior guy and at the controls.....and pretty near out of usable ideas.
The running account would sound boring out of context....but it was a very near thing but turned out okay at the bottom....barely.
I would much rather have gained the benefit of that experience by means of some idle chitchat over Tea in the Pilot's Ready Room as compared to the way I did.
That was another time I managed to droop the Rotor RPM on a Chinook to the point the Generators dropped off line.
I can recall a very similar down the mountain ride...except it was for real....and I was both the senior guy and at the controls.....and pretty near out of usable ideas.
The running account would sound boring out of context....but it was a very near thing but turned out okay at the bottom....barely.
I would much rather have gained the benefit of that experience by means of some idle chitchat over Tea in the Pilot's Ready Room as compared to the way I did.
That was another time I managed to droop the Rotor RPM on a Chinook to the point the Generators dropped off line.
I've told this story once before but here it is again:
The beginning of August 1967, 230 Sqn morning prayers. Dave Todd, the boss, used to give a question to one of the pilots and today it was Eric Smart's turn.
'You are flying back from the Plain at 200 ft downwind and the engine stops. What do you do?
'Easy,' says Eric, 'do a full flare until about 45 knots, wrack it around into wind and do a constant attitude engine off landing.'
'You can't do that,' says the boss.
'Of course you can, chorused the crowd in the briefing room.
225 and 230 Squadrons had both gone out to Borneo from Germany and practised this procedure. Dave Todd was ex FEAF in Singapore who did not.
'Right. says Chunky (ex 225).' He rubs out the days flying programme and puts everybody in the room on a 20 minute LL EOLs training sortie with him.
I am about No3. I climb in the RHS with Chunky in the LHS. We take off and Chunky knows that I can do them so we go straight into the first one. Downwind in the middle of Odiham airfield, 200ft, 90 knots. He asks me if I am ready, I say OK and he pulls the speed select. I do it as previously described and on the ground he announces that he is going to do one.
Off we go, not quite 200ft (180), not quite 90 knots and he tells me to pull the lever. There is, as far as I am concerned, no problem, I had done them from lower than that. He was pattering, as QHIs do until we reached 45 knots and then he turned. Left; A Whirlwind in that position will only let you get away with it when you turn right.
I knew something was wrong because the patter dried up. The aircraft was fighting against the turn and by the time we were into wind we had about 160ft and zero airspeed. Chunky stuffed the nose down to try and get some knots so we plummeted down towards the grass. At the last moment he pulled back, which made no difference to the rate of descent or the airspeed and we three-pointed onto the ground.
It did not feel very hard but the starboard undercarriage had collapsed so I watched in fascination as the rotor blades slapped on the ground and eventually we came to rest on the starboard side.
There was then a lot of huffing and puffing from the LHS as Chunky exited through the window. A fraction of a second he was back in because the engine was still running and he had put his face over the jet pipe. He shut down the engine and dived out again followed by me who had tidied up the switches and levers.
We stood outside the wreckage wondering what to do and guess who was first to arrive. Air Vice Marshall Micky Martin, AOC 38 Group. He had just arrived outside his HQ during his first week in charge and was the closest to the prang.
We were shut up in a room in the squadron to sort a story out but there was not a lot we could do. The aircraft was left for about five days providing an excellent scenario from the officer's mess bar windows. XR478 was the first aircraft with a monstrosity known as the package winch that was attached to the starboard side. This had been forced into the frames and stringers so the aircraft was a write-off. Chunky knew everybody on the B o I and he was effectively the expert witness. He got away with an AOC's reprimand.
The beginning of August 1967, 230 Sqn morning prayers. Dave Todd, the boss, used to give a question to one of the pilots and today it was Eric Smart's turn.
'You are flying back from the Plain at 200 ft downwind and the engine stops. What do you do?
'Easy,' says Eric, 'do a full flare until about 45 knots, wrack it around into wind and do a constant attitude engine off landing.'
'You can't do that,' says the boss.
'Of course you can, chorused the crowd in the briefing room.
225 and 230 Squadrons had both gone out to Borneo from Germany and practised this procedure. Dave Todd was ex FEAF in Singapore who did not.
'Right. says Chunky (ex 225).' He rubs out the days flying programme and puts everybody in the room on a 20 minute LL EOLs training sortie with him.
I am about No3. I climb in the RHS with Chunky in the LHS. We take off and Chunky knows that I can do them so we go straight into the first one. Downwind in the middle of Odiham airfield, 200ft, 90 knots. He asks me if I am ready, I say OK and he pulls the speed select. I do it as previously described and on the ground he announces that he is going to do one.
Off we go, not quite 200ft (180), not quite 90 knots and he tells me to pull the lever. There is, as far as I am concerned, no problem, I had done them from lower than that. He was pattering, as QHIs do until we reached 45 knots and then he turned. Left; A Whirlwind in that position will only let you get away with it when you turn right.
I knew something was wrong because the patter dried up. The aircraft was fighting against the turn and by the time we were into wind we had about 160ft and zero airspeed. Chunky stuffed the nose down to try and get some knots so we plummeted down towards the grass. At the last moment he pulled back, which made no difference to the rate of descent or the airspeed and we three-pointed onto the ground.
It did not feel very hard but the starboard undercarriage had collapsed so I watched in fascination as the rotor blades slapped on the ground and eventually we came to rest on the starboard side.
There was then a lot of huffing and puffing from the LHS as Chunky exited through the window. A fraction of a second he was back in because the engine was still running and he had put his face over the jet pipe. He shut down the engine and dived out again followed by me who had tidied up the switches and levers.
We stood outside the wreckage wondering what to do and guess who was first to arrive. Air Vice Marshall Micky Martin, AOC 38 Group. He had just arrived outside his HQ during his first week in charge and was the closest to the prang.
We were shut up in a room in the squadron to sort a story out but there was not a lot we could do. The aircraft was left for about five days providing an excellent scenario from the officer's mess bar windows. XR478 was the first aircraft with a monstrosity known as the package winch that was attached to the starboard side. This had been forced into the frames and stringers so the aircraft was a write-off. Chunky knew everybody on the B o I and he was effectively the expert witness. He got away with an AOC's reprimand.
"Mildly" Eccentric Stardriver
Blimey. How to take the memory back fifty years with just three names. Dave Todd, Eric Smart and Chunky. I believe Chunky sadly passed away many years ago. Any ideas of the other two?
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