Eject! Eject! - John Nichol
Join Date: Dec 2008
Location: Glesga, Scotland
Age: 51
Posts: 230
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Just wanted to add my 2p worth I have it in audio book (hgv driver so makes my day more interesting)
Thank you very much for such a amazing collection of stories, to the lay man/woman you think when you hear the pilot(s) ejected all is OK and that's the end of the news story, your book highlights its just the start of some story's!
thanks again for educating us non military types .
Thank you very much for such a amazing collection of stories, to the lay man/woman you think when you hear the pilot(s) ejected all is OK and that's the end of the news story, your book highlights its just the start of some story's!
thanks again for educating us non military types .
To everyone that's already read the book - I'm getting it for my birthday next munf and I want the end to be a surprise, so PLEASE, no spoilers! 
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]Extract from “RAF Harrier Ground Attack Falklands” By Jerry Pook:
After a few more minutes both fuel gauges read zero, and I gave the hand signal for my ejection. As if in a dream I watched the engine slowly wind down; I waved goodbye to JR, my old buddy, (I had no radio), and settled into a steep glide at 250kts. For the last 15 minutes or so the adrenalin had been pumping at full throttle, and there was to be no let up. In a silent, cosy glide down to 10,000ft (the cockpit suddenly became very warm), I had to force myself to accept the inevitability of ejection into the freezing air outside. I was concerned that my hands would freeze up, leaving me incapable of getting into my liferaft - my one and only chance of survival.
At 10,000ft I pulled the handle. My first Harrier ejection was extremely violent, and I clearly remember my head being forced down between my knees by the 3000lb thrust of the rocket seat. After this the relief of hanging in the harness was overwhelming. My first reaction was to switch on my Personal Locater Beacon so that my distress signal would be heard at maximum range. I had only the vaguest idea of how close I was to the Task Group. (I must have been only about 50 miles away when I flamed out: with the glide and the strong wind I landed barely 40 miles from them). The sea below was dotted with large cumulus and there was no sign of a ship in any direction. As I approached the top of a cloud I felt that I was as prepared as possible for water entry; as expected, I was having to hold my heavy Personal Survival Pack (PSP) between my knees to prevent violent oscillations of the parachute. Suddenly, in the hostile stillness of the cloud I heard the sweetest sound imaginable - the distinct 'chop' of rotor blades. Thank God for the Navy! Below the cloud I still couldn't see the helicopter and I concentrated hard on the landing. I dropped the PSP at what I estimated to be about 200ft and immediately smashed into a large piece of the South Atlantic which rose to meet me.
Now the panic really started. I was unable to release my parachute and straight away I was off, being dragged by the strong wind on a wild roller coaster ride from wave to wave. Luckily I was dragged on my back or I would have drowned very quickly. However, try as I could I was unable to get enough purchase to release my parachute with my rapidly freezing fingers. I could not see what I was doing because of the bulk of my lifejacket and the Browning pistol stowed underneath. At last my 'chute collapsed, allowing me to pull in my liferaft pack and inflate it, although I was still unable to release the parachute harness. A Lynx was already hovering overhead, but I realised that I had to get into the liferaft first in order to get rid of my parachute. Although I should have waited for the liferaft to harden up a bit, the urge to get out of the water was too strong. With all my remaining strength I managed to haul myself aboard, helped by the fact that the liferaft was travelling steeply downhill as I entered.
After a few more minutes both fuel gauges read zero, and I gave the hand signal for my ejection. As if in a dream I watched the engine slowly wind down; I waved goodbye to JR, my old buddy, (I had no radio), and settled into a steep glide at 250kts. For the last 15 minutes or so the adrenalin had been pumping at full throttle, and there was to be no let up. In a silent, cosy glide down to 10,000ft (the cockpit suddenly became very warm), I had to force myself to accept the inevitability of ejection into the freezing air outside. I was concerned that my hands would freeze up, leaving me incapable of getting into my liferaft - my one and only chance of survival.
At 10,000ft I pulled the handle. My first Harrier ejection was extremely violent, and I clearly remember my head being forced down between my knees by the 3000lb thrust of the rocket seat. After this the relief of hanging in the harness was overwhelming. My first reaction was to switch on my Personal Locater Beacon so that my distress signal would be heard at maximum range. I had only the vaguest idea of how close I was to the Task Group. (I must have been only about 50 miles away when I flamed out: with the glide and the strong wind I landed barely 40 miles from them). The sea below was dotted with large cumulus and there was no sign of a ship in any direction. As I approached the top of a cloud I felt that I was as prepared as possible for water entry; as expected, I was having to hold my heavy Personal Survival Pack (PSP) between my knees to prevent violent oscillations of the parachute. Suddenly, in the hostile stillness of the cloud I heard the sweetest sound imaginable - the distinct 'chop' of rotor blades. Thank God for the Navy! Below the cloud I still couldn't see the helicopter and I concentrated hard on the landing. I dropped the PSP at what I estimated to be about 200ft and immediately smashed into a large piece of the South Atlantic which rose to meet me.
Now the panic really started. I was unable to release my parachute and straight away I was off, being dragged by the strong wind on a wild roller coaster ride from wave to wave. Luckily I was dragged on my back or I would have drowned very quickly. However, try as I could I was unable to get enough purchase to release my parachute with my rapidly freezing fingers. I could not see what I was doing because of the bulk of my lifejacket and the Browning pistol stowed underneath. At last my 'chute collapsed, allowing me to pull in my liferaft pack and inflate it, although I was still unable to release the parachute harness. A Lynx was already hovering overhead, but I realised that I had to get into the liferaft first in order to get rid of my parachute. Although I should have waited for the liferaft to harden up a bit, the urge to get out of the water was too strong. With all my remaining strength I managed to haul myself aboard, helped by the fact that the liferaft was travelling steeply downhill as I entered.
And, Jerry, to the best of my recollection, your fellow 1(F) Sqn Flt Cdr who had ejected a few days earlier after being hit over Goose Green but who had made it back to HERMES just before you after he had spent a few days surviving, welcomed you into the bar of the Wardroom with something like........
"Hi Jerry - have you been for a swim?"
Strange days they were - but we made it.
"Hi Jerry - have you been for a swim?"
Strange days they were - but we made it.
Vulcan rear crew ejection seat proposal-1
Vulcan rear crew ejection seat proposal-2
These are two photos I found somewhere showing the proposal for Vulcan rear crew ejection seats.
No idea how it was supposed to work.
That seat in 168# must have had a big charge to clear the fin...
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Timelord, the answer as given by Brian Miller once of Martin Baker, can be found in Journal 37 of the RAF Historical Society. (Brian Miller was the man who persuaded Embraer to put bang seats in the Tucano)
The V-bomber Saga
Martin had long been concerned about the lack of ejection seats for the rearward-facing rear crew members in all three V bombers. He had developed a rearward-facing ejection seat for the Valiant, demonstrating its practicability when, in 1960, ex-RAF parachute instructor, W T ‘Doddy’ Hay, made a rearward facing ejection from the back of a Valiant over Chalgrove. In the other two V-bombers, ejection seats had been installed for the test pilots only because it was intended that production aircraft would have jettisonable crew cabins that would be recovered by parachute. When it became apparent that these crew capsules had been abandoned, Martin lobbied hard to have ejection seats installed for the entire crew. When a Vulcan crashed on approach to Heathrow on returning from a flight to Australia, and only the pilots survived, Martin became incandescent. The RAF was fully supportive of his efforts on their behalf and the nose section of a scrapped Vulcan was delivered to Denham for the development of rear seat ejection – as a private venture. The pressurised cabin structure precluded the provision of separate hatches for each seat, which would have been the ideal, and instead Martin had to devise a way to eject all three crew members through a single, central, hatch. In typical style, Martin turned the challenge into an advantage by incorporating a command ejection system that would automatically sequence the ejections so that the rear crew could be ejected in the shortest time without risk of collision.
A special rig was constructed to demonstrate the concept. When ejection was initiated, the rear seat shoulder harnesses were tightened automatically to position the rear crew members for ejection. As they were brought back in their seats the chart table, which extended across the width of the cabin, was folded upward by cartridge-powered pistons, to provide leg clearance, and the central hatch was blown. The centre seat and occupant then ejected, allowing, the other rear crew members to cant sideways and eject in turn through the same hatchway. Having proved the concept, the system was installed in the Vulcan crew compartment and was demonstrated very successfully to high level RAF and Ministry officials.
Incredibly the men from the Ministry decreed that ejection seats would not be provided for the rear crew of any of the V-bombers despite the availability of a very practical system. It is a matter of record how many rear crew members were condemned by this decision but what is not so clearly appreciated is the number of pilots who gave their lives by remaining too long with their aircraft while trying to give their crew a chance to live.
Martin had long been concerned about the lack of ejection seats for the rearward-facing rear crew members in all three V bombers. He had developed a rearward-facing ejection seat for the Valiant, demonstrating its practicability when, in 1960, ex-RAF parachute instructor, W T ‘Doddy’ Hay, made a rearward facing ejection from the back of a Valiant over Chalgrove. In the other two V-bombers, ejection seats had been installed for the test pilots only because it was intended that production aircraft would have jettisonable crew cabins that would be recovered by parachute. When it became apparent that these crew capsules had been abandoned, Martin lobbied hard to have ejection seats installed for the entire crew. When a Vulcan crashed on approach to Heathrow on returning from a flight to Australia, and only the pilots survived, Martin became incandescent. The RAF was fully supportive of his efforts on their behalf and the nose section of a scrapped Vulcan was delivered to Denham for the development of rear seat ejection – as a private venture. The pressurised cabin structure precluded the provision of separate hatches for each seat, which would have been the ideal, and instead Martin had to devise a way to eject all three crew members through a single, central, hatch. In typical style, Martin turned the challenge into an advantage by incorporating a command ejection system that would automatically sequence the ejections so that the rear crew could be ejected in the shortest time without risk of collision.
A special rig was constructed to demonstrate the concept. When ejection was initiated, the rear seat shoulder harnesses were tightened automatically to position the rear crew members for ejection. As they were brought back in their seats the chart table, which extended across the width of the cabin, was folded upward by cartridge-powered pistons, to provide leg clearance, and the central hatch was blown. The centre seat and occupant then ejected, allowing, the other rear crew members to cant sideways and eject in turn through the same hatchway. Having proved the concept, the system was installed in the Vulcan crew compartment and was demonstrated very successfully to high level RAF and Ministry officials.
Incredibly the men from the Ministry decreed that ejection seats would not be provided for the rear crew of any of the V-bombers despite the availability of a very practical system. It is a matter of record how many rear crew members were condemned by this decision but what is not so clearly appreciated is the number of pilots who gave their lives by remaining too long with their aircraft while trying to give their crew a chance to live.
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Victor Rear Crew Bangseat Discussion
Having been on 543 Sqn (Victor SR2) where we lost an entire crew. When I later got command of a Victor Tanker (57 Sqn) and then formed into a Constituted Crew post OCU, I sat down with this newly established crew, and said that if I thought things were going tits up I would order the Co Pilot to punch out early on. I then said that I didn't have the faintest idea as to how long I would stay with the aircraft.
To my surprise and admiration the rear crew unanimously stated that if things were so bad that I judged that the copilot should go - I ought to go at the same time. Cleared the air a bit - a tough conversation but I felt strongly that it should be discussed. We then had more than a few beers, and never spoke of it again.
To my surprise and admiration the rear crew unanimously stated that if things were so bad that I judged that the copilot should go - I ought to go at the same time. Cleared the air a bit - a tough conversation but I felt strongly that it should be discussed. We then had more than a few beers, and never spoke of it again.
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Without wanting to promote my own work "too" much - the development of rear-crew seats is covered and discussed in the book, including the thoughts of V-Force pilots.
My friend Allan Deacon, Shorts test pilot, ejected safely over the North Channel from a Tucano when the empennage broke up due to flutter. Alas Allan wasn't wearing an immersion suit although it was February 1990 and was found drowned in his parachute. The seat did its job perfectly but the North Atlantic is not a place to swim in winter.
Thanks John, it’s a great read and a good insight into the problems over the history until today. I got some interesting looks reading it on an easyJet flight though 👍.
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Timelord, I am more shocked that the VSOs didn't kick up more of a stink - I wonder if proximity to the war conditioned attitudes to crew losses, even as a child of the 60s I had friends who were sons of bomber aircrew, I remember one's dad telling me he was one of only 3 on his flying course who who survived the war.
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SLXO wrote: I wonder if proximity to the war conditioned attitudes to crew losses, even as a child of the 60s I had friends who were sons of bomber aircrew, I remember one's dad telling me he was one of only 3 on his flying course who who survived the war.
I think that's the answer. Our much loved contributor Danny 42C flew Vengeance dive-bombers in Burma and rejoined the postwar RAF to fly Spitfires, Vampires and Meteors. He recalled the Meteor was a beast to handle on one engine, resulting in many accidents which were treated as quite normal by VSOs who remembered the appalling wartime losses. Other aircraft took a similar toll well into the 1950s before someone realised that the RAF was wasting needless resources. If anyone hasn't seen his e-book Danny in the Cold War just PM your email to me -- Prune doesn't do attachments -- and make a donation to the RAF Benevolent Fund.
I think that's the answer. Our much loved contributor Danny 42C flew Vengeance dive-bombers in Burma and rejoined the postwar RAF to fly Spitfires, Vampires and Meteors. He recalled the Meteor was a beast to handle on one engine, resulting in many accidents which were treated as quite normal by VSOs who remembered the appalling wartime losses. Other aircraft took a similar toll well into the 1950s before someone realised that the RAF was wasting needless resources. If anyone hasn't seen his e-book Danny in the Cold War just PM your email to me -- Prune doesn't do attachments -- and make a donation to the RAF Benevolent Fund.