It was the dying days of WW2, and the German state, and its conquered territories, were being assaulted day and night by the Allies non-stop air offensive. Vital factories producing tanks and aircraft were being hit, transportation nodes were being targeted, and the RAF and USAAF were flattening the synthetic oil plants as fast as they could be identified. This last target policy was the one that was working best, as flying ground slowly to a halt, with the last stocks of aviation spirit having been issued to the Luftwaffe. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and the Luftwaffe now possessed a rocket powered ‘point interceptor’ – the Me163 – which defended important areas, then glided back to the home field, landed on a skid and was removed from the landing area by a special towing vehicle. Now in the last weeks, it intended to use a local defence, semi-disposable (it was intended to recover the Walter motor), rocket-powered interceptor to combat the streams of B-17s and B-24s passing overhead – and the Bachem Ba349 was to be launched from a vertical tower!

As we know, the Me163 made little impact, and the Bachem Ba349 ‘Natter’ was never launched in anger, but in the early 1950s the Royal Air Force was facing a potential tactical problem of similar magnitude. The Tupolev Tu-4, NATO reporting name ‘Bull’ (a reverse-engineered B-29 Superfortress) was equipped with free-fall nuclear weapons, and the Tu-16, NATO reporting name ‘Badger’ (first generation strategic jet bomber) was going to be equipped with short-range stand-off nuclear missiles. It was essential, therefore, that the U.K. and its vital air bases be defended. A fast-climbing interceptor became a necessity.

The Air Ministry issued the Operational Requirement No. 301 in May 1951. This was to be for a rocket-powered interceptor, able to reach 60,000 ft in 2.5 minutes. It was to be ramp-launched, glide in for a landing on an skid undercarriage and then be removed from the landing field using a special towing vehicle. In effect, the RAF had reinvented the Me163 and crossed it with aspects of the Ba329 !

Finally, some sense prevailed, and a new Operational Requirement to G.124T allowed for a mixed-power interceptor, with a rocket motor for initial climb and intercept and a small turbojet for recovery to base. Two companies were awarded contracts for prototypes under Specification F.173D, A.V. Roe (the builders of the Lancaster and Vulcan) and Saunders-Roe who had produced mostly marine aircraft. The Avro 720 ran into technical problems early on, as their chosen rocket engine, the Armstrong Siddeley Screamer (rated at 8,000 lb static thrust) was rather difficult and dangerous technically, as it used liquid oxygen to oxidize the kerosene fuel; the Avro 720 was cancelled on September, 1953.

The Saunders-Roe submission, the SR.53, was a neat clipped delta-wing machine, powered by a combination of the de Havilland Spectre rocket engine (hydrogen peroxide and kerosene) and an Armstrong-Siddeley Viper 8 turbojet of 1,750 lbs static thrust. The idea was for three prototypes to be built, with a first flight in July 1954 and an ‘in service’ date of 1957. However, only two prototypes were finally to be built, XD145 and XD151.

Since the armament required was just two ‘Firestreak’ infra-red guided missiles, and the endurance was only 7 minutes at full power, it was recognized that a bigger aircraft would be of even more utility, so Saunders-Roe simultaneously developed plans for the SR.177. This was to be offered to the Royal Air Force, the Royal Navy and the German Navy, who were expressing a great deal of interest. After all, who better to understand rocket powered flight than the Germans, plus they had a huge potential problem with Soviet air bases being literally minutes away over the East German border!

With such an unorthodox fighter there were bound to be long delays, and it wasn’t until June 1956 that the first tiny SR.53 was rolled out under great secrecy, then transported by road to the RAF’s experimental establishment at Boscombe Down, Wiltshire. On the 16th January, 1957 the very first engine runs were undertaken, and everyone was looking forward to the start of a successful test program. Then it happened – utter disaster!

No, not a structural failure, or an engine problem, no – the infamous 1957 Defence White Paper happened! Presented by Duncan Sandys, one of the most hated men in British aviation history, and the Minister of Defence at the time. It said that ALL defence and attack was to be by rockets in future, and there would be NO MORE manned aircraft developed. Therefore on 4th April, 1957, before even the first flight had taken place, the SR.53 was cancelled. Along with many other fine projects which went under that day, this spelt the virtual end of the independent British aircraft industry. It also spelt the end for the SR.177, also, despite the fact that Saunders-Roe and others fought hard; the contract for the West German Navy went to the Lockheed F-104 Starfighter, in very controversial circumstances (bribery charges involving politicians and a member of the Dutch Royal family were proved).

A limited amount of flying was undertaken under a research contract, which lead to the death ‘under mysterious circumstances’ (the wording on an online RAF Museum document) of the head of the testing program, Squadron Leader John Booth, DFC on 5th June 1958, when he skidded on take-off and slammed into a set of concrete posts. Lieutenant Commander Peter ‘Sheepy’ Lamb, Saunders-Roe’s Chief Test Pilot continued the program, and managed to achieve Mach 1.45 at 56,000ft, with the SR.53 being described as docile and have excellent handling characteristics.

On the 29th December 1958, the surviving prototype was allocated to its manufacturer for aerodynamic research under Contract Kc/2P/04/CB.7(b) …. (don’t you just love Civil Servants?!). Suddenly, on the 29th July, 1960, the Air Ministry instructed Saunders-Roe to stop all further work, immediately. Personally, I think someone at the Ministry had realized that the SR.53 was an embarrassment to them, as Saunders-Roe were still hoping to revive the SR.177 on the back of the research being done with the last SR.53. Therefore on 5th August, 1960, the aircraft was released, and the contract abandoned.

After languishing at the Ministry of Technology, Rocket Propulsion Establishment at Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire (mostly for ground running tests with various experimental rockets), it was consigned to the RAF Museum in May, 1969, and put in store at RAF Henlow. What then happened was usual for an aircraft in store, bits and pieces were removed for various reasons, so when it came time for it to be refurbished for the RAF Museum, it took a three year program of replacing parts and locating a used engine, before it could be rolled out in 1981.

Since March, 1982 the only surviving RAF mixed power interceptor has been where you see it, in the ‘Research and Development’ section of the RAF Museum, Cosford (apart from a little outing to the Royal International Air Tattoo at Fairford on 19/20 July, 2003, to celebrate ’100 Years of Flight’)

I often wonder, what if? What if the SR.177 had gone ahead (it was to be powered by a Gyron Junior turbojet of about 10,000 lbs st, and a better rocket motor, and be radar and missile equipped). Heinkel, the famous German company who were to build it, had an excellent reputation, and I think it would have proved a formidable interceptor, with a maximum speed of Mach 2.35 and a zoom climb to 100,000 ft – aided by the rocket, of course! Ah, well…..another pipe dream.

http://peoplesmosquito.org.uk

The Museum of Army Flying at Middle Wallop, Hampshire, is a truly wonderful place. It might be small, but it makes use of every available cubic inch to entertain and delight both the general public and the specialist visitor. The British Army can truthfully be said to have started military aviation in Great Britain, with the balloon/airship and man-lifting kite experiments in the 19th and early 20th century. The Royal Air Force took over the ‘aviation business’ from the Army and the Royal Navy in 1918, but the Glider Pilot Regiment and Air Observation Post Squadrons got them back into the field during WW2. In 1957, the Army Air Corps was formed, and began to develop its own ‘battlefield role’ in support of other British Army units. Obviously, a great deal of experimentation took place, and some aircraft types were ordered in small quantities so that their use could be explored – the Edgar Percival EP.9 Prospector fell into this category.

Edgar Wickner Percival was an Australian fighter ace of the First World War, who became a noted test pilot and aircraft designer post-war. He founded an English-based aviation concern, Percival Aircraft Company Ltd, and began producing racing and long distance, including the famous Vega Gull and Mew Gull. During WW2 the company produced Percival Proctor radio trainers and liaison aircraft, but also the de Havilland Mosquito under licence. Edgar Percival sold his interest in his company when it became part of the Hunting Group in 1944, and moved to the U.S.A, where he continued designing.

In 1954, he felt the urge to build aircraft again, and formed a new company in England called Edgar Percival Aircraft Limited. He designed a utility aircraft, which could also be used for spraying crops and as a light transport, called the E.P.9 Prospector. The prototype, G-AOFU, first flew on 21st December, 1955 in the capable hands of Edgar Percival, himself. It was powered by a Lycoming GO-480-B of 270 hp, giving a maximum speed of 137 mph, and was very versatile, being able to spray one ton of fertilizer or other chemicals from a hopper which was removable through its rear clamshell doors, or carry three stretcher cases (plus attendant), four parachutists, four passengers in the rear plus one beside the pilot, and ‘rural’ loads such as oil drums or even livestock! The aircraft was capable, but it looked a little like someone had mated the rear half of an Auster with the front half of a Cessna 337 !

A short production run of 20 was initiated, and sales were made in France, New Zealand, Australia and Canada. The Army Air Corps became interested in the E.P.9 as a utility type, and Edgar Percival demonstrated it at the Royal Military College, Sandhurst and the AAC HQ at Middle Wallop. Following this, a pair of E.P.9 were purchased by the Army and delivered in military camouflage (Dark Green and Dark Earth, all surfaces); the serials were XM819 and XM797. These aircraft were flown extensively, but the reason that more were not purchased may be due to the fact that the import of American-built engines was severely restricted at this point in time, due to heavy import duties.

In 1958, Edgar Percival sold his new company to Salmesbury Engineering Ltd, including the rights to the design, and uncompleted airframes, who then moved everything to Squires Gate Airport, Blackpool on the Irish Sea coast. The aircraft was renamed Lancashire Prospector E.P.9 and five more machines were completed, four with 295 hp Lycoming GO-480-G1 engines driving three-bladed propellers and one as the only new-built Series 2, with an Armstrong Siddeley Cheetah 10 radial of 375 hp (another was converted in Australia). Production ceased in 1960, despite the Series 2 being exhibited at that year’s SBAC Farnborough Air Show.

The AAC aircraft were declared surplus and were de-militarized by Steels (Aviation) Ltd. at Staverton Airport. A number of E.P.9s were sold second-hand in the U.S.A including one of the Army aircraft G-ARTV (former XM819) where it was registered as N747JC to Jan Christie of Wisconsin; it appeared for several years at Oshkosh (I have seen a photograph of it on display there in 2001). Unfortunately, it is now no longer active, according to the FAA. I suppose that it had a very full career, as part of its ‘work’ – when it was on the Belgian register, from 1970 to 1973 – was done by a group of smugglers, carrying furs and counterfeit currency between the U.K. and Belgium!

The former XM797 was owned by the Old Warden Flying and Parachute Group and met a most unfortunate end, crashing on take off at Old Warden, the home of the Shuttleworth Trust, when carrying parachutists. The aircraft you can see here is a composite of G-APXW, a freighter and the tail section of XM797. Since G-APXW was powered by a GO-480-G1, it has the incorrect three-bladed propeller and downward ejector exhausts. There is another E.P.9, in airworthy condition, painted as “XM797″, with the South African Air Force Historic Flight at Swartkop, South Africa, and a very fine example active in New Zealand, ZK-PWZ, based with Kairanga Aviation Ltd.

The E.P.9 could have proved to be a worthy ‘bush aircraft’, even today, and I am sorry that so few were sold. Still, it represents a very rare military type, and one that not too many would have heard of.

http://peoplesmosquito.org.uk

It was August, 1940, and what was to become known as the Battle of Britain – one of the most pivotal battles in the history of warfare – had been raging across the southern half of the country (with occasional forays into the north) for more than 3 months. The Royal Air Force had its back to the wall, facing the might of the Luftwaffe, outnumbered, outgunned, with no possible re-inforcements available. At the very moment when the country needed every single aircraft in the shape of Spitfires and Hurricanes, the Chief Designer of the Gloster Aircraft Company, Mr George Carter, approached the Air Ministry in London – who could have been forgiven for being rather preoccupied thanks to bombs falling all over the capital – and offered the Royal Air Force a design for a new interceptor fighter, to be powered by two of the revolutionary new jet engines.

Doubtless the fact that Glosters were heavily involved in the production of the Hawker Hurricane under license was brought up. Carter, who had schemed with the then Squadron Leader Frank Whittle. the great engineer who had developed the first British turbojet, the Whittle W.1, to build Britain’s first jet aircraft the Gloster E.28/39 was a natural to design the next stage – a viable jet fighter. The E.28/39 (first flight, 15th May, 1941) had been designed with the capability of carrying four machineguns, but no armed version was ever built. The Air Ministry was cautious, however, and insisted on a series of experimental prototypes before proceeding to a full-blown operational fighter. Consequently, a contract was drawn up for a series of 12 ‘Gloster-Whittle Inceptors’, to be built to Specification F.9/40, and issued on 7th February, 1941. Please note that this was three months BEFORE the experimental Gloster E.28/39 had even taken to the air!

Carter worked on the prototype fighters, which were intended to fly with many different types of jet engine so as to build up jet experience; in the end only 8 were built out of the 12 aircraft ordered due to the progress made. A short, broad-chord wing was chosen to carry the two turbojets, as the power being produced was only about 1,000 lb of thrust from each engine (by comparison, the Rolls-Royce Merlin in a early Spitfire produced the equivalent of 700 lb of thrust at the propeller).The wing design meant that the aircraft (named Meteor by the Ministry of Aircraft Production in February, 1942) should be quite maneuverable, but would suffer in terms of range, not a good idea with the early jets which were VERY thirsty!

Here we see the very first of the F.9/40 series, DG202/G. It is shown at the RAF Museum, Cosford, but is now exhibited in the ‘Milestones of Flight’ Gallery at the RAF Museum, Hendon. It is painted in a typical 1942 colour scheme for prototype or ‘second line’ aircraft, namely Dark Green and Dark Earth over Roundel Yellow. You can see the ports for the intended armament of four 20mm Hispano cannon, an armament fit which would become standard on RAF fighters until the advent of the Hawker Hunter with its 30mm ADEN cannon. The suffix letter ‘G’ on the serial indicates that this was a very secret aircraft, and when on the ground was to remain under armed guard at ALL TIMES.

The engines initially fitted were W.2B/23 units built under sub-contract by the automotive firm, Rover, and had been derated from 1,500 lb static thrust each to only 1,000 lb due to unreliability caused by poor quality turbine blades. As such they were ‘ground-rated’ only, allowing DG202 to undertake ground handling, taxying and systems tests. The test pilot, Flight Lieutenant ‘Gerry’ Sayer, could not resist the temptation, however, and during a series of fast runs on the 10th July, 1942, managed to keep the aircraft about six feet off the ground for a few hundred yards on several occasions! At the end of the tests, the aircraft had its engines removed and it was stored to await flight-worthy engines. During this period, the fifth F.9/40 to be built became the first to ‘officially’ fly on 5th March, 1943, on the power of two H.1 Halford turbojets of 1,500 lbs each – the Halford was one of the alternative engines being considered for the production standard aircraft. It was very fitting that this first flight took place at RAF Cranwell, the home of the Royal Air Force College.

DG202 was moved to RAF Barford St John, near Banbury, Oxfordshire, where it sadly became a ‘hangar queen’ being constantly robbed for parts to keep the others flying, a common situation with prototypes that were virtually hand-made. Finally fitted with two Rolls-Royce-built W.2B/23, a reliable unit that was eventually developed into the Rolls-Royce Welland – the start of a Rolls-Royce tradition of naming their jet engines after British rivers, a tradition that continues to this day – DG202 took to the air on the 24th July, 1943. By this time its appearance had changed. It had been repainted in late-war Dark Green and Ocean Grey (the same as on Spitfires of the period) over the customary Yellow, with a band of the RAF colour known as Sky around the fuselage to indicate that this was a fighter, along with the prototype circled ‘P’ in Yellow, and had received an improved cockpit canopy.

It is interesting to note that most F.9/40 test flights were undertaken in cloudy conditions to maintain secrecy – which must have made for interesting flying in a new jet aircraft! A long test life ensued, with some excitement; for example, on the 13th December, 1944 the port engine ‘exploded during take-off’ (such calm notes from the test pilot!). Extensive damage to the port wing and centre section was incurred, and the aircraft did not become serviceable again until 14th May, 1945 – just one week after the war in Europe ended.

There was, however, one more series of tests for DG202 to perform, and a highly unusual one for an RAF aircraft. She was flown to Abottsinch in Scotland, dismantled and reassembled onboard an escort carrier (CVE) HMS Pretoria Castle, lying in the Firth of Clyde, in order to carry out a series of trials covering deck handling, and engine running, to check if jet aircraft were suitable for carriers. These trials were satisfactorily concluded on 24 August, and it was decided that the Royal Navy could order these new-fangled devices known as jets!

There then followed a long period of storage and use as a ground instructional airframe, and a ‘gate guardian’ until someone recognized the importance of this rather ancient jet. It was restored, and placed in this very early scheme to show just what the first British jetfighters would have looked like.

What of the production standard Meteor I, you say. The first examples were issued to No. 616 (County of South Yorkshire) Squadron, Royal Auxiliary Air Force. Despite its name, this was a crack unit, and they quickly made the Meteor earn its keep in the campaign against the V-1 flying bomb which was creating havoc in London and the south of England during the immediate post-D-Day period. The Meteor I had a top speed of 414 mph, which meant it could overtake the flying bomb, along with late model Spitfires, Mustangs, Thunderbolts, Tempests and Mosquitos. Flight Lieutenant ‘Dixie’ Dean made the very first Allied jet kill against a V-1 on the 27th August, 1944 over Kent, when he tipped ‘his’ V-1 over using his wingtip, as his guns had jammed.

I must declare an interest at this point. When I was at RAF Finningley, I was made an Honorary Member of No 616 Squadron Association, and enjoyed many a social event in the Officers Mess with a group of VERY energetic and interesting 70 and 80 year olds! Needless to say, I used to own a print of the ‘First Kill’, signed by ‘Dixie’ Dean. 616 went on to fly armed reconnaissance missions from a Belgian base in the closing weeks of the European campaign, but, perhaps fortunately for them, did not meet any of the superb Me 262 jets of the Luftwaffe, even though they were flying the much improved Meteor III.

Oh, and the title of this diary? Meteor was the official name, finally assigned to the aircraft by the Ministry of Aircraft Production, BUT at one stage, the MAP preferred another name – Thunderbolt. They were told that this would cause some confusion, as the USAAF rather liked that name for their P-47. As to the other name, the manufacturers, Glosters, selected that as a ‘working title’ before the first flight. So, you see, the first operational Allied jet nearly went on the Rampage!

http://peoplesmosquito.org.uk

After the Wright brothers, Orville and Wilbur, the name of Louis Blériot (1872 – 1936) is probably the most famous in aviation. The French aviator, inventor and automotive engineer, boldly went were no-one had gone before, and flew across the English Channel from Cap Gris Nez to Dover, setting Europe on its ear. A gifted student, Blériot had made his fortune inventing and manufacturing the first really practical car headlight, powered by acetylene. From 1905 onwards, at first in partnership with other French pioneers Charles & Gabrielle Voisin, later on his own, he began producing a numbered series of experimental aircraft. The canard Blériot V was very interesting, technically, but crashed, and all suffered from underpowered, unreliable lightweight engines. After watching Alberto Santos-Dumont in his 14-bis make the longest flight to date in Europe (725 feet!) and win the Aéro Club de France prize, Blériot redoubled his efforts.

His Type XI monoplane was revolutionary, and had all the recognizable features of a modern aircraft (rudder, tailplanes at rear, ‘tractor’ propeller and engine in front of the pilot, who sat centrally) with one exception – it used ‘wing warping’ in place of ailerons to exercise control in the roll axis. It first flew on the 18th January, 1909 with an R.E.P. engine, but, like all others before it, this was subject to over-heating. Fortunately, there was a solution on the horizon, in the form of Alessandro Anzani, an Italian manufacturer of motorcycle engines. Anzani had developed a three cylinder engine, with the cylinders arranged in a ‘fan’ shape which produced around 25 hp, enough, thought Blériot, to power his Type XI.

Pretty soon, Blériot was breaking records at aviation meetings, and on the 13th July, 1909 made a cross-country flight of 25 miles, between Etampes and Orleans. He realized that the £1,000 prize offered by the British Newspaper, ‘The Daily Mail’, for the first heavier that air flight across the English Channel with no intermediate landings, was within his grasp (The Mail didn’t want any seaplanes making a short hop, then taxying the rest of the way). Only three days after his cross-country flight, Blériot informed the newspaper that he would be making an attempt on the Channel!

He had rivals, the most serious of whom was the half-French Hubert Latham with his Antoinette IV monoplane. Both men set up camp at Sangatte, near Calais, and waited for favourable weather. Latham was ready first and took off on 19th July; sadly, his motor overheated, and he made a forced landing half-way across the Channel. On the morning of Sunday, 25th July, 1909, Blériot rose before dawn, and saw his wife, Alice, safely onboard the French destroyer ‘L’Escopette’. If Blériot had been superstitious, he would have listened to his wife – who did NOT want him to attempt the flight; this premonition was reinforced when Blériot tested his motor, and a local dog ran into the whirling propeller and was killed. The aviator made a short hop to ‘test the air’, then, at 4.41am he pointed the nose of his Type XI west and took off for Dover. As the flight progressed, it looked like Blériot was going to suffer the same fate as Latham, as his motor began to overheat. By a stroke of good fortune, a passing rain shower drenched Blériot , the ‘plane and the overheated Anzani motor! Despite getting lost (he was flying at only 200 feet above the sea) and being blown off course by strong westerly winds, Blériot made a heavy landing in Northfall Meadow just beyond Dover Castle. He had made history, and changed the way the world looked at the aeroplane, in just 36 minutes! An article in the Daily Mail was truly prophetic, “Britain’s impregnability has passed away…Airpower will become as vital as seapower”. Blériot was treated to a gala dinner by the Royal Aero Club in London, before he, his wife and the remains of his Type XI returned to France on a destroyer.

Replica Blériot aircraft are fairly common today, usually powered by modern engines. However, despite the fact that Blériot’s company took more than 100 orders for Type XIs in 1909 alone, original machines are few and far between. Here we see the Shuttleworth Trust’s example, construction number 14, which is very similar to the record-breaking machine. It was used at the Bleriot School at Hendon in 1910, until a bad crash in 1912 caused it to be stored in a ‘lock up’ underneath Blackfrairs Railway Bridge in the centre of London. It was acquired many years later by Mr. A. E. Grimmer who first repaired it, then flew it successfully. Richard Shuttleworth saw the Blériot, and bought the machine in 1935; it became his first historic aircraft. Shuttleworth flew it at the Royal Aeronautical Society’s ‘Garden Parties’ in 1937, 1938 and 1939. The Bleriot went into store on the outbreak of WW2; Richard Shuttleworth joined the RAF, and was killed in the crash of a Fairey Battle on a training mission. The Bleriot XI became the core of the famed Shuttle Collection at Old Warden Airfield.

Not only is it airworthy (although it is now limited to straight hops across the grass airfield at Old Warden) it is the oldest flyable aircraft in the world! As well as that, it is powered by the oldest airworthy aero-engine, a ‘fan-shaped’ Anzani of 25 hp. This means that this is a unique aircraft. As an aside, the Old Rhinebeck Collection, in upper New York State, also has a 1909 Blériot XI, powered by an Anzani ‘Y’ engine of 35 hp, but it is only 25% original (new wings, elevators, centre section, etc.) and its construction number is 56!

I have seen the Hughes H-4 Hercules flying boat, when it was at Long Beach, when it used to be refered to as the ‘Oh My God!’ ‘plane, because of the reaction of people when they saw it for the first time. Well, when you realize what you are looking at in the hangar at Old Warden, this Bleriot XI has a similar effect! This really is one of the most iconic objects you will find in any aviation museum.

The British Army has been involved in the ‘aviation business’ for almost as long as there has been aviation. The Royal Engineers formed balloon companies and man-lifting kite units in the 19th century, and a gondola from one of the British Army Dirigible No 1, the airship ‘Nulli Secundus’ of 1907, designed by Colonel John Capper and the showman/engineer Samuel Cody, is on display in the RAF Museum, London.

The Royal Flying Corps fought valiantly during WW1, until a ‘shotgun marriage’ with the Royal Naval Air Service gave rise to the Royal Air Force on the 1st April, 1918. The Army got into aviation in a big way during WW2, with the formation of the Glider Pilot Regiment and the Air Observation Post squadrons which flew light aircraft, and spotted for the artillery (rather as they had in WW1).

The military glider had a fairly short life, and by the early 1950s, the days of infantry being delivered behind the front line by unpowered aircraft were over. In 1958 the Glider Pilot Regiment and the Air Observation Post squadrons were amalgamated and the new Army Air Corps was born! A mix of rotary wing and light fixed wing assets was needed, and specifications were soon formulated in the new AAC HQ at Middle Wallop. Soon it was decided that the de Havilland Canada DHC-2 Beaver – originally designed as a back-country ‘bush aircraft’ – was admirably suited for a general duties aircraft to undertake many tasks for the British Army; after all, the US Army had come to the same conclusion and ordered it as the U-6. Powered by a Pratt & Whitney R-935 Wasp Junior engine of 450 hp, the prototype DHC-2 had first flown in August, 1947, the production costs being eased by the offer of cheap WW2-surplus Wasp Junior engines from P & W Canada. This gave the Beaver a top speed of 158 mph (and a cruising speed of 143 mph) and a range of 455 miles.

The Army Air Corps took delivery of the first of their 46 Beaver AL.1 aircraft in 1961, and it was soon as busy as …well, a beaver, actually! The type could carry the pilot and five passengers on communications duties, but was also used for carrying freight (1,200lb of cargo), supply dropping (up to 800 lb of stores carried underwing), dropping parachutists, pilot training and aerial photography.

The aircraft you can see above, XP821, is on display at the Army Museum of Flying, Middle Wallop, and has a strange tale to tell. It is a survivor of the conflict which raged across South East Asia from 1955 to 1975, through the countries of Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos, a war which Britain officially had no part in. The story starts simply enough with XP821 being sent overseas to fly as part of No 4 Wing, AAC and 130 Flight, Royal Corps of Transport in Malaysia and Singapore on general duty sorties which lasted until 1970. The Foreign and Commonwealth Office in London then made a request for an aircraft and Army Air Corps pilot for use by the British Ambassador in Vientiane, Laos. On arrival in country the aircraft was given its distinctive white/grey colour scheme and titles to display its neutrality (or so it was thought). However, this did not appear to deter the ‘other side’, as when flying up the Mekong at treetop height, it took a Russian-built RPG-7 clear through the port wing. This armor-piercing round just missed a main fuel line. The AAC pilot continued on, and was able to make a safe landing. XP821 left this hazardous duty in Laos in 1975, and shortly afterwards was retired. It is displayed here in its ‘diplomatic markings’ as quite possibly the only British aircraft to be damaged in a combat situation in the war in South East Asia.

The Beaver was much loved by all who flew her, and is continuing to earn its keep in the back country of Canada and Alaska to this day. Despite the production lines having shut down in 1967, Viking Air of Victoria, Canada has purchased the ‘type certificates’ for the aircraft from the successor company to De Havilland Canada, Bombardier, and is producing new turbo-prop powered aircraft, as the DHC-2T to this day! Although companies can ‘zero-time’ a DHC-2 or even fit it with a Polish-built PZL-3S radial of 600 hp, or a Pratt & Whitney PT-6 turboprop, as spares for the original wartime Pratt & Whitney engine are getting scarce.

On wheels, floats or skis, rather like that other classic, the DC-3, it has been found that the only replacement for a Beaver – is a Beaver. However, the British public have not been deprived of the distinctive sound associated with this aircraft and the Pratt & Whitney engine – the howl as the propeller tips go supersonic at high power settings – because the Army Historic Flight still keeps one in flying condition for appearances at airshows!

http://peoplesmosquito.org.uk

The date? 26th January, 1906. The place? Ormond Beach, Florida, just north of Daytona. Fred Marriott had just smashed the world land speed record, setting a new mark of 127.66 mph, the vehicle he used becoming the first to break the 100 mph barrier. The car he did it in? A Stanley ‘Rocket’ – yes, Fred Marriott used a STEAM-powered vehicle to break the record. It would be three more years before an internal-combustion engined car broke the 100 mile an hour barrier; that would be the Benz No. 1, and at 125.94 mph it was still short of Marriott’s mark. It certainly seemed that, in the early years of the 20th century, steam was going to be the standard power source for road vehicles, particularly heavy road vehicles. The author Rudyard Kipling owned a steam car and wrote about them, too, in his short stories.

Scotland, in the later half of the 19th century, was a hive of activity. Heavy industries like coal mining and iron smelting supported a wealth of engineering concerns, and Scotland was world renowned for its shipbuilding and locomotive design. In 1874, Stephen Alley and John MacLellan joined forces to to found Alley & MacLellan Ltd., a general engineering firm that produced steam valves, steering gear for ships, small steam engines and even pre-fabricated steam ships. A few years later they acquired the rights to the Bibby Steam Wagon, and taking this as a starting point designed their own road-going vehicle for the general haulage trade; this ‘Sentinel’ came as a Model 5, with a ‘tipper’ body or Model 6, a flat bed wagon. Motive power came from an under-mounted 2 cylinder, double-acting steam engine, with poppet valves. Steam was generated in a vertically-mounted boiler, with cross water tubes, and effective superheating (the method whereby flue gases are used to raise the temperature of the steam still further, thereby allowing it to generate even more power). Power varied according to the quality of coal used and the condition of the flue and its liner; good Welsh ‘steam coal’ was prefered.

By 1914, the company felt the need to expand, and it chose a site in Shrewsbury, about 30 miles west of the heavily industrialised West Midlands. In a startling move, the firm fabricated its own modular factory, and moved it to the new site! By now solid rubber tyres had become standard on both their wagons and the optional trailers. The Great War caused a large expansion in demand for military wagons, and this was a boom time for the firm, which in 1918 changed its name to ‘The Sentinel Wagon Works Ltd’. However, a ‘perfect storm’ was coming. The end of the Great War meant a general down-turn in economic activity, and the flood of ex-military petrol-engined wagons onto the civilian market was nearly fatal to the firm. That, along with Goverment discrimination in the form of an ‘axle weight tax’ caused by the Salter Report (steam traction is always heavier than internal combustion), and ‘wetted area’ tax, which struck at the perceived nuisance of steam road locomotives, was a major blow. The company diversified with its first small railway locomotive being built in 1923, and its very last ‘Standard’ wagon being finished in the same year (this venerable design, built from 1905 – 1923, had totalled 3,746 examples!) The first of the superb ‘DG’, or Double Gear, series of vehicles comprising wagons, tipper lorries, and ‘buses was rolled out in 1927, and by 1938, 851 had been built.

The outbreak of the Second World War saw the firm put on a war footing again, but this time there was no demand for steam wagons. Instead, ‘Sentinel’ built no less than 11,000 Universal Carriers (sometimetime known as the Bren Gun Carrier) that small, ubiquitous tracked vehicle used in many forms by the U.K. and Commonwealth forces during WW2 and after. They also repaired thousands of U.S. built automotive engines including those from Buda, Caterpillar and Cummins. Sentinel was aided in this by the fact that they had adopted a Ford-style production line system when they moved the factory to Shrewsbury.

After the war ended, steam traction did too, apart from a final batch of wagons for Patagonia (it is said that the Argentine Government ‘forgot’ to pay for the latter part of the batch!) Sentinel switched to diesel-engine power for its railway locomotives, and was taken over by Rolls-Royce in 1956. By the 1960s the grand old name had faded away.

Imagine my surprise then, when returning to London after a visit to the de Havilland Historic Aircraft Trust at South Mimms, when I overtook a steam vehicle in ‘full flight’! I was on a four-lane highway at the time, and quickly sped ahead until I found a parking spot, and waited. Shortly afterward, this wonderful Sentinel DG4 Steam Passenger Bus hove into view, pounding down the road at about 45 mph. It bore the legend, ’1932 “Sentinel” Steam Passenger Bus’, SBC No. 1, and the title of ‘Lake District’ on the side. If you look closely, you can see the exhaust from the under-mounted twin-cylinder engine. Registered ‘KG1123′, this DG4P is the sole survivor of its kind, and despite being based in Cumbria, in the North West of England, it is seen at steam gatherings around the country, especially those sponsored by the Sentinel Driver’s Club, such as the large rally at Bedford in 2012.

An anachronism? Who knows; steam traction may yet make a comeback. Until it does, I shall keep an eye out for this handsome reminder of a byegone age – the Sentinel !

When I was a small boy, I used to walk across the fields for about 3 miles – usually in the company of a small group of like-minded ‘enthusiasts’, to one of three bridges which spanned the former Midland Railway’s main line between London and Sheffield. The lines were now operated by the London, Midland and Scottish Railway Company – an amalgamation of the Midland Railway, London and North Western Railway, Glasgow & South Western Railway, Caledonian Railway, Highland Railway, North Staffordshire Railway, and the Furness Railway – one of the ‘super companies’ brought together by the 1921 Railways act in the so-called ‘grouping’, which forced the merger of over 100 independent rail companies into just four regional giants – the Southern Railway, London & North Eastern Railway, Great Western Railway, and the L.M.S.R.

The LMS wasn’t just the biggest of the four, it was the biggest commercial concern in the whole British Empire! As well as railways, it owned hotels (even now you can find a ‘Midland Hotel’ in many towns), steamship lines, a road transport fleet of goods delivery vehicles, and even a share in an internal airline, Railway Air Services Ltd, operating elegant de Havilland DH89 Dragon Rapide, DC-3, Avro Anson, Ju52 and other aircraft. It routes ranged across Northern Ireland, the Highland glens and industrial Midlands of Scotland, the cotton towns of Lancshire and the woollen towns of Yorkshire, the engineering power-house of the West Midlands, the coalfields of South Wales, and that huge world city, London. It needed a massive locomotive stud to service not just the crack passenger trains but the traffic that made the real profits – freight.

One of the designs that the LMSR relied on was based on a classic superheated freight engine, the 3835 Class, 0-6-0, (originally introduced in 1911) by the former Chief Mechanical Engineer of the Midland Railway, Sir Henry Fowler, KBE, now the CME of the LMS. This developed design was to be known as the Class 4, a title which reflected its power classification of ’4F’. The Midland had adopted a rather mis-guided ‘small engine’ policy, which gave rise to a great deal of double-heading, as one locomotive, generally, was not up to the task of hauling a heavily laden train. They also had short-travel cylinder valves, leading to inefficiencies and higher coal consumption, and smaller than expected axle boxes, with inadequate bearing area, which meant that certain classes of loco would develop a ‘hot box’ with distressing frequency – sadly the Fowler Class 4 was subject to these failings, plus a tendency towards developing cracked mainframes.

Notwithstanding, this class was built in very large numbers – no less than 772 examples between 1924 and 1941. Given such a large number, it was inevitable that many of Great Britain’s locomotive works would be given contracts to build the Class 4; these included LMS Derby Works, LMS Crewe Works, LMS St Rollox Works (Glasgow), LMS Horwich Works (nr Bolton), North British Locomotive Company Ltd (Glasgow), Kerr, Stuart & Co (Stoke-on-Trent) and Andrew Barclay & Sons Co. (Kilmarnock, Scotland). The locomotive tender was six-wheeled and could carry 3,500 gallons of water and 4 tons of coal. The LMS-type G7S boiler, ran at 175 lbs/sq in, and supplied steam to the two inside cylinders, equipped with Stephenson Valve Gear. This allowed the six coupled driving wheels to produce 24,555 lb of tractive effort. Thus, the locomotive had a power classification of ’4F’ (the ‘F’ standing for freight); however, the ‘Four Freight’ as it was universally known, could sometimes be found handling local passenger services on branch lines. The LMS re-numbered this Midland design, giving it engine numbers from 43836 to 44606. Wartime service spread them far and wide beyond their ‘home’ region, and when the railways were nationalized in 1948, by the post-war Labour Government, 4F’s could be found almost anywhere.

44422 was built in Derby in 1927 (according to the plaque on her side) at a cost of £3217, plus the tender at £1000. She was assigned to Leicester ‘shed’ (shed code ’15C’) in October of that year. During the dark days of 1940, she was sent to Bristol, a move which lead to 44422 spending the rest of her working life in the South West of England.
The coming of diesel traction and the spread of electrification together sounded the death knell of steam on British Railways, the class was withdrawn and sold for scrap from 1959 onwards. In 1965, 44422 was sent to the famous Woodham Brothers scrap yard in Barry, South Glamorgan. She languished there for nearly 12 years, and since my brother lived on Broad Street, directly opposite Dai Woodham’s yard, it is highly likely I saw her (as a avid ‘train spotter’ from my youth, I used to walk along the right-hand side of Broad Street and stare at all the rusting hulks).

The only reason that no less than 212 locomotives made it OUT of Woodhams, and were not scrapped (they were bought by nascent rail preservation societies) was due to the fact that the yard found it far more profitable, and far quicker, to scrap the thousands of railway wagons they were being offered by British Rail, instead! The locos were pushed to one side, to be dealt with later, alllowing enthusiasts to step in and make bids. In 1977 the North Staffordshire Railway Society (as it was then known) paid £4,860 for the wreck of 44422 – a sum almost identical to her original cost (not allowing for inflation). A long drawn-out restoration was undertaken to bring her back to life (as one of only four ’4F’s in preservation) to enable her to run on the Churnet Valley Railway in Staffordshire.

Here you can see 44422 at rest ready to depart from Wansford Station, the HQ of the Nene Valley Railway, near Peterborough. She is now owned by ‘The 44422 Locomotive Company Limited’ and is available for hire by train operators and preserved railways. That is exactly what has happened in this case as Nene Valley has contracted with the ownership (since they do not have many large British engines, themselves) to use 44422 to run a number of their services. Indeed, on the 1st of March, 2013, 44422 was given a special task. To mark the take over of the former British Railways Board-owned Fletton Branch line (which joins up with the Nene Valley line and the East Coast Main Line to London), a special train, called ‘The Fletton Branch Limited’ was hauled by 44422 over the expanded system.

You can a small plate bearing the legend ’83G’ on the smokebox door – this indicates that its ‘home’ shed was that serving Penzance, Helston or St. Ives (all in Cornwall). On the day of the branch opening, however, 44422′s ‘shed plate’ showed 71G – which refers to the Weymouth & Bridport area shed in Dorset. The two engine lamps you can see, one at either end of the buffer bar, give a code for ‘Express Passenger Train’ – someone has a sense of humour, anyway!

44422′s ownership are busy trying to raise cash for a VERY expensive total rebuild, due in 2014. Oh, and THE classic work on the 4F? It has to be ‘A Defence of the Midland/LMS Class 4 0-6-0 -also, why frames cracked and axle boxes ran hot’, by A.P. Tester – sadly now out of print.

It was standard proceedure, particularly during the general European re-armament of the 1930s, for nations to begin the search for a replacement for a new bomber, fighter or reconnaissance aircraft almost as soon as a new type entered front-line service. Types were becoming obsolete faster and faster as the pace of aeronautical development picked up.

Fairey had produced the much loved and very versatile Swordfish to a ‘TSR’ (torpede/spotter/reconnaissance) requirement, for the Royal Navy’s Fleet Air Arm. It was envisaged that the Swordfish would be used to engage enemy fleet units with the standard British 18″ torpedo, and also perform reconnaissance from British carriers. By 1936, the Admiralty were about to decide on a replacement for the Swordfish, and the Air Ministry (who issued specifications for the FAA and RAF), promulgated Spec. S.41/36 for a new aircraft to replace the Swordfish. Their Lordships of the Admiralty were an extremely conservative group, and the winning design, again from Fairey, was yet another biplane, with fixed undercarriage. Admittedly, there were some slight concessions to modernity such as an enclosed heated cockpit for the three crew (pilot, observer and telegraphist/air gunner) rather than the incredibly draughty open ‘bathtub’ of the Swordfish, and a new all-metal monocoque fuselage, which was most unusual in a biplane. The Swordfish’s Pegasus radial was supplanted by a more powerful Bristol Taurus II, a twin-row, 14-cylinder sleeve-valve radial of 1,065 hp – later aircraft had the Taurus XII of 1,130 hp, driving a constant-speed propeller.

The equal-span, single bay wings were equipped with hydraulically actuated flaps, which allowed the Albacore to be used for dive-bombing; the war-load for this mission was either 6 x 250 lb or 4 x 500 lb bombs. The first flight of the prototype of the Albacore took place in December 1938, when the RAF still had operational control of the Royal Navy’s aircraft (the RAF did not hand the FAA back to the RN until May, 1939). A trials unit, No. 826 Squadron, FAA was formed, and took the Albacore into service in May, 1940. Armed with the standard British 18″ torpedo (weighing 1,610 lbs) 1 x Vickers .303 machine gun in the starboard wing, and 2 x Vickers ‘K’ machineguns in the rear cockpit, the Albacores were initially operated from shore bases in the south and east of England in strikes against enemy naval units and coastal targets in the English Channel.

The type went to sea with Nos. 826 & 829 Squadrons, embarked in HMS Formidable in November, 1940. The Albacore had better take-off performance from its smooth Taurus sleeve-valve engine, and had increased top speed compared to the Swordfish (161 mph vs 139 mph), but some pilots did NOT like the fact that it was much less manoeuvrable than their beloved ‘Stringbag’. That, along with a dramatically reduced range, 710 miles vs 1,030 miles (range being extremely important in a naval aircraft) meant that the Albacore simply supplemented the Swordfish but did not replace it.

The Albacore had some successes, including strikes on Petsamo (at the time in Finland, now Russia) and Kirkenes, Norway in July, 1941, and torpedo strikes against the Italian Fleet in the Battle of Cape Matapan (Eastern Mediterrenean), March, 1941, but it began to be used as a specialist dropper of flares during night reconnaissance operations soon afterwards. This it was to do with some effect in the Western Desert, especially before the Battle of El Alamein, and even over Normandy in 1944, providing illumination for night attacks by RAF de Havilland Mosquito FB.VI aircraft on German forces.

The Albacore began to be replaced as a dive bomber and torpedo-carrying aircraft by yet another Fairey product, the Fairey Barracuda, in 1943. This time their Lordships relented, and allowed a monoplane to be built – unfortunately it turned into another marginal design! Albacores turned up in odd places; some supplemented other biplanes – Vickers Vildebeestes – with the No 36 Squadron, RAF in Singapore (they were over-run by the Japanese). Others served with the Aden Communications Flight at an RAF base near that city from July, 1944. Probably the last operational Albacores were those of No. 415 Squadron, Royal Canadian Air Force, which was re-formed as No. 119 Squadran, RAF in July, 1944. These aircraft were used to make attacks on Kriegsmarine midget submarines which were operating in the Scheldt Estaury, and other enemy-held coastal waters in Europe. These sorties were carried out from newly liberated bases in Belgium, until the Albacores were withdrawn in early 1945, and replaced by – radar and rocket-equipped Swordfish. The replacement had been replaced!

There is just one example of the Albacore left, out of the 800 aircraft built. On the 30 July, 1941, FAA aircraft from the carrier HMS Formidable made a strike against two targets on the vital Murmansk Front. One was against the Luftwaffe airfield at Kirkenes, Norway and the other against Petsamo (which was, at the time, in Finland, but is now in Russia). No less than ten Albacores – plus two Fulmar fighters – were lost from the Kirkenes strike, and one Albacore, one Swordfish and one Fulmar from the Petsamo attack. One of the aircraft lost from the Kirkenses strike (N4389 from No. 828 Squadron) was recovered post-war by the Royal Navy, and using parts from another Albacore, N4172, a fully restored, composite aircraft is now on display in the Fleet Air Arm Museum, Yeovilton. You can see it here, alongside a sectioned example of its principal armament, a British 18″ torpedo of WW2 vintage.

The Albacore was not particularly popular, and had some disadvantages, but its crews were valiant, and pressed on regardless. That it was ultimately outlasted by the aircraft it was intended to replace does not reflect on the Albacore, rather on the magnificent utility of the Swordfish!

Sometimes serendipity comes along….

My cousin Peter and I were strolling back to his car after taking a most enjoyable trip – steam hauled – on Peak Rail from Rowsley to Matlock and back, when I spotted a bright blue car standing behind an industrial building by the side of the railway yard. ‘Wait a minute, Pete, I’d like a photograph of that!’ I said, and began to stroll over. As I neared the car, I began to revise my initial identification of a pre-war MG. ‘Too high to be an SS, wrong shape for a Morgan, it’s..it’s…a Riley!!’

I found myself staring at one of the most popular pre-war makes of British car. The Riley Engine Company originally produced cycles and motorcycles (as did many other early manufacturers), and produced their first real car, the Vee-Twin Tourer in 1905. By the 1930′s they had a full range of saloons (sedans for American reader!), luxury cars and sports cars. Rileys always had a sporty image and were even raced around the classic British banked oval at Brooklands.

Here we see a car from the 1932 range, a Riley 9 March; this was a specialist sports model with a body by the firm, Kevill-Davis & March, on a Riley 9 Plus-Ultra chassis. The power – all 42 hp of it, at 3,800 rpm! – came from a 4 cylinder, 1,087cc , OHV unit equipped with a Zenith carburettor. To reduce engine movement due to torque there were two ‘sway braces’ inside the engine compartment. Suspension was via semi-elliptic leaf springs, and there were, of course, drum brakes. The engine COULD be started using a hand crank; the supporting ring of which can be seen in front of the radiator.

The single centrally-mounted windscreen wiper drove both wiper blades via an external link, and the whole windscreen could fold forward to lie flat, should the driver wish to expose himself and his passenger to VERY fast moving flies!

This car is not quite in showroom condition. There are excellently re-upholstered seats, cream spoked wheels, and a new hood, but there are cracks in the bodywork and one headlight glass is sealed with putty!

Nevertheless ‘MPF 423′ is a great example of the classic British pre-war sports car, and its owner is – according to the badges displayed on the radiator bars – a member of The Vintage Sports Car Club, and The 1899 – 1938 Riley Register.

Back in 1932, the list price of this car was 335 Pounds Sterling. This equated to more than two years wages for a coalminer. Nevertheless, this iconic British sports car is well worth a second look!

I like allohistory, where alternative futures are laid out. The novel ‘Fatherland’ by Richard Harris, is set in Berlin in 1964, in a world where Germany won the Second World War, contains a scene where a huge military march is being planned to mark the 75th birthday of Adolf Hitler. The march is to be overflown by the latest Messerschmitt fighter jets; the organizers would have liked to bring up the rear of the flypast with some Spitfires and possibly a Lancaster from the defeated Royal Air Force, but they have all been scrapped.

In the years following the end of WW2, a series of airshows, both civilan-organised and sponsored by the military, were established all over Europe. In some cases, the organisers wished to simulate a dogfight between the Allied and Axis aircraft. This set piece usually took the form of a tail chase in a figure of eight, inside the confines of the airfield. However, there was one huge problem, just like in ‘Fatherland’ there was almost no ‘opposition’ to be had. Airshows were reduced to using one of the few surviving Bf108′s to simulate their bigger, faster brother the Bf109 (see previous diary), despite the very gentle performance of the Bf108 ‘Taifun’ (this was before the ‘Buchon’, the CASA-built version of the Bf109, had been retired and then sold off by the Spanish Air Force).

The situation was worse, if anything, with the WW2 aircraft used by the Italian forces. The Fascist regime had been defeated, including the ‘rump’ of it in the north of the country, and the new non-Fascist state in the south was not one of the Allies, merely a ‘co-belligerent’ equipped with mainly US or British equipment. Consequently, there were NO Macchi 200 or 202 fighters, nor any Fiat G.42, G.50, or G.55 aircraft available for use in flying displays. What to do? Well, we can see the answer above!

The Fiat G.46 was a splendid training aircraft, a contemporary of the de Havilland DHC-1 Chipmunk, and, it is said a better aerobatic mount. The Italian aircraft industry recovered very quickly after the war, and produced some excellent designs. The Fiat G.46 resembled its stablemate the WW2 Fiat G.55 very strongly, apart from the neatly faired enclosure for the second seat and fact that the engine is an Alfa Roma 115-1-Ter (licence-built Gipsy Queen II) of 225 hp, rather than the German-designed Fiat R.A 1050 Tifone (1,475 hp) of the Fiat G.55. This is hardly surprising, since they were all designed by Ing. Giuseppe Gabrielli, who was designed the G.50 and G.55 – the tailfin of the G.46 is almost identical to that of the G.50 and the undercarriage mirrors that of the G.55. The prototype first flew in June, 1946.

Some 220 of these extremely manoeuverable trainers were built in both single and two-seat form, in various sub-types, with the single seater having a gun camera and a Breda-S.A.F.A.T  7.7mm machinegun; 150 went to the Aeronautica Militare and a total of 70 others to Austria, Argentina and Syria. This aircraft – seen at an Imperial War Museum, Duxford event – is a Fiat G.46-3B (built in 1950) and delivered to the Italian forces as 44-MM-52-801. After a very busy service life, the G.46 fleet began to be disposed of to Italian aero clubs in 1958. These aircraft were sold into civilian hands over time and ‘our’ G.46 was acquired by the Honorable Patrick Lindsay, an eccentric aristocratic sportsman/pilot of some note. Following his death, it was disposed of to Bianchi Aviation Film Services, where it was adorned with a WW2 colour scheme which mirrored that of a wartime G.55. Despite being currently based in the U.K., and making rare airshow appearances, it is now owned by an Italian, Claudio Coltri. It is fairly safe to say that this aircraft will be, sometime in the near future, heading south!