LGC NEWS
February 1998
LGC NEWS |
February 1998 |
The club ladder has 12 different names on it although we have only had a few good soaring days. Peter Lewis is in the lead with 3216 points from two flights with Neil Braithwaite only a few hundred points behind and Phil Storer just behind him. Most of the claims came from a couple of weeks ago on a day which started with ridge soaring on Black Combe, but as people ventured up the coast they found wave that allowed some to get as far as Whitehaven. The picture above is Peter's turning point at Sellafield. Both Neil and Phil both got substantial claims that day, Phils being helped by the Instructional Cross Country bonus. Phil has also done his bronze hour along with Peter Seddon.
Peter Redshaw and Rod Murfitt were dodging in and out of clouds on the Screes of Wastwater last Sunday whilst others were zapping off to Muncaster and Devoke Water. The IS28 and the K6 are out of action at the moment, hopefully both will soon be rigged and ready to go.
Lyn
For some time now Gordon Jenkinson has been looking into the possibility of obtaining a grant from lottery funds to buy a motor glider for the club. It has been a long job because the authorities are anxious not to waste money and so need to see that any club receiving a grant is doing all the right things.
Our main problem is that we do not have security of tenure and could be asked to leave Walney with only three months notice.
After much correspondence Gordon has managed to obtain an agreement from GEC which will satisfy the authorities that we are not likely to be evicted so we can proceed to the next stage which is to present a 5 year development plan for the club. The first draft of this is almost complete, thanks to Messrs. Redshaw Lewis North and Dennis for their help.
When writing this plan it became obvious that we do want the club to move forwards in a number of areas such as updating and improving the fleet, attracting more young members, improving the social facilities, providing the best training we can, and giving opportunities and challenges to the members. As a consequence of this it is evident that we need to maximise our income.
The most painless way of achieving this is to increase the number of members by say 5 per year and to increase the amount of flying. The first step in increasing the flying has been to give discounted flying to launches before 10.30. Hopefully this will mean earlier starts and better use of good conditions. The increase in members is up to all of us, we have to be seen to be the friendly club which we are and to enjoy ourselves
Unfortunately, the situation with grants for gliding clubs has got worse as the government wants to get its hands on some lottery cash so we may have problems - watch this space
Happy landings - John Martindale
Not long now to the beginning of the so called gliding season, in fact we have had the odd thermal already. The wave cloud for this time of the year has not been brilliant but at least we have had some good flights.
The C of A's have nearly all been completed and I hope the IS 28 will be ready in about a week and the K6 will be back in the air in about three weeks, giving us a the full fleet for the start of the season.
It's this time of the year that we think about how we can improve our training at Walney not only for the pre solo but for all our members. This year I would like to know the personal goals of everyone. These will be recorded and an effort made to see them achieved.
There will also be a new progress card this year, one that will fit in the log book, easier to find as it will be with the student all the time. The post solo card will also be modified and made more user friendly for the Lakes gliding club.
The CFI 's meeting was held this year at Bowland Forest and run more on a regional theme. It was chaired by Chris Pullen and Bob Pettifer and turned out to be a day well spent.
This year is going to be. "The year of the approach control." So look forward to a slight change in the instructing method and probably the odd spot landing competition.
I also came back armed with. Wait for it. Yes. Brand new papers for the bronze C exam, so I have already discarded the 1962 version and can't wait to use the new ones, starting with the instructors! I can't go wrong I have all the official answers.
Other instructing topics were discussed at length such as down wind checks, that are now obsolete and gone forever but more about all that later.
Chris Pullen also informed us that many of our instructor and instructing problems can now be dealt with by Bob Pettifer on a regional basis, which I believe is certainly a step in the right direction and long overdue.
A meeting with Peter Spofforth who is not only our president but also our landlord saw no problems for the imminent future of our gliding activities at Walney Airfield and is helping with our ongoing appeal for grant money.
The only negative that came out of the meeting was the state of the hanger. We must make a bigger effort to keep it tidy and make sure that we do not encroach beyond our boundary, blocking other aircraft.
The new duty rota on paper looks good and with a bit of luck should work. It means that we will have two instructors on both Saturday and Sunday to look after your every need. With the new incentive for an early launch, lets do it . Lets go soaring.
Peter Lewis
The slide show presented by Lawrence Hill was very well attended, the slides were excellent (as below) so many thanks Lawrence. Alan as usual looked after the bar and I provided a pie and pea supper.
The next social event is Keith's 50th at the General Burgoyne on Saturday 14th March. Anyone who has not yet put heir name on the list please do so or let me know. We are having a collection for a present for Keith so please put your money in the jar with the list.
The next social at the clubhouse is on the 18th April so make a note in your diary.
Cheers, Lyn
Just a few lines for anyone who is thinking about doing a PPL.
The CAA (Campaign Against Aviation!) has touted some proposals for changes to the PPL.
Firstly they are talking of changing the qualification to keep one current, from the present five hours per annum to twelve hours over two years and a check flight with a CAA examiner, again every two years.
Next, and more important to some of us, they are proposing to drop any gliding qualifications going towards a PPL, so even if you have got a Silver you will still have to do the full 43 hours. There could also be a compulsory ground school, which could entail another one hundred and twenty hours.
Now to S.L.M.G.'s. If you are proposing to fly what they term a "touring motor glider" i.e. a Falke, Dimona, Grob 109, etc. then you will have to do a full PPL 'A'. The CAA have yet to classify motor gliders with pop up engines, DG500m, ASH25E, etc. so at this moment in time they are not sure what the licensing will be for these.
As stated at the beginning these are still only proposals, but they are talking about them coming into effect in 1999. So, if you are thinking about any type of PPL do it soon as grandfather rights will come into it, i.e. once you have it they will not take it off you unless you do not keep up the qualification.
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
Dave North
Do you know the maximum and minimum cockpit weights of your glider? - and the cg limits? - and why they are important? .... OK, you can move on to something more interesting! Those of you with an enquiring mind may care to read on...............
When you climb into the cockpit of a glider the nose goes down because the centre of gravity of the whole aircraft, including you, has moved forward from a position behind the wheel to a position in front of it, somewhere near the wing leading edge. The centre of gravity(CG) is the point through which the weight of the whole aircraft can be considered to act vertically downwards.
There is another point in the centre of the aircraft, located typically about a quarter of the distance back from the leading edge to the trailing edge of the wing, through which the lift force can be considered to act vertically upwards. This is known in the trade as the aerodynamic centre. The distance between the aerodynamic centre and the centre of gravity is called the stability margin.
A well designed aircraft will have a positive stability margin, which means that the CG is always forward of the aerodynamic centre. The response to a gust or elevator movement becomes slower as the static margin is increased, and faster as the static margin is reduced. When it hits a gust, like a strong thermal, it will pitch nose down.
Now imagine that you are looking at the Capstan side ways on in steady flight- with no gusts. Draw a line vertically downwards starting at the wing leading edge, to represent the weight, and another line of the same length vertically upwards, about 25 - 30cm further aft, to represent the lift.
Why doesn't the aircraft pitch nose down? - because there is another much smaller force pushing DOWN on the tail, to keep it level. This down force on the tail is caused by the downwash from the wing in front, and also by the airflow trying to push the elevator down.
If the airflow over the tail is increased by going faster, then less up elevator is needed to balance the aircraft, and the control column can be eased forward. Conversely, when there is less airflow over the tail, more up elevator is needed.
When there is more weight in the cockpit the CG moves forward, and the elevator must be pulled further up to provide a bigger down force on the tail. The wing has to produce more lift, the aircraft has to go faster, and the landing speed goes up. The aircraft becomes less responsive.
There is a limit to the amount of up elevator that can be used, and hence the maximum down force that can be produced by the tail, which determines the maximum permitted weight in the cockpit and the forward CG limit.
When there is less weight in the cockpit the CG moves aft towards the aerodynamic centre, the stability margin gets smaller and less up elevator is required to balance the aircraft. The aircraft becomes more responsive to gusts and elevator movement.
If the CG moves aft of the aerodynamic centre, an UP force is required from the tail to balance the aircraft instead of a down force. The elevator must be pushed down, and it is necessary to ease the control column BACKWARDS to go faster, and FORWARDS to go slower! A gust would cause the aircraft to pitch nose up instead of nose down.
Such an aircraft would be difficult if not positively dangerous to fly, but there are other reasons why the CG limits are very important.
Spin characteristics are highly sensitive to the CG position. If the CG is on the aft CG limit, the aircraft will enter a spin much more easily, and be more difficult to recover. If the CG is on the forward CG limit, it will be more difficult to enter a genuine spin and will be more likely to enter a spiral dive.
D.J.C.
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This is a story told by a Virgin Captain flying an Airbus A340 to Tokyo. In the middle of nowhere he suddenly found that he was dumping fuel for no apparent reason, after a brief period of calm contemplation, and then somewhat more concerned review of the manual, he could not stop the problem. The radio was patched through to Airbus Industry in Toulouse for help on the situation.
The request "Shut down #4 engine" came through, to some consternation of the crew, who when questioned this were told
"The message, 'do you want to dump fuel?' will appear.... Say No!"
This seemed to solve the problem - Always good to hear these tales!!
Once upon a time there was a non-conformist swallow who decided not to fly south for the winter. However, soon the weather turned so cold that he reluctantly started to fly south.
In a short time the ice began to form on his wings and he fell to the ground in a farmyard almost frozen. Presently a cow passed by and crapped on the poor fellow. The sparrow thought it was the end, but the manure warmed him and defrosted his wings.
Warm and happy and able to breath, the sparrow started to sing. Just then a loose cat came by and upon hearing the chirping came to investigate. The cat cleared away the manure, found the sparrow and ate him.
The moral of the story is:-
1. Anyone who shits on you is not necessarily your enemy.
2. Anyone who gets you out of the shit is not necessarily your friend.
3. If you are warm and happy in a pile of shit, keep your mouth shut.
(From RIP)
Old Oly pilots never die, they just fade away (wishful thinking, forget it). Whichever way you choose to look at it you must admit I'm difficult to shut up. Even the Dutch pull my leg about the Oly. Whilst clearing out my nostalgia files the other week I came across my old log books and a pile of silver foil. How much better I was as a pilot in my youth, I could fly lower/ slower or higher/ faster than anyone else, I could escape from field landings when the rest had opened the cockpit, I was the Clubs and BGA bottle walking champion, I could drink 'til morning and still fly. Funny that my logbook doesn't recall it with the same exaggeration as time has introduced. Damn the introduction of GPS, data loggers and the breathalyser. They have ruined the pleasure of not only listening to but also telling flying exploits in the bar after flying.
26 years of instructing, or as I saw it free flying, breeds an interesting survival quality into your flying. An aspect that I had not mastered by 1971, I managed to cartwheel the clubs Oly over a tree and came in nose first from about 50ft. I curled up into a ball before impact, why I will never know but it saved me as the cockpit was matchwood. The rest of the glider was not much better. This has remained my only prang (not wanting to temp fate, I will add to date) even though I seem to get very close from time to time. The latter is not something I 'practice' within sight of the field, nor do I do it deliberately. Events just seem to creep up on you (they don't actually, what happens is mental overload). Trying to live up to a reputation is not easy as you get older and get to fly more exotic machines. How many times have people said "any one can do it in a Kestrel/ Nimbus/ LS6"? Tough shit Rod/ Roy. Didn't they make a movie once?
Bring back my Oly, at least it was robust and would land in the most unusual places. Try landing a Kestrel in the middle of the Pennines, no wonder I managed to climb back up from my final approach onto a hillside----not just once but twice. A Nimbus 3 is a handful in normal conditions, in a CuNim in cloud anyone claiming to be under control is telling big porkies. Not the good old Oly, open the brakes and sit tight, problem gone.
First up and last down was my philosophy (this taught me to stay up in weak and variable conditions). Not for me the pushing and pulling on the field, first up and last down was full of common sense. It is actually true that I stayed up for 9hrs 58mins in the Oly on one occasion. No one ever taught me to fly X-country or really encouraged me to do it.
My X-country flying was restricted to what I thought was local flying (just a bit past Dalton John) and an ambition to get back. First attempt was Silver distance, failed a few kilometres short. Next a successful 50km. Next 220km in 5 and a bit hours. This convinced me that 300km was on in the Oly in that I had often stayed up for 7 or 8 hrs, a simple speed calculation and all I needed was about 8 1/2 hrs. The following year (1973) and my first 314km triangle in the Oly, next year another. Access to a Club Libelle (fixed wheel & 1:33 for the Vega boys) and bingo 512km (Shobdon/ Lasham/ Borras/ Shobdon) in another 8 1/2 hrs and 4th in the regionals in 1976. From there on in the pure pleasure of the Oly with primitive instruments has never been replaced. It's been equalled and exceeded but 60:1 (Nimbus 3) is better than 21:1 (Oly 2B) and GPS linked to an L-Nav is better than looking out of the window, or is it??????
It is something I will never know, I have always enjoyed my flying and the people in it. Maybe I should buy another Oly, on the other hand maybe I should just acknowledge that nostalgia is a thing of the past and start dreaming of the future. Dreams, there's another thing, my wife thinks the numbers I talk about in my sleep are to do with work. Little does she know how easy it is to do speed to fly/ final glide calculations in your sleep.
I came across the Lakes GCs first news sheet of 1967 and wondered why I kept it. Might have guessed, an article by me on my first x-country. I started to write this before my last (done 6 500kms now) and first 500km from Walney. This piece is meant to be a brief reflection of my mental appreciation of the pleasures of flying as ravaged by time. The truth is I enjoy it just as much now but for different reasons. If Alan cares to include it then the barograph trace of my first 500km in 1975 makes interesting comparison with my last. On neither flight did I climb to cloud base on a regular basis, I pushed on when the lift dropped off. On both flights I had to deal with sea breezes. I must learn to climb/ fly faster and stay up longer (my wife's in agreement with the latter). So should you if you want to do longer distances, and this does not mean you need to actually do the time or the distance. Try flying early, late or in poor conditions and staying up. If you can master that then the long x-countries are easy.
For the price of a pint my experience could be yours. Can someone return my book 'Cross Country Soaring' by Helmut Reichman, I can't fly without it.
PR 23
Gliding At Walney (part 1)
There it was, a KIRBY CADET; resplendent in its grey and red livery, every strut and tie in its sleek shaped wings and fuselage, the streamlined struts holding up its wings, and everything about it filled all the young fliers hearts and minds with wonder, as for some it was the first time they had actually seen a close up of a flying machine.
Myself and one or two of the more technical minded lads there, seemed to think that the cockpit was the only part of the machine to be seen at, and all tried to get hold of a strap or the coaming to pull it along, the less intelligent, or the less aggressive or less pushy ones were relegated to the wing tips, or clustered around the tail area like bluebottles round a piece of meat, where one could often see three or four hands clamouring to hold a tailplane covered in finger hole sized patches; I think the first time the glider came out of the hanger it was very nearly carried out. It was here that I met the second rather wonderful man who had a hand in guiding my life a little at that time, he was a Flight Lieutenant Len Redshaw, who to my attentive five foot two seemed at least six foot eighteen, and an instant commander of respect from us all. He could restore mob order and anarchy into a controlled platoon of young men in an instant.
He wore a type of flying suit that had real pilots wings together with lots of other badges that seemed to denote experiences outside my ken, but on the whole made me think that here was a man who had a better chance of getting me to my heaven than any of the churchmen I had met up to then; He seemed to be very direct and with no wasted words, and his Hmm-Hmmm seemed to convey, 'Do you understand' 'Dont do anything different ' 'Have you heard me' ' Don't even think of trying that' and other things in our thoughts too awful to contemplate. All this in a quiet voice with no pushing, and not one of us dare incur his wrath; call it 'control with direction' or what you will, but it worked.
One thing still makes me laugh today. 'Sir' (L.R.) came out of the hanger, wet a finger and held it up in the air to decide if the wind was acceptable for the day; from then on, in the back streets or in the square in Millom, on most days, could be seen some young man or men, licking their fingers and pointing up to the sky, expounding their vast knowledge of gliding to the masses, and whilst we nodded sagely amongst ourselves, and saw CuNims in every wisp of vapour, the populace would peer upwards in a vain attempt to see something that wasn't there. This habit lasted for months until we learned about Admiral Beaufort and his scale, when we gathered around trees, or lined the sea wall to watch the waves.
However, I'd better get back to gliding proper.
the curriculum was 'DRAGS' or GROUND SLIDES, ' LOW HOPS' 'HIGH HOPS' and then the flight which was to earn us our 'A' certificate; 30 seconds in a straight line on our own.
DRAGS. Consisted of having a winch at each end of the main runway, on the grass, with each wire attached to the glider, so that as one winch wound in, the other was unwound; The glider and its occupant being dragged along the ground at speeds of up to 20 Kts, to enable the scared witless pilot to practice balancing his wings; This was a spine jarring trip each time, when you pressed , or didn't press, the appropriate pedal at the appropriate time, the craft would give a sidewards neck wrenching lurch, and try to plough with the wing tip on either side, or it would rise up on an undulation in the field, catch a little breeze that the winch driver didn't react to as fast as we would have liked him to, then we would rise up a couple of feet and then nose down into the next undulation, possibly helped by wild over corrections, when vision would be lost and the tongue bitten as ones head jerked down and forward, only to be snapped beck smartly, almost leaving our eyeballs down our cheeks, as the winchman spotted our predicament and gave a burst of throttle. But still at the end of a day of stirring the stick like some demented hand driven cement mixer and stamping on whatever pedal seemed the right one at the time, or the other one to allow for brain lag, we would gather together at the end of the day, and each one turn his day into a series of well controlled, brilliant flights of up to 20 feet high and at least as long as Wilbur and Orville managed on a good day. --- Just as some of us still do around the bar today.
This continuous pounding took its toll amongst us and some were known to hang back when it came to their turn, and one or two actually found they had an interest in walking, or church, or butterflies or something that prevented them coming to gliding, but I couldn't care less, it just meant more flights for me. I was known to jump into the glider when it wasn't quite my turn, and every time the clouds dripped a little, and flying was suspended, I became quite adept at getting the glider to balance on its wheel, and if the wind was strong enough, even get it to proceed backwards with its tail up. This definitely had the edge on the pounding down the grass, although with practice on the 'low hops' one could heave the stick back at the right time, when ascending an undulation, and actually start a little flight- this only meant a harder smack into the ground if the wind or speed fell off too quickly. It only took a week or two for us to stop stirring so violently, have more time to do everything that had to be done, and generally learn control; Much before I had got to that point I was sure I was being held back, as I was fully able to do 'High Hops' and even turns. In fact the only drawback from being 'brilliant' was that I seemed to fall more often, and from a greater height, and although this fact wasn't noticed by all except 'sir', (I filed all my errors in my 'remember that, and don't do it again' file and hoped the others didn't notice).
LOW HOPS. This was quite a big advance, as we actually flew free of the ground. Sadly, though most of us thought that we were quite capable of aerobatics by now, the winchman still had control, and if we appeared to go more than ten feet in the air, we were let gently down again.
As we all tried to make the craft remain airborne as long as possible we became quite adept at flying very nose up to gain maximum lift from the wings, fuselage and tailplane, and proceeded up the runway in a type of wallowing, controlled stall. This exercise gave us much better control as our brain wasn't being battered to the point of discommunication, in fact I think it fitted us all out for landing on aircraft carriers.
HIGH HOPS. These were quite something, By now we seemed to have enough self discipline to be allowed to fly the thing ourselves, and were taken to flying speed and expected to fly the length of the runway at between twenty and fifty feet. This was easy, and the challenge came in trying to maintain a constant altitude and attitude, which I seemed to do fairly well. I think about this time I was trying very gentle changes in direction whilst still on the tow, and 'sir' did mention this to me; he must have been watching every move every one of us made all the time. "Straight ahead- ALL the time. Hmm.Hmmm" As I really did want to please 'sir' all the time, I tried to curb this ignorant, youthful enthusiasm, and this confidant belief in my ability to do anything, to the point of being complimented at times.
THE DAY came when some of us were just about ready for our flight into the unknown; Free on our own. Weeks of pounding, running miles up and down the runway, pushing the tow vehicle to start it, this machine was a type of jeep that seemed to be made of quarter inch plate, and always had a flat battery or tyre, when there was too much dripping from the sky, we would spend hours on theory of flight, the atmosphere, discipline, clean out the hanger, dust the glider down, put the damned battery on charge, take the wheel down to the garage, and so on,; But now, all of it was about to come to fruition and I couldn't wait to get into the glider on the right day. The 'day' came, bright, just a little breezy, exactly as we that were left,- pundits all, -wished. I had had all the procedure drummed into me many times previously and knew exactly what I was to do- " Straight ahead, climb gently to four hundred feet, watch out for the bats being waved across over my head, pull the tit, and glide in a straight line down onto the runway. DON'T try to turn. Hmm Hmm, Scurrah"
Now for a start 'Four hundred feet' not exactly in heaven, but after weeks spent at 30 feet it did seem rather an intriguing challenge; and then ' Pull the tit' ! In our family, elbow was a rude word, I didn't know what knickers were, and 'pull the tit, well, it sort of stopped me in my tracks. We could use 'teats' because cows had them, so, I had to get used to a lot of different things this day.
I was going to be the first to go for my 'A' and somehow this got a bit confused, I found myself down at the end with the glider, and as usual, if no one was actually sitting in it, then in a flash, I was. Now at this time there were other pilots who had various certificates, and they sometimes took precedence over us erks, and had these flights all over the island, and we had to fit in with them, standing impatiently around on the deck, neck cricked back and mouths open, wishing those damned professionals would have their flights at the end of the day and let us get on with flying. There was the glider, on a single wire, bats and everything seemed ready, and the seat was empty, either he was behind the hedge, or maybe getting himself ready, and so Gilbert jumped in, as was his wont, and proceeded to shout 'take in the slack' etc. and was soon bounding along the tarmac on the way to great heights. I will always remember the feeling of freedom and power of being in control, smoother than the grass, heart pounding and scrotum tightening up, thinking 'Gosh I'm going' It was total excitement and concentration for the first few feet, and then I realised that it did as I asked it, and a great relaxation set in, -I was flying,- and I even had time to see that my control brought a response from the aircraft and I could look at my A.S.I and the little magic red and green balls that went up and down, as I had never dared to look at them until now. Four hundred feet seemed a long way up, and I had plenty of time to savour the moment, look around and feel the wind on my face, watch the ground falling away, check my wings were level as the estuary opened up and I saw the mountains as never before; Up and up into the heights we went, two hundred feet, three hundred feet, where was 'sir; and the bats? four hundred feet, five hundred feet, slight twinge of something unusual, He did say 'about ' four hundred feet, was the altimeter set right? - five hundred feet, lean out a little more from each side of the cockpit and see if I had missed 'sir'. Six hundred feet and getting rather close to over the winch, this didn't seem planned, still, ever obedient, fly a straight course, don't climb too steeply, and watch the bats. Which bats? here was eight hundred feet, almost over the winch, the tide was in, the sand hills seemed a hundred feet high and much too close, and down below, even three quarters out of the cockpit with my legs in the straps, I couldn't see much bat activity; suddenly I was faced with the fact that I was up here all alone, I had to decide something, I didn't panic, just sort of went numb, couldn't think of anything except circling gently down to the runway,-- without turning,! one hand clenched on the 'tit' and I was about to make the fateful decision to commence one of the 'never attempt to' turns, when- relief, it was all happening directly below me, suddenly 'sir was back in the driving seat, and was rushing out with the bats, yes, there he was, out by the now receding winch, waving the bats like some demented demon, if there had been a slight wind come up, he would have taken off. Suddenly there was a system, but it was straight ahead, and so was the sea, I was free now of the wire, should I apply a little rudder, and just a little left stick, and try my gentle circling?. Then the voice of 'sir' came into my head ."No turning Scurrah," and thoughts of the awful punishment of grounding that had been mentioned, so it seemed that it had to be 'Straight ahead' and so it would be.
Now the picture through the little perspex screen didn't seem to change, always the same point out to sea, and all my instruction had told me this would be my landing spot, so I thought a dive would loose me some height and I might just land this side of the sand hills, but all it did was to make those sand hills come up a lot faster, and the glider was making a noise that I hadn't heard before, still I thought, flying faster is less efficient and so I would loose height more quickly, so down with the nose a little more, even though something told me it was wrong, I think the banshee wailing that seemed to come from all over the glider and the wind howling and buffeting over the windscreen said something, so I thought a little over to the right and I would have a bit longer piece of ground to land on or in, because now my brain was in gear with the problem, and the runway was a thing of the past, even the grass strip at the end of the runway was out of the question, and I saw that the flat ground was covered with large pools of oily looking water and lots of reeds and rushes, and I thought if I could put up with the noise the machine was making for just a little longer, and the machine could, I would be near to the ground, albeit at about eighty knots, or wherever the needle was at the start of the red, and able to skim through these same reeds and brush the skid and wheel through the oily water patches, and I would loose speed quickly. By now I wasn't troubled by the sea, I was going to smash into those sand hills, and now it was too late to make that turn, I think at this point I knew what a rabbit feels as the stoat approaches him, I had to follow the only plan that had appeared in what was left of my brain that was still functioning, 'straight ahead Scurrah'
The reeds sounded like stones rattling on the nose, or a bit like machine gun fire, with occasional neck jarring crunches as I cut through a little ridge of sand, and when I dipped into the water it rattled even more and seemed to pick up speed, I daren't look at the A.S.I. or anything but my track over the ground, I was in a machine that didn't want to stop, these sort of things were always supposed to happen to someone else, then came a second opportunity which was going to help to slow me down, If I turned to the left a little, not really out of my 'straight ahead' so little that 'sir might not notice, and I refrained from catching a wing tip on the ground, then I could brush through some more rough ground (this is what the ground sliding had prepared me for) and I would be able to plough through a very large pile of reeds and rushes that seemed about six feet high, and that would make the impact with the sand hills much more bearable, as I was now slowing down to an acceptable level, here were my saving pile of reeds coming up fast, when I was taken by surprise, there was a great, teeth jarring thump, speed reduced in a noisy crunching instant, and with a dying lurch, the glider took off at about ten knots, nosed down with a smashing sort of noise and stopped dead. It took a second or two for me to realise that my feet were no longer in the glider, and one of them was in this oily water, my legs were a bit wet, and everything was still and silent, I sat there contemplating awful thoughts, and couldn't think of anything at all to explain my situation to 'sir' but I must have got something awfully wrong this time, this really did make other errors and misbehaving seem trivial. It was then that I saw that this six feet high bunch of reeds was so high because they were growing on a four foot high heap of sand.
I sat there, feeling my legs, and seeing that everything was working for a couple of minutes, when I became aware of a splashing noise, and as I got out of the glider I espied 'sir' leading a line of Indians through the water and reeds at a fair trot, I thought, intent on vengeance on my person, for the havoc that had been perpetrated on the nose of the machine, but I couldn't have been more wrong. Concern for me was the only thought I was aware of at that time. I think that even the erks had stopped laughing at me as I headed away towards the sand hills in alternate clouds of spray and sand and grass at zero feet. 'Sir' then gave us all a talk on the grave dangers of attempting to turn, without any two seat training in this manoeuvre, and how the results would have been far worse, I felt relieved when he didn't mention my slight turns when looking for the largest pools and densest rushes and reeds, and even more relieved when it turned out that it shouldn't have been me in the glider, but one of the other qualified pilots, and they only realised it was me when they couldn't find me, and the other pilot asked who was flying the glider. !
Anyway, though it seemed a long time in the air and rushing along the ground, it got me my 'A' certificate. and that was the first step into gliding, and what I wanted.
No doubt in todays world this type of training seems a bit too severe, but on reflection, it is a good way of sorting out the dedicated glider pilot from the preservers of their life type of pilot, and it certainly brought one along at a cracking pace, and lent itself for more thinking for yourself, especially for the non thinking types like myself, who wouldn't see danger if it was sat beside them in the cockpit, and lived only for the feelings and joy of being alive and in the air. Sixteen is almost as great a time as sixty something or other. Well you think it is.
Furthermore, for the benefit of those who think of as primitive at that time; We did think of two seat training, we even got a Slingsby Sedbergh, or something named similar to that, a monster of a two seat trainer, which gave us erks the same feeling as one gets now when one walks underneath a 747, but as I said before, we were all spitfire pilots and weren't too interested in bombers like this great thing. Luckily for us we learned the way we did, and though safer in a two seater, it wouldn't have been as much fun, and the fates conspired to see that we had this type of training; and who was I to argue with my fates.
On the first week of being at Walney, all of us eager beavers would get out the Tutor, and the brand new, and up to then unflown, two seater for flying, on this early day, we got out the Slingsby in between hangers one and two, like ants around a sugar lump, and waited in eager anticipation of 'sir' saying all was well, and flying could begin. There we all were, one or two of us technical ones holding onto the cockpit straps, whilst the minions were either pulling on the tail or holding onto a wing tip, my excuse was that I was too small to reach the wing tip anyway, when out of the north end of number one hanger came 'sir'; Up in the air with the mandatory wet finger, which today was bending a bit in the wind, "Take it back in now, it is too windy at present" came the command, and so, reluctantly we began to wheel it back towards the hanger door; A cluster of little chaps in air force blue, trousers rather too short, or so long they looked like convoluted hose pipe, all types of boots and shoes, in all types of finish, from my own 'spit and polished ones' that my father told me was what artillery men all had in the first world war, to the wiped on the trousers type of farm boots. really, below the trousers almost anything would do, and not a trainer in sight.
Now I Don't recollect if a gust of extra wind came along, or what, I know we had the correct wing tip down when it began to lift up, together with the three lads who were hanging onto it, someone shouted "hold it" but the three lads got to about six feet in the air and decided they didn't like the situation one bit, and in unison they let go, by now the straps were getting a little too high for me and whoever was with me, so I let go as well. The next few seconds seemed like slow motion confusion, and as in our vast flying experience we had never encountered anything like this, we just stood and watched it. By the time the wings had reached the vertical, and I can tell you with conviction that a glider standing on one wing tip is a truly awesome sight, young men in air force blue were disappearing to all points of the compass, legs going like wagtails, self preservation being the overriding emotion at the time. whilst 'sir' was last seen beating the retreat at high speed back into the hanger, his tie in a biggles type situation out over one shoulder, and his long khaki flying suit covered legs at full stretch ,which I thought was just his usual good judgement, as the aircraft, upside down, and with great speed, smashed into the tarmac just about where he had been standing. It was all a little sad, but quite a lot exciting. A little thing like no two seater had no chance of putting us off gliding, so we went back to the system that had been operating up to now, the single seat training.
I don't wish to convey to readers that all was sweetness and light in this training, as it did have drawbacks. I remember one exciting moment when one of the ab initios dug a wing tip too far into the ground on one ground slide as he was nearing the winch, and the wing broke off and dragged along like some great shot bird bounding and twisting as it tried to break free. Another even more spectacular one was when one guy got it somehow wrong as I was behind the winch. He did a sort of ground loop and crashed backwards into the winch, amid coils of wire and a goodly selection of bits of wood and plywood from the tail planes ,rudder, and about half of the rear fuselage. This brought to mind a balsa wood spitfire I made and won a distance competition with for rubber band driven aircraft in the early days of the war, and then thought 'twice the power, and greater distance', alas, the tail section just screwed itself up into the fuselage and disintegrated into a pile of match wood and doped fabric. You see , with a two seater we might have missed all the ground slides and gone home through boredom. Whereas now we all felt competent to forge ahead gaining all the certificates and badges that we were obviously just about ready for. I'm often amazed at the confidence that ignorance so often brought me, in those heady days of gliding, climbing, or motor biking. I broke arms, ribs, knee caps, nose, and back, in this time; and though it hurt a little at the time, I discovered nurses, and it certainly steepened the learning curve.
Girls were a necessary, non dangerous occupation about this time also, the only unknown to be wary of being fathers, but at sixteen one had amazing acceleration, and a fair turn of speed brought about by the word 'HEY'. but they couldn't hold up gliding.
So there it was BRITISH EMPIRE (ROYAL AERO CLUB) A. Gliding certificate. 11722
This wasn't sufficient to get me into the R.A.F. as a pilot though, and having left all my schooling at the school gates, I had to try and find some other way to get in.
When I was about sixteen and a half I won a scholarship to go into the R.A.F. and went to a field somewhere near York, but had only been there a few weeks when it was discovered that my birthday was on the wrong side of a line, and so I was sent back home, and told to get some academic qualifications and try again. Alternatively I could get a pilots license and try again, so eventually, after the years had slipped by, and I had completed my apprenticeship as a motor mechanic I got out my savings and disappeared down to Thruxton aerodrome and learned to fly with the Wiltshire School of Flying in Tiger Moths and Auster Autocrats.
One notable incident was when I spotted the Bristol Brabazon approaching me at about 8000 feet when I was at 2000. I immediately turned about and climbed at best rate of climb but had only got to about 5000 when it passed overhead, but still gave me the greatest thrill next to my first solo, that I had had up to that time. None of the planes had either self starters or radios that I flew in, and the Moth had a rubber tube that one spoke down to the passenger with a sort of stethoscope attached to the ears, which was quite effective. Once I was told off for letting my planes motor stop at the far end of the field, and getting out and starting it myself. Within a short time of me flying there, someone did exactly the same as me but didn't put on the brakes sufficiently, or set the throttle too high, and the plane took off empty and flew around the countryside until it ran out of fuel. All this did get me into the R.A.F. on a pilots course, where, after a period when all I flew was a Chipmunk, I fell foul of one Flt.Lt. Close and blotched my copy book and got sent down. When I left the station commanders room, this Flt.Lt. came up to me and said, " Scurrah. I will see to it that you will never fly from this aerodrome again" Etc. Maybe he said Station not Drome, but whatever, I got the message. This one mans attitude coupled with one other incident that occurred very shortly before being offered another pilots course, were what made me turn down a career in The R.A.F. as a pilot and decide to take up something other than a motor mechanics life, where the poor pay and the dirty hands weren't balanced by running my motor cycle cheaply when the petrol was rationed. So I took off again, looking for something, I wasn't quite sure what, and travelled all over the country for a number of years, earning a living, getting married, starting a newsagents business that my wife ran, and by passing all flying and gliding due to hecticity from when I awoke .to bed time, until one sunny day when I was looking after the shop whilst my wife was spending six weeks in Greece with a friend, and a tall dark, handsome man, with a cheering smile came into the shop, selling Green Shield Stamps, and wearing a tie with little gliders on This was it! For an hour we talked about gliding and flying, and stirring up long dormant feeling of being like a bird. He didn't sell me any stamps on this trip, but he invited me to Tebay Where it was all just getting ready to be moved down to Walney. Eventually I went down to the old drome and met all the people I already seemed to know through the frequent visits of Sid.- Jack Paley, Dave Millet,Reg Woolfe., Howard Woods, Gerry Wilson, Mathew Hall, Ron Reid, Harvey Jackson, and a third wonderful man in his different way, Ernie Dodds. Ces Batty must have been there also, because he has been there forever. So, here I was again, February 1965 , cold, showery, but on an aerodrome with a flying machine, three flying machines, the T.21.B the same old TUTOR and the dream of all glider pilots, a beautiful red OLYMPIA 2.B After a break of fifteen years or so, here I was again,-- FLYING AT WALNEY.
Gil Scurrah
The Martindale's (lyn's??) trailer carrying the Tudor Car Services advertisment
(Don't forget, to help the club out you could take a trailer out around town if you've nothing better to do!)
The BGA have recently sent out details of a number of new insurance schemes specifically for glider pilots. Schemes cover personal accident, travel, car breakdown and recovery and general motor insurance. Each of these provide cover for pilots where other insurance generally doesn't. Most personal accident and travel insurance policies exclude flying "except on a recognised airline"; Breakdown and recovery policies from the likes of the AA and RAC don't cover glider trailers; and most motor policies do not include cover "airside" on airports. So these are well worth considering.
See Alan Dennis who has some brochures from the BGA.
Rip has offered to pass on to the LGC news the series of articles he is writing for the Cumbrian Steam and Vintage Society magazine which explains the various references to motorised transport. They cover his flying career from 1951 to 1991.
Strictly speaking this story does not concern vintage vehicles or steam engines, though I do own a classic car, which qualifies me for membership of the Society. This is all about aeroplanes and flying, and is relevant to Vintage Chat because much of the stuff I was flying is now either in an Aviation museum, or doing the airshow rounds flying as a 'vintage pair' or some such.
In 1951 I was a trainee pilot in the Royal Air Force, initially flying the Percival Prentice as a basic trainer, followed by the North American Harvard for advance training. I was stationed in Norfolk and life was fun with a capital 'F'. We were all starry eyed and daft in those days and every day we lived life to the full - and learned. I remember my first night flight flying excercise, in August. For some reason I had it in my mind that it would be cold in the aeroplane and that would need to dress for the occasion. Under my flying suit I wore pyjama trousers, uniform trousers, a vest, thick shirt, sweater, uniform battledress jacket, woolen scarf, thick socks and fur-lined flying boots. All this lot was complemented by silk inner gloves and leather gauntlets. I waddled out to the aeroplane like a proverbial Michelin Man and by the time I managed to climb in I was perspiring profusely. After an hour of circuits and bumps I reckon I must have lost a stone in weight. I learned about flying from that.
The Harvard was equipped with a funnel and tube, the purpose of which needs no further description. We hardly ever used them because the ground crew used to knot or otherwise obstruct the tube and the results can be imagined. One of the boys reckoned he used to spend a penny over the side, and we challenged him to prove it. A suitable rendezvous and height were arranged and at the appointed time a gaggle of Harvards gathered around a single bird and an interested group of young pilots awaited results. To our amazement, the hood slid back, the pilot stood up - bulky in his parachute - slowly turned his back to the slipstream, one hand gripping the cockpit coaming, the other fumbling and then just got on with it. We were quite impressed, but no-one wanted to emulate him.
Another pilot had an interesting experience at night during solo circuits. He had just started his take-off run, engine at full power, when someone landed on top of him and broke the aeroplane fuselage. The damaged machine ran over a gooseneck flare and caught fire, so there he was, stuck on the ground, nose pointing skywards, engine at full chat and couldn't see a darned thing because of the flames. Time, of course, stands still and with everything pointing upwards and the engine on full song, he assumed he was in the air and climbing, so prepared to bale out. Unfortunately, he couldn't open the hood and after a struggle, abandoned himself to his fate, thinking quite seriously that if he rolled the aeroplane onto its back and pulled through, the end should be quicker than burning to death. Before he could do anything else, there was an almighty crash and a fireman's axe appeared before his very eyes. This was followed by two pairs of siresuited hands which literally plucked him out of the cockpit and deposited him on the ground. In those few seconds and in his confused state he said he was sure he was being pulled out of the sky at 2,000 feet and taken to Heaven.
My own experience was not as frightening. We had an instrutor called Dickie Marsh and we were all scared stiff of him. He was a nitpicker of nitpickers and we hated being assigned to him for dual instruction. He couldn't sound his 'R's and I can hear him to this day bidding "watch your wevs Pearson" or "hold your altitude" or "airspeed". The fact that the "wevs" might have been five out, the altitude a tad above or below appointed and the airspeed maybe two knots adrift made no difference to the strength of the tirade. We used to come out of the aeroplane with hanging heads and bruised eardrums.
On this particular day I was detailed for a dual navigation excercise with Dickie and anticipated the trip with doom, gloom and much foreboding. I knew the navigation would have to be spot-on, the pinpoints precise, the estimated time of arrivals to be within seconds and, of course, "wevs", altitude and airspeed on the button. We taxied out to the holding point with yours truly swinging the big radial from side to side like a good 'un, making sure that Dickie was aware that I was keeping a good lookout; talk about enthusiastic, the brakes must have been red hot. Dickie's voice came over the intercom from the back, "Pearson, have you ever had an engine failure after take-off demonstrated?" - Pearson hadn't and said so. "I have control", said the voice and I handed over the control with great relief, glad to have the excuse not yo be bound rigid for a while.
Take-off was uneventful and, as the wheels retracted, I was interested to observe that Dickie's airspeed control wasn't brilliant, yours is not to reason why though. At about 2000 feet the engine note died and we started a gentle chunter downwards. Dickie's voice came from the back, "practice engine failure, convert excess speed to height, land straight ahead or 30 degrees either side, control speed with attitude, use flaps to advantage, never attempt to turn back towards the field". Then there was silence; the aeroplane was performing Ok, but from Dickie not a word. Hells bells, I thought, he wants me to go through the checks, so I did. Hood open, quick check to see if I can identify cause of failure - nothing apparent, simulate fuel off, switches off, check harness; panic, Dickie is ominously quiet, I've forgotten something trivial.
By this time the ground "grass runway" was getting pretty close and I'm thinking "Dickie's really going to town on this practice", but I was too frightened of him to say anything and milliseconds dragged by.
Now the ground was very close, I could see not only individual blades of grass, but whether or not they'd been nibbled. I thought, "Dickie must have handed over control and I haven't heard, now i'm for it, let's find out". I gave the control column an experimental waggle. To my horror it offered no resistance, Dickie definitely wasn't on the controls.
At a stage when it seemed inevitable that the propeller would hit the ground, I opened up to full power and we climbed away. Eventually Dickie's voice came over the intercom and started binding about "wevs" and airspeed. I did a good job of the navigation excercise but I knew I was in for a rough ride on the debrief.
Surprisingly, it wasn't. Dickie was very complementary about the navex; but always hanging over my head like the sword of Damocles was the practice engine failure on take off. Eventually it came. "By ve way Pearson" he said, (he couldn't sound his 'th's wither), "I was very glad you took over on that take-off. Just when I got hold of the stick to turn off 30 degrees it came out of its socket and pulled the intercom plug with it, I couldn't get it back in; I had my head down on the cockpit floor trying to see what I was doing, how close to ve ground did we get?"
"Bloody close", I thought, but said nothing. Little did Dickie know that I was so afraid of him that I would quite happily let the aeroplane fly into the ground rather than interfere with his demonstration.
I learned about flying from that!
Rip
Well, another one down! As usual thanks to everyone that's written something for this newsletter. Fortunately there was a surplus of material for this one so I've got a head start on the next one. As ever if you feel you've got something to say, a story to tell or whatever, scribble it down and I'll be happy to put it in. It only vaguely has to be connected with flying as well!
See you all at the AGM!
Alan Dennis
28 February 1997
Dear Member,
The 1998 A.G.M. will be held in the Clubhouse on Sunday 29th March commencing at 7.30 p.m.
The agenda will be strictly as follows;
1. Apologies for absence.
2. Minutes of the 1997 A.G.M.
3. Matters Arising.
4. Receive and approve annual accounts.
5. Officers reports for year 1997-98.
6. Election of officers and committee for year 1998-99.
7. Any other business relevant to the A.G.M.
Nominations for officers should be addressed to the secretary in advance of the meeting.
On Behalf of the Committee
Alan Dennis
Secretary, Lakes Gliding Club