Not Much of an Engineer

by Stanley Hooker

  Recalling this period of his life he wrote: ‘I was offered employment at the newly formed Electric Light and Power Generating Company at Bankside, London, at 22 shillings a week, which I accepted, and for maximum economy lived in a ‘third floor back’ in the Old Kent Road’.

  He was transferred to Liverpool, and then the company failed. However, in association with A. E. Claremont, they decided to set up business together, Claremont having a capital of £50 and Royce £20. Thus in 1884, the firm of F. H. Royce and Co was born in Cooke Street, Manchester, where they manufactured first bell sets and later lampholders and dynamos. By 1899, things had progressed sufficiently for them to raise £30,000 to build a new works, and to extend their scope to cranes. These were much superior to the imported ones, but more expensive because of Royce’s insistence on quality and reliability.

  In 1903, against the wishes of his partner, Royce began to indulge in his great desire — to build a motor car, and to repair and modify the various makes of cars belonging to his friends. From this small beginning came the great firm of Rolls-Royce, which was to stand throughout the world as the pre-eminent engineering company.

  Royce had added to his practical training by attending night classes at technical schools, but, above all things, he was one of those rare people who are natural-born engineers and designers. He had an instinct for excellence of design, and would spend great time and patience in the consideration of engineering drawings before allowing the parts to be manufactured. On the other hand, he constantly appealed to experiment, and would examine with great care every part after it had been run. No wear, frettage or indication of malfunctioning was too trivial for him to notice, and make efforts to correct.

  After Rolls was killed flying at Bournemouth in 1910, and Royce had his severe illness in the years following, the firm was kept together by Claude Johnson. He regarded Royce as his precious jewel, and insisted that he lived in milder climes than grey Derby. Accordingly, Royce spent the winters in the south of France at Le Canadel and, later, the summers at West Wittering in Sussex. In both places, he had his senior designers with him. When I joined Rolls-Royce, official drawings still bore the nomenclature LeC., while most of those made at Derby were kept from Royce and known as D.E.S. (Derby Experimental Schemes).

  From what one reads, Royce appears as a cold, austere martinet who would not tolerate any opposition. His early marriage had failed, and for the last 20 years of his life he was cared for by Nurse Aubyn who never left his side, and appeared to exert authority over him. Whether she was more than a nurse we shall never know but, if so, good for Henry for it would be one of the few humane attributes in his character.

  Before World War I, Royce’s great passion had been the design and manufacture of motor cars. He was a perfectionist, and with his natural skill and capacity to gather around and to lead firmly men of similar objectives, the Rolls-Royce car soon became the finest in the world. Perhaps it was because of Rolls’ death as a pilot that Royce took no interest in aviation prior to World War I, but when the cataclysm broke on the world, it was clear that the great factory at Derby would have to give up luxury motor cars and devote its skill and capacity to the war effort.

  Just prior to the outbreak of war in 1914, Royce was approached by the War Office, who wished him to make an aero engine of French design. He took one look at it and refused point-blank. However, the Admiralty encouraged him to design his own engine, and in August/September 1914, he began the design of the 200 hp engine, as it was then known, and which subsequently became the famous Eagle, later developed to 375 hp.

  At the time, for reasons of health, Royce was living at Ramsgate in Kent, and had with him his usual bureau of designers. After the outbreak of war, he never once visited the factory at Derby, and this was regarded as a blessing in disguise by the inhabitants thereof. Royce’s presence in the shops was very obstructive, since he would stop work and sack people on the instant if they were not doing the job exactly as he thought it ought to be done. I was told that they left by the front door, and were immediately re-engaged at the back door.

  And so, from 200 miles away, he controlled the design and manufacture of the 200 hp engine, and nothing was allowed to be done unless it had his thumbprint upon it. A constant stream of drawings and instructions flowed from Ramsgate to Derby, and in December 1915, these were bound into a volume of a limited edition of 100, entitled The First Aero Engines made by Rolls-Royce Ltd. The preface to this volume states ‘In the opinion of the Board of Directors, the Memoranda and letters written by Mr F. H. Royce, the Engineer-in-Chief, in connection with the design, testing and manufacture of these engines are so admirable as evidence of extreme care, foresight, and analytical thought, that the Directors decided to have them printed and bound in order that copies may be available for study and as an example to all grades of Rolls-Royce Engineers, present and future’.

  The book is headed ‘Confidential, not to be shown to anyone without the authority of the Directors’. I am happy to say that Copy No 72 is in my possession today, almost 70 years later.

  The first note on the 200 hp engine is dated 26 August 1914, and states ‘We are working at the new 200 hp engine to find out the space required. We propose to fit it with wrought steel cylinders and steel jackets. Each cylinder is to be separate’. Royce had already made up his mind that the engine should have 12 cylinders in two banks of six, inclined to each other in a 60° Vee format. This became the standard arrangement for Rolls-Royce aero-engines for the next 30 years.

  A typical note was the one dated 24 October 1914 to Wormald, who was then Works Manager at Derby. Royce stated ‘I am very surprised to hear there was any difficulty about finding machines to work on the aero-engine cylinders. I am afraid the position is that we must find machines. We have worried the RFC and the Admiralty. We have also worried and worked continually on the design of this, and there must be no delays put in the way of the progress of the engine, because we must either do the work promptly or abandon the idea of doing it altogether. We cannot possibly have it hanging about, otherwise it will be only a disgrace to us’.

  His admonition was heeded and by February 1915 the engine was running on the test bed. A note from Royce dated 4 March 1915 records his satisfaction at the engine having given 225 hp at 1,600 rpm — already more than its design power. Thus in six months Royce had designed and the Derby Works had made the most powerful aero-engine in the world. Weighing 700 lb, it was destined to play a great part in the war effort, and Royce would allow no other firm to make it.

  One sees references to E. W. Hives as being in charge of the testing programme. Hives had joined Rolls-Royce at the beginning of the century as a car mechanic for Rolls, and had graduated to being the chief rally driver. He it was who drove a 40/50 Silver Ghost on the famous trip from London to Edinburgh and back, in top gear all the way, in 1911. Hives retained his enthusiasm all his life for driving Rolls-Royce cars, which he did with great élan.

  I remember driving to London with him in 1946 in the first straight-eight Rolls-Royce. This car had been ready just as war broke out, and had been shipped to Canada for safety during the war. It was very fast indeed, with a top speed in the order of 120 mph. We were en route to London, long before motorways, and were doing a steady 100 mph (161 km/h) when he started to feel for his cigarette case. He tried all his pockets, changing hands on the steering wheel meanwhile. He then extracted a cigarette and went through the same process finding his lighter. Meanwhile we were streaking past other traffic on what today would be regarded as a second-class road. My hair stood on end, but I dared not say a word.

  He very occasionally hit things. On one occasion, while travelling with his colleague Bill Lappin, they ran into a car full of bookmakers and racing touts. Hs stopped and Lappin went back. The victims were very belligerent and were threatening to knock the block off the lunatic who had hit them. Lappin said ‘You mustn’t do that. Do you know he is the Manager of Rolls-Royce’.

  ‘The Manager of Rolls-
Royce, eh’, was the reply. ‘In that case we won’t hit him, we’ll sue him?’

  The excitement of testing the Eagle engine and its successors in World War I changed Hives’ allegiance from cars to aero engines. The Eagle was the powerplant for the Handley Page and Vickers heavy bombers, and a scaled-down version called the Falcon became the main engine fitted to the Bristol Fighter, which ended the war as the supreme two-seater fighter.

  It was Hs’ experience, gained in World War I, which fitted him so admirably to lead Rolls-Royce in World War II. He alone amongst us knew the power of the aeroplane in warfare, and the enormous efforts that would be required from Rolls-Royce to satisfy the demands for the engines. We in Britain have cause to be thankful that this strong, sagacious man, at the height of his powers, was in the right place at the right time to co-ordinate the effort that was necessary to bring our country to victory in the air.

  After World War I, Hives became Chief Experimental Engineer, covering both cars and aero engines, and three young graduates from Bristol — A. C. Lovesey, R. N. Dorey and A. A. Rubbra — joined the firm. All three were destined for top positions — Lovesey in Engineering, Rubbra in Design, and Dorey in Management.

  Lovesey was a keen amateur aviator and owned his own Gipsy Moth, which he flew all over Europe in his spare time. At the time when I met him at Donington Hall, he was still a batchelor and worked very long hours, seldom leaving the factory before 7.00 pm, just in time for dinner.

  Being Deputy Chief Experimental Engineer, he had a large staff because all engine test, performance and build came under his command. The pattern for developing an engine had been set by Royce himself. We find him writing on 22 March 1915: ‘Re. 200 hp Aero Engine — Short Duration Tests, etc. We presume that you are continuing the test at high compression and increased speed, first finding out how fast you can run for one or two hour spells with the lubrication as in the 20 hour test, and then whether the big-end will bear an increase of speed with (1) “Castrol”, (2) cooler oil, or (3) higher pressure’.

  In other words, Royce laid down the principle of gradually increasing the speed and power of the engine in steps in order to find the weakest link. Thereafter, the engine would be pulled back slightly, and long-endurance runs made to demonstrate the mechanical integrity. All this philosophy, and much more, is now embodied in the Type Test which all engines must undergo before going into full production.

  It was Lovesey’s main task to get the Merlin through its Type Test, and to join with Rubbra in the design of modified parts to overcome any mechanical failure that occurred during testing. He had great powers of concentration, and it was his custom to deal with the many problems individually, one at a time, and not spread himself over the whole gamut of difficulties facing him.

  He would arrive in his office, and gather around him the appropriate specialists, and together they would begin to examine the evidence of a particular failure. Day after day the same people would gather with him, and gradually they would piece together the mechanism of the failure, and decide upon the appropriate action. He never made a snap decision, and when his investigation was complete he would give a masterly summary and exposition of the problem. Hives described him as the finest development engineer in the world.

  Although his methods were first-class for solving problems, they were no way to run a large department, because the rest of his staff did not exist while he was concentrating with the few. This was temporarily very frustrating for many of his engineers who felt they were not getting their fair share of his attention.

  It came to pass that I shared an office with him as his assistant, and thereby had a daily tutorial on how to become a mechanical engineer. I remember a man bursting into his office during the war in a state of high dudgeon. He advanced on Lov, and banged his desk shouting:

  ‘When the hell am I going to be allowed to get on with my job’.

  Lovesey leaned back and smiled at him: ‘Now let me see, what is it that you want to do?’

  ‘You know damned well, I have got to measure the oil flows in all the lubricating pipes on the engine, and yet I cannot get on any engine test’.

  ‘But it’s absolutely vital that we have that information’, Lovesey replied, ‘How do you propose to measure it?’

  The man sat back and gave a lengthy exposition, with Lovesey interjecting, ‘Yes, yes, what a good idea’.

  The man calmed down, with Lov thanking him for drawing the matter to his attention and assuring him of his great interest.

  The man left completely mollified and happy. Since I knew that he had little hope of getting this routine information, because all the engines were heavily committed, I asked Lovesey,

  ‘What are you going to do about that?’

  ‘Bugger all’, he replied, and turned back to his papers.

  Almost daily the Chief Tester, Stan Orme, and his assistant, Alf Arnold, would appear first thing to report on the state of the engine tests. Both were well over six feet tall, whereas Lovesey was a slight man of about 5 ft 6 in. They knew there would be only one test Lov would be interested in, and they spent a good deal of effort making sure they knew which one that was. Sometimes they slipped up, and got their priorities wrong. Lovesey would rise in his wrath and demand,

  ‘Can’t I rely on you to test the right engine, or must I come on to the test beds and do it myself?’ He would start to take off his jacket and would have to be forcibly restrained in his chair, while they promised that he would have his test done immediately. He was held in great respect and affection by all, and was really kindness and good nature itself.

  Both he and Rubbra gave their whole life to Rolls-Royce, and their outstanding talents were an inspiration to all. When, in March 1971, I was asked to return to Derby to take responsibility for the RB211 engine, whose problems had just caused the world-shaking crash of the company, I telephoned them both, asking them to help me. Although well over 70 years old, and retired, they both joined me in my office, and towers of strength they were too, readily accepting the junior man of 1938 as their Chief.

  Back in 1938 I soon became very familiar with the construction of the Merlin supercharger and carburettor. The engine had been designed to fit the Spitfire and Hurricane fighters, and its length had been compressed as much as possible to match the fore-and-aft balance on these aircraft. Since the supercharger was at the rear of the engine it had come in for pretty severe design treatment, and the air intake duct to the impeller looked very squashed, with a shape that seemed peculiar to my eye.

  I tried to calculate the pressure losses which the air flowing through this intake would experience before entering the impeller, and the answer looked bad. Since it is the function of the supercharger to compress the air, it was obviously a bad thing to have a pressure loss in the intake.

  I wished to determine the magnitude of this loss. After consulting with my new staff, we went to see Albert Rigg, an old boy who inhabited his own little corner of the Experimental Shop, surrounded by the tools of his trade. Albert was a very highly skilled craftsman who specialised in sheet metal work. He could make anything in sheet metal from a sketch on the back of an envelope. Not only could he beat metal to make it thinner, but he could operate on a metal sheet with a hammer to make it thicker in places.

  We told him that we wished to cut away the heavy aluminium intake casing from the blower, and asked him to replace it with a sheet metal intake so that the air could go directly into the impeller without having to pass through carburettors or turn awkward corners. This was, of course, for test purposes only, so that we could determine, by experiment, the price that was being paid for the standard configuration on the engine. In a short time the parts were made, and the supercharger put on test. The effect was most enlightening, because the blower pumped a higher pressure and increased airflow, from which the losses in the carburettor and air intake could be calculated.

  But engines must have a carburettor, so there was nothing to be done about that. They must also have an ai
r intake leading the air from the carburettor to the eye of the supercharger, but this part could be reshaped to reduce the loss. So back we went to Albert and concocted a new shape for him to make. This was a much more difficult task than his original flare. The principle was that air velocities should be kept as low as possible, by making the cross-sectional area of the duct as large as possible, with the air directed into the eye of the blower in a very gentle curve. At the same time, the overall length had to be unchanged, so that the Merlin could still be fitted into the Hurricane and Spitfire.

  With Albert’s sheet-metal intake a great improvement was effected over the standard Merlin design, and combining this with the original prediction of the improvement to be obtained from the modifications to the rotor and the diffuser, I was confident that a vastly improved supercharger would result.

  At this stage, I had no idea what effect this would have on the power produced by the Merlin engine, or on the performance of the two fighters. Nor could I find anybody in Rolls-Royce who could tell me. The subject had simply not been studied. Was it worth while changing the whole design of the supercharger, with all the drawing work, experimental manufacture, testing, and disruption to production? The judgement of the magnitude of this task was quite outside my experience. Fortunately, at that stage, I did not feel it was necessary for me even to suggest it. I was treating the supercharger as my personal toy, and got my satisfaction from improving its efficiency. What was done with it after that was someone else’s affair.

  But at this stage Hs took a hand. I was sitting in my office one afternoon when he walked in and sat down on the extra chair I had acquired. On my desk was a Merlin rotor, which he picked up and said, ‘I have looked at the reports on your work, and I am interested in the proposal to make the vanes on this thing narrower, because that will take some of the stress out of it’.