by Mike Brooke
The first memory involved the braking system. Like most aeroplanes of its era the Varsity had hydraulically operated disc brakes on the main wheels. Unusually though, these had two means of operation: toe pedals on the rudder bar and a handbrake on the control yoke. The latter was also the means of locking the brakes on for parking, but the toe brakes gave a much smoother way of operating the brakes during landings and taxiing. In fact, if you were standing outdoors when a Varsity taxied past it sounded like a runaway concrete-mixer, with the brakes screeching and those big engines making rumbling noises via the exhausts! I converted ‘Jack’ Frost to the Varsity in March 1977 and, as expected, he coped very well, falling into the same nostalgic trap as everyone eventually did. However, some time later Jack had to land on the shorter north–south runway at Farnborough and decided to use the hand-operated brake lever. Sadly he was over-enthusiastic with his application and burst all four tyres!
The other memory was to do with the lack of sealing around the multiple Perspex panels that made up the ‘glasshouse’ pilots’ windscreen. When it rained the water dripped in all over one’s lap and legs; anything written in grease-pencil on one’s kneepads was soon obliterated. One time I was converting two rather elderly ex-military pilots at RAE Llanbedr on the Cardiganshire coast, because they were going to be flying a Varsity there for some esoteric radar trials. On one of these training flights we had to get airborne in the rain. As we climbed away from the airfield the redoubtable Mr Ainsworth looked across the cockpit at me and said, in his northern accented voice, ‘Eeee, it’s just like being back in a Wellington again.’ We should have been wearing Wellingtons!
17 WHITE HOT TECHNOLOGY
Llanbedr was also the location of a week-long ‘high-risk’ FLIR experiment that could easily have been dreamt up by the Ministry of Silly Trials. Apparently there was an urgent need to get detailed data on the infrared signature of an aircraft flying at high speeds that had been unobtainable from ground based cameras. So on 3 April 1978 C Flight navigator Flt Lt Sean Sparks and I, accompanied by three boffins, headed west to Llanbedr where we would meet up with Flt Lt Keith Hartley, an A Squadron test pilot from Boscombe Down, flying a single-seat Jaguar. The week would be spent with Keith aiming his aeroplane at us to achieve the closest possible miss distance within the fixed field of view of our FLIR. Llanbedr was chosen because it was close to Aberporth Range, which was equipped with highly accurate radar and employed controllers who were used to such manoeuvres.
It didn’t start well. We had not long been on the ground at Llanbedr when a camouflaged Jaguar arrived overhead going at a fair lick. It made a tight turning break to slow down and land on the southerly runway. Unfortunately there was a strong westerly wind blowing; we had landed on the south-west facing runway – but that was far too short for Jaguars. Keith touched down but did not use his braking parachute, which is large and effective on the Jag, but can be difficult to handle in strong crosswinds. He then had to taxi quite a long way from the other end of the 7,500ft long runway to be parked near our aircraft. By the time he got there the brakes and wheels had obviously over-heated because, as he moved the last few feet to a stop, there was a soft ‘thud’ and the Jaguar tilted to the right. The starboard tyres had deflated as the heat sensitive fusible plugs in the wheels had ‘blown’. The ladder was then put up to the cockpit and as our fighter pilot descended there was a repeat performance from the port tyres! Oops! Fortunately our first range slot wasn’t until the following morning so there was time to get the problem fixed while we briefed.
It was a memorable week. The range controllers did an outstanding job and it was fascinating to look out and see the small smoking dot appear out of the distant blue sky and then rush past us – very close at times! Every pass would have been reportable as an Airmiss in other circumstances. Hartley did a great job adapting his passes to give the boffins an excellent collection of all-round views of his jet by the end of the week.
We stayed in a local hostelry each night. One evening, after dinner, we were imbibing a post-prandial digestif with some of the natives when one of them asked, ‘Are you ’ere to fly them pilotless aeroplanes then?’ Llanbedr was the home base for the UK’s only remotely operated target drones; a small jet-engined aircraft called the Jindivik.
On the way back to Farnborough I received a valuable lesson in limited aircraft performance. The weather was good so Sean had planned our return at low level (250ft) and we were straight into the UK Low Flying System after take-off. After about twenty minutes he gave me a change of heading for the next leg. I turned onto it and found myself soon increasing power to climb up a hillside, well more of a mountainside. After a short while I had applied maximum continuous power and the airspeed was continuing to fall. When it got down to 120kt I admitted defeat, dropped a few degrees of flap and turned right away from the rising ground so that we could accelerate back to our planned cruising speed.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to do some ad hoc replanning, Sean,’ I said. But that didn’t put him off his stroke; he had already worked out a new route! I like navs like that.
After a few months and in conjunction with the scientific powers it was decided to imitate the LLTV Hunter and look at using FLIR as a piloting aid, especially in the dark. This brought an interesting little project my way. I had to redesign the right-hand instrument panel so that a TV screen, for viewing the FLIR image, could be installed. There was insufficient funding to allow cursive script to be superimposed on the screen, à la Hecaté, so I was tasked with coming up with a design to put sufficient flight information on the rather meagre amount of space left around the screen. Thus I spent many happy hours with the RAE’s flight instrument folk and trade catalogues searching for instruments that were small enough to fit but clear enough to read easily. In the end we got, as is usual, a fairly happy compromise between size, readability and cost. So it was that we started a whole new phase of night flying, with two pilots up front and a less happy navigator with his back to the direction of flight at the desk behind us. At first it seemed that the boffins couldn’t stop their data gathering but it soon became apparent that now that we could see where we were going the terrain avoidance aspect and the collection of pretty infrared pictures went hand-in-hand. We also started to learn about the temperature ‘gates’ and whether the imagery was best viewed with the hot bits white or black. The consensus seemed to be that white-hot was good for finding ‘targets’ at some distance but black-hot seemed to give a more three-dimensional look to the terrain.
One trial that we flew was aimed at looking at high-tension wires of the National Grid. This was to determine if the heat present in the N-thousand volt cables would be detectable on the FLIR and therefore could be avoided. Another target and intelligence related query was about fuel refineries. Could the FLIR see which tanks were full or empty, or even partly full? Was it possible to see which pipelines were operating and which were not? So we came up with an epic route that flew west all the way to the oil terminal at Milford Haven in South Wales, following as much of the National Grid as we could. The answer turned out to be yes to all the questions asked! However, the avoidance of power lines at high speeds would not be feasible as the resolution of the system was such that you could not see the thin white lines on the screen until you were about a nautical mile from the wires; at 420kt that is less than ten seconds away!
We were satisfied that we could safely fly at low level on the FLIR and this was reported back up the line. However, we did not have any other method of giving the ‘safety pilot’ an independent monitoring aid; he still had to look at the screen as well. This facility would come later and make this very high-risk flying a bit less so!
While the two Varsities, WL 679 and WL 635, both carried FLIR equipment, albeit of different types and origins, we had another aircraft that, among other things, was exploring the use of airborne FLIR – Canberra B(I)8 WJ 643. Having flown about 600 hours in this mark of Canberra during my first tour it was great to climb bac
k on board what felt like an old friend. However, this airframe had not been built originally as a B(I)8 but as a B2 and then converted. It had been with the Ferranti Company based originally in Scotland and then transferred in the early 1970s to RAE Farnborough. By the time I had arrived there 643 was used for research under the auspices of the Flight Systems Department and not the Air Weapons Department for whom we on C Flight did most of our flying.
The bomb bay of 643 was filled with digital computers suspended from the bomb racks and the aircraft’s main role was in deriving algorithms for the correct control of moveable, harmonised sighting systems, like lasers and electro-optical equipments such as FLIR. The trials went under the acronym of LOSSE – Line of Sight Stabilisation Equipment. A Hughes FLIR turret had been acquired from the USA; it was identical to the one fitted to USAF Boeing B-52s. The turret was mounted under the front fuselage.
The aeroplane’s colour scheme was rather eye-catching: white upper surfaces and light grey beneath, with royal blue flashes dividing the two and, just to give this unique aircraft an even better chance of not being run into by someone else, dayglo red panels at the nose and tail. The pilot’s cockpit was also more exotic than the operational models that I had flown in Germany. It was fitted with an HUD that allowed the pilot to view the world outside overlaid with the usual flight parameters and a symbol that showed him where the FLIR was looking.
As the B(I)8 had only two crew positions the other was occupied by a civilian FTO and for the LOSSE project he was a very personable young man called Pete Spencer. He had undergone all the survival and emergency procedures training for his special role as ‘the man without a bang seat’. This mark of Canberra had only one ejection seat and that was for the ‘driver, airframe’ sat above and behind the FTO under the slightly offset, fighter-style canopy. Poor old Pete had to wear a dreadfully heavy and restricting special flying suit that all B(I)8 navigators had to fly in; it had an integral parachute harness and an emergency oxygen bottle in one of the leg pockets.
When the B-52 FLIR turret was fitted we did a lot of low-level flying, often in co-ordination with military vehicles to test tracking and various methods of indicating possible targets to the pilot. Tracking was also of interest so that the stability of the system could be analysed and, when necessary, improved. One interesting anomaly that we uncovered one day was that Pete was picking up hotspots that were not military vehicles. It was my job to home in on them and see what they were. The two most common such ‘hotspots’ were haystacks and cows, both of which were much warmer than their surroundings!
On another occasion we were flying back to Farnborough when we were asked to follow one of our Buccaneers around the instrument pattern. We were about 3 miles behind it and Pete said that he had locked onto the Buccaneer using its hot jet exhaust. The FLIR had two fields of view so a magnification of about five could be achieved. On that setting it was easy to identify the aircraft type. Pete was still telling me that he could see the aircraft even after I had lost sight of it as it descended into cloud. Eventually it did disappear from his view as the cloud thickened. This experience gave us the idea that we should set up some sort of trial in which we could examine the use of FLIR as an air-to-air identification and aiming aid. So we did. It was successful, especially in the head-on mode, which was one of the areas of concern for medium-range, missile-equipped fighters where positive visual identification was a major factor in the rules of engagement.
Later a Ferranti Laser was installed in 643 and was harmonised with the FLIR and a daylight TV through a clever system of moveable and steerable mirrors in the nose. This part of the LOSSE programme would eventually lead to the successful production of a thermal imaging designator that would be known as Thermal Imaging and Laser Designator and see operational service in the First Gulf War.
But first, of course, we had to fire the laser from the aircraft. This brought lots of angst to the safety folks and there followed many meetings to decide where we could safely do this and what the hazard to the crew, range personnel and casual passers-by might be. In those days the more powerful lasers were not eye-safe and could cause severe damage to the human ocular kit. The upshot was that we would be given a special area within the restricted range zone at RAE West Freugh and stringent procedures would have to be put in place to make sure that nobody was anywhere near the area into which we would be firing the laser. This included the beach at the north end of Luce Bay, which was a favourite dog-walking spot for the locals. We would also have to wear special goggles throughout the flight. These proved to be cumbersome and of dubious optical quality. I thought that they were a greater flight safety hazard than the rather questionable chance of a stray reflection from the laser swiping me in the eye. As soon as the firing was completed and the system powered down I pulled them off for the rest of the flight.
These wretched things turned up again when we started the Paveway LGB trials that I’ve already described. Bob Newell’s comments on the goggles after his first flight with them on were totally subjective and unprintable!
18 PLAYING WITH THE NAVY
June 1977 brought us the Queen’s Silver Jubilee. Some of us were domestically involved with arranging a street party where our Married Quarters were located – St Michael’s Road. This created some very welcomed interface with the civilian neighbours around us. On the Big Day it all went off very well and much food and drink was consumed well into the gloaming of a June evening.
At work our chief boffin, Terry, had a Jubilee trick up his sleeve. In keeping with historic practice there was to be a gathering of ships from all over the world for the Royal Review at Spithead, in the Solent. Such reviews of the British Naval Fleets had taken place in this area of water between Portsmouth Harbour and the Isle of Wight since the forteenth century. This presented us with an opportunity to look at a wide range of vessels with the FLIR and build up a catalogue of such images.
On Thursday 23 June we received a clearance to fly over the ships as they were gathering and being positioned according to the complex plan that some clever, and no doubt very senior, naval person had drawn up. We arrived late in the evening and stayed until after dark. We flew around at about 1,000ft while the boffins did their thing down the back. The RN was controlling the airspace from the aircraft carrier Ark Royal. After a while I asked our scientists if the view of an approach to the Ark Royal’s deck would be of use. After all it would perhaps be a way of making a covert visual carrier landing or an attack and it might be worth recording. ‘Ark Royal this is Nugget21 51.’
After a short delay, ‘51 – go ahead,’ came the response. I’m sure that I caught the sound of a coffee cup being suddenly put down.
‘We’d like to set up for an approach to your deck. Would that be acceptable?’
Another pause. ‘I don’t see why not, but we haven’t got the deck illuminated.’
‘Nugget 51, that’s not a problem, with our kit we can see everything we need to.’
Then ‘51, what’s your wingspan?’
‘95ft. Why?’
‘In that case there’s not enough clearance between the deck centreline and the superstructure.’
‘Oh, I’m not coming below 150ft, so don’t worry.’
‘OK, 51, in that case you are clear to make your approach.’
So I went over the Ark Royal and turned outbound to about 4 miles from the ship and then turned back to line up on the deck. When my nav, Mo Hammond, reckoned we were at 3 miles I started a descent at 110kt with a modicum of flap down but the undercarriage up; that was because the nose wheel came down right in front of the window through which the FLIR watched the world go by.
Looking across at the screen I maintained a 3° approach path and held us on the centreline. It was easy to see everything I needed to make a steady approach. At 150ft I applied full power and climbed to pass over Ark Royal’s deck at 250ft. This was probably going to be the only time that I would make an approach to an aircraft carrier.
The Jubilee
Fleet Review took place on the afternoon of Tuesday 28 June and we were given permission to fly over the Fleet in its final positions. We arrived and flew around as quietly as we could. I checked in on the radio and our man on Ark Royal was there again.
‘Welcome back Nugget 51,’ he replied. ‘I hope you are not going to do another approach to our deck, because the Queen is downstairs having dinner.’
‘In that case we won’t,’ I said.
We often worked with ships. An epic trip was set up for us to get a lot of images of a ship – HMS Blake – exercising at sea. Blake, with its sister ship HMS Tiger, was to be the last of the RN’s cruisers and had been present at the Jubilee Fleet Review five months earlier. There was a regular maritime exercise held off the Moray Firth and it was in this that we would participate with our flying museum piece equipped with its futuristic technology. I had to arrange a detachment to RAF Lossiemouth, and we had to fulfil a requirement to fly sorties by both day and by night, but not stay for more than three days. This led me to devise a pattern of trials whereby we could get images almost round the clock without putting myself and my navigator, Flt Lt Sean Sparks, outside the ‘Duty Hours’ rules. Wednesday 30 November dawned clear and frosty. Everything was planned, the boffins had all turned up on time (not always a regular event) and the aircraft was loaded. Sean and I looked at the en-route weather, which proved to be sparkling – an anticyclone was positioned over the UK giving nationwide winter sunshine. ‘Let’s go up at low level,’ I suggested.
‘Why not?’ responded Sean.
So we got out the necessary maps and drew lines to get us from Farnborough to Lossiemouth with the maximum use of the UK Low Flying System. We gave the boffins the news when it was too late for them to get off!
The trip went well. It was great to be floating along at 250ft and 150kt on such a glorious day. As we came over the last of the snow-covered Cairngorm Mountains I maintained 2,500ft and called Lossiemouth Approach asking for a visual approach from a run-in-and-break. Sean had already looked at the Lossiemouth information given in the Terminal Approach Procedures book and had pointed out that it stated that run-in-and-breaks were not to be flown lower than 1,000ft and at a speed not exceeding 420kt. He also told me that we were not to fly over the environs of Lossiemouth town.