Sloping Off - March 2002

1943 Revisited
by John Seaby

My main Christmas present from my two sons and their wives consisted of a large red envelope containing the message that, at some date in the future, I was to visit Duxford Air Museum free of charge, and during my visit would have the opportunity to fly in a vintage 1930s Tiger Moth. It would be a half an hour's flight, and at the pilots discretion, I might be allowed to handle the controls myself. Any friends or relations would be allowed to enter the Museum at half price and, in a handwritten note, I was informed that both my sons would be taking me on the chosen day to chauffeur and record the flight on video and film.

The offer was from early April until the end of October, to be arranged at my convenience. The early dates were avoided because of the weather, and it was not until mid August that there seemed to be a time that would fit into everyone's schedule. I rang the offices of Classic Wings, and was informed that the next available dates were September the 28th and October the 2nd. The first of these was not possible so I was booked in for Tuesday the 2nd at 9.30am. My sons decided that we would go up to the Cambridge area the evening before to save the old man from having to rise at the crack of dawn. On the Monday there was torrential rain and a gale and so, following instructions, I rang the aerodrome to check the flying possibilities, and was told that a decision could not be given until nine o'clock the next morning, which gave us half an hour to travel the length of the M3, M25, and a chunk of the M11, To my surprise my son said he could not do it in the time! They also said that if we cancelled we would have to pay twenty pounds to re-book, but if they cancelled in the morning they would be willing rearrange the booking free of charge, so we stayed at home and rang them in the morning, to be told the flight was cancelled on three counts: wind direction, wind strength, and cloud base, so I was re-booked for 13.45 the following week.

This time the weather was given as better than fifty fifty so we decided to go. We left Ringwood at 9.45 and arrived at Duxford mid-day and checked in at the Classic Wings office where we were told that all was well, and that apart from a possible shower every thing looked good.

We went to look at the nearest hanger, which was the American Memorial; it looks very much like the Teletubbies' house, a large, rounded structure, half covered in turf on one side, and a great window on the other, we entered on the turf side about half way up, and the first thing seen on entering is the cockpit of a B52 at eye level and a vast aircraft stretching away in all directions. There are about twenty other aircraft in this building from a B17 and a Super Fortress, through Phantom, Mitchell, down to a Spad . Then hanging from the roof, I was suddenly taken back to my flying days, for there in front of me was a PT17 Stearman, a Harvard, and a Mustang, all grouped together, so I was able to show my sons the three aircraft the old man flew in his youth. This hanger is a masterpiece of open space construction and still robust enough to support aircraft the size of a U2 and an Avenger. The B29 and the B17 fit easily under the B52s wings together with many others. In one hanger a Liberator was being rebuilt, and would be added to the American Museum collection. However, we were told there was a problem, as the designer of the Museum had not left any hanger doors suitable for large planes. Major alterations will have to be made before the additions can be made.

After a very good meal in one of the restaurants, we went out to the control tower, and the aircraft that I had first flown as a hopeful future pilot in October 1943 confronted me. Memories flooded back as I was taken out to the Tiger Moth and given a fur lined leather jacket, and a vintage leather helmet and goggles, very necessary when in open cockpits, but you really do feel you are flying and the visibility is superb. The only thing that was missing was the parachute we always wore.

My pilot introduced himself as Chris and gave me an idea what we would be doing during the next half hour. I was invited to climb in; I seem to remember climbing in was much easier in those days! Then instead of a metal bucket to step on there was a cushion where the parachute used to fit, but apart from earphones and microphone replacing the old Gosport Tube, nothing had changed, from the smell to the primitive instruments. Once inside, the absence of the parachute meant that I was a little low in the cockpit, so visibility ahead was a somewhat restricted, but still a lot better than the Mustang. The straps were adjusted - if you call selecting the best hole to put the toggle through adjustment - a spring-loaded pin with a handle secures this. I had forgotten how few instruments there were; an altimeter, a rev counter, a turn and bank indicator and an oil pressure gauge. The altimeter showed we were already at about five hundred feet, and Chris said it could not be adjusted, as the knob had fallen off! I took a quick look at the wings but at least they seemed to be still in place.

In the meantime Chris settled into the rear cockpit and checked the intercom and chatted about the takeoff procedures etc. The pilot of the other Tiger appeared at the wing tip pulling two chocks attached to a long rope, these were placed in front of the wheels and then he went to the propeller and appeared to start winding up the engine. He was shouting things like switches off, suck in, then shouted contact, and quickly tried to spin the propeller, apart from a click and a chug nothing happened. So he went back to the switches off routine, after sixth attempt, he started to wind the prop the other way, and started again, this time the motor coughed a couple of times and started with a puff of smoke, and a lot of vibration. I don't know why, but aero engines always run roughly until they reach about one thousand rpm then all is smooth. Chris started going through the take off drill, lock slots, and the usual magneto check. A wave to the fellow on the wing who pulled on the rope and we started to taxi out to the grass runway parallel to the concrete one. With another wave our attendant let go of the wing tip, and off we trundled down wind for a while before turning into wind.

The take off was sedate - 0 to 45 in about a minute and we settled down in a climb at 65mph (none of the knots or kph nonsense, when this plane was built we were still British). We turned at about 500 feet and climbed to about 1500 feet,and after a couple of steep turns, Chris let me loose on the controls. I suppose I had forgotten how sluggish the response was, but it was a wonderful feeling to once again fly the plane in which I had flown my first solo after eight hours instruction, fifty eight years ago to the month.

I wandered over to Cambridge turned over the colleges my father had attended in 1917 before taking his commission and flying an RE 8 in 1918; This aircraft is in the first hanger as you enter Duxford. It felt slightly strange that I could show my sons aircraft that both their father and grandfather had flown during two Great Wars at a time when the news seems to be talking about another.

After about twenty minutes wandering I did manage a steep turn with out losing too much height but had managed to lose about 500 feet in my previous attempts, as we headed back to Duxford, Chris wisely took back the controls, climbed back to our previous height and joined the circuit and performed a textbook landing. As we taxied back I could see my sons pointing their cameras at us and they were on hand to help the old man struggle out of the cockpit. I am sure it was easier fifty eight years earlier.

All-in-all it was a great present, and Duxford is really well worth a visit. Perhaps an idea for a Club outing sometime?