FlightGlobal.com
Home
Premium
Archive
Video
Images
Forum
Atlas
Blogs
Jobs
Shop
RSS
Email Newsletters
You are in:
Home
Aviation History
1946
1946 - 1578.PDF
162 FLIGHT AUGUST 15TH, 1946 Swordfish Across the States From Nova Scotia to San Francisco in Four " Stringbags" : Some Samples of American Weather By L. F. THOMPSON WHEN one reads of jet-propelled aircraft crossing th"American continent from California to New Yor*in just over four hours, a leisurely cruise by four Swordfish of the Naval Air Arm, from Nova Scotia to San Francisco in 1942, affords an amusing comparison. That crossing took 7J days! The squadron was a small one, only the four Swordfish, and we had been " work ing-up " at Halifax for some three months. Consequently, when the news came that we svere to go to San Francisco, there was considerable jubilation. No one enjoys " working-up." It was then late July. The orders stated that the squadron was to be in San Francisco by a date early in August. So the plans were laid. The C.O. decided that he would take only one observer—to navigate—and only one airgunner, to maintain wireless communication. The other passenger occupants of the aircraft were to be main- tenance ratinga of the different departments. It was im- perative, of course, that the aircraft should not break down in the middle* of the continent, since at that time Swordfish spares were none too plentiful on that side of the Atlantic. The route was decided by the CO. and the senior observer, who was to be responsible for the navigation. They thought it best not to rush things but, in order to save the aircraft and pilots from strain, to cover about six hundred miles a day. This meant about six hours' flying for a " Stringbag." Just when I was reconciled to going by train, the senior observer conveniently caught mumps. To my delight, the C.O. chose to take me on the trip in his place. So, bright and early on the morning of July 30th, the four Swordfish took off. Our first stop, to refuel only, was Bangor, Maine. We rumbled over the woods and lakes of Nova Scotia, across the rich, fruit-bearing Annapolis Valley and out of Canada for the time being. Over the Bay of Fundy we flew, with its erratic, impetuous tides, and crossed the rocky coast of Maine. On to Bangor, a simple uneventful run, despite misgiv- ings on my part at any rate, that '' they'' might not know who we were. Not that we saw any sign of "they." All was peaceful in the coun- tryside. All was not so peaceful at Bangor. The airfield bristled with guards and rifles and jeeps. There were guards everywhere and all of them black. A first impression was that, maybe, there were no white Ameri- cans, Hollywood not- withstanding. But while the air- craft were being re- Three of the four Swordfish flying near the Golden Gate Bridge. In thebackground is seen Mount Tamalpais. The fishing fleet is entering below the bridge. fuelled, this was disproved. I went to check on the for the next stage of the flight. As I was doing met the commanding officei of the airfield, a colonel, who addressed me, somewhat to the embarrassment of a very junior sub-lieutenant, as " Captain." But he was courtesy itself, helpful to a degree, and we were soon off once more on the next stage of our flight. This time we crossed the border back again into Canada. After an uneventful passage through the Northern Appala- chians, we stopped for lunch at a R.A.F. training airfield opposite Montreal on the St. Lawrence. We had no time, unfortunately, to see the city of Montreal itself, much as we should have liked to do so. Kingston, the Fleet Air Arm station on Lake Ontario, was our next and last objective that day. All the naviga- tion required on the trip there from Montreal was for the pilots to follow the St. Lawrence. So I relaxed. Where Ignorance Was Bliss A smart bjow between the shoulder blades was my awakening from a relaxed contemplation of the river traffic. Turning, I saw the petty officer in the rear cockpit gazing upward, terror on his face. He was dumb. There, poised some six feet above us, was another Swordfish ! As I, too, looked at it in horror, an equally startled face appeared over the edge of the pilot's open cockpit of the menacing aircraft. It was Mac, with whom I normally flew. Hastily, he jerked his machine back to its correct place, well on our starboard side. Fortunately for him, the CO., in the front cockpit of my aircraft, had missed the whole incident. He flew blissfully on. At Kingston we literally had to fight our way in to land, so thick were the training aircraft landing and taking off. A naval welcome awaited us that evening, organized by one of the C.O.'s old shipmates. When the next day brought with it rain, heavy, unceasing rain, no complaints were heard. The Swordfish were left to the apprehensive interest of the pupils. Strict teetotal quiet was our order of the day. Only one day had been allowed for bad weather and mishaps. Thus the next morn- ing, despite an unfa- vourable weather re- port, we started again. Our track^ begin with followed the northern shore of Lake Ontario, and this was to be the longest leg of the whole crossing. We passed to the south of Toronto, shrouded in industrial haze, and then left the lake be- hind us. Crossing the canal
Sign up to
Flight Digital Magazine
Flight Print Magazine
Airline Business Magazine
E-newsletters
RSS
Events
