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Aviation History
1946
1946 - 1719.PDF
SEPTEMBER 5TH, 1946 FLIGHT 237 The Goofers9 Platform " They gave me a Seafire to beat up the Fleet; I polished off Nelson and Rodney a treat; Forgot about the masts that stuck up on 'Fortnid,' And a seat in the ' Goofers' was worth twenty quid." AT the after end of the island superstructure of ourlarge fleet carriers of the Illustrious class there is aL clear bit of deck where, by some oversight, My Lords have omitted to put some gun or other warlike implement. This is known as "The Goofers' Platform" Or " The Goofers." A goofer in Naval slang—or anyone's ' slang for that matter—is a person who stands gazing at come incident in which he is not actively concerned. This platform was where we—for all Naval Air Arm types areL ardent goofers—forgathered to watch other poor characters landing. It was almost as popular a shop-talking place as the wardroom bar. There the new boy or sprog could hear how "In '42 old Pranger Poodle landed on his carrier's sister ship and had sunk his second gin before realising it." He can hear every type of aircraft discussed, its good and bad points, in a queer jargon of revs., boost, wing loading, etc., which a layman would find it hard to understand. He can hear the past, present and sometimes the future of other members of the Naval Air Branch. Spend enough time on the " Goofers " and you will get a pretty thorough history of the '' Branch,'' for we are a fairly small service and you eventually get to know, or know of, most of the characters. It is a spot by common consent sacred to aircrew, although other types are welcomed, provided they are willing to listen to an argument on the relative merits of the Seafire and Corsair, or to an eulogy on the Stringbag. Although it was cursed in its day by pilots freezing on an anti-submarine patrol, and by observers trying to hold on to chartboards whilst grovelling for lost pencils, now that it is passing into antiquity the Swordfish is regarded with more affection than ever before lavished on an inani- mate object. Perhaps "inanimate" is the wrong word to use about an aircraft. The " Gcofers" is a favourite sun-bathing spot. In warmer climes its rails are draped with bodies varying -n from virgin white, through lobster pink to the much-envied brown; rig of the day being socks rolled down and shorts rolled up. Twitch-making Business The main object of the types who frequent the •; "Goofers" is, of course, to watch the landings. This can be a much more twitch-making business than actually land ing yourself. I know one observer who will sit quite happily in the back of an aircraft landing-on, yet will never watch a landing if he can help it—queer type no doubt, but it is understandable. Each and every landing is closely watched and criticized. A running commentary usually accompanies it ... " He's too ruddy fast. . . . Get your nose up, man. . . . j What the hell is Bats playing at. ... He'll have to go ' round again. . . . Oh, lovely landing. . . . Ruddy good Batsman, old Sandy. Don't tell him I said so—we had an argument about how to bring-in a Firefly yesterday." It is like watching a cricket match. We could all have played the stroke better than the man at the crease. There is a saying that any landing is a good one if you can walk away from it. Most Batsmen have never heard these words of wisdom, or if they have they don't subscribe . to the theory. You may be chucking your Mae West into your locker, or even have got as far as settling yourself behind a beer or magazine, according to taste, when he will accost you with '' What the devil were you playing at to- day. Go up ruddy well means go up. I don't dance around in that wind for fun. Have a drink." I The most common crash on an aircraft carrier is a "barrier prang." The barrier is a stout steel wire mesh which can be raised across the flight deck about the island. Its purpose in life is to stop aircraft which have missed all the arrestor wires charging up the deck and crashing into aircraft parked forward. It is a very lucky and a skilful pilot who gets through his career without once hitting the barrier. With the landing area, about eighty by three or four hundred feet, often rolling, pitching and indulging in all the cantrips of a ship at sea, this is hardly surprising. The Perch Club—one hundred landings without a prang—• is a very exclusive club indeed. A barrier prang is not very serious except, of course, for the fact that a valuable air- craft is out of action for the rest of the trip. The pilot, unless he has disobeyed the batsman or done something stupid, is seldom blamed and invariably gets away unhurt Prangs from the Stalls The "Goofers" commands a very fine view of these prangs, being almost directly above tne after barrier. The first thing the unfortunate pilot sees on stepping from his bedraggled aircraft is a row of his chums' faces peering down with gloating expressions—another member of the Barrier Club. Some very fine bits of flying have been witnessed from the "Goofers." There are, to my mind, few finer sights than a squadron flying down the starboard side in nice tight formation, breaking-up and landing-on at regular 20- to 30-second intervals. From the " Goofers " we have watched aircraft coming back to land-on with pieces of wings and control surfaces missing, ropy engines, and windscreens covered with oil, yet still making perfect land- ings. There was the case of a Fulmar with one leg stuck up and the other down, landing with so little damage that it was flown-ofi next day. One of our escort carriers was torpedoed and listing badly, yet anti-submarine patrols were flown-oif and flown-on, keeping the subs down and enabling the carrier to limp home. Goofing isn't quite so easy in an escort carrier. There you have no platform, and goofing must be done from the cat walks along the sides of the flight deck. It is just as well to keep one eye on your means of retreat, since air- craft have been known to put a wheel in the cat walk, and it is better not to stay to argue with them. It takes a lot to shift a confirmed group of goofers, but they have been known to scatter. It was in the Med., a Fulmar was on its final approach, when for some reason one of the starboard guns started firing. It was each man for himself and the " De'il tak the hinnermost." I can vouch for this. I led the rush. For many of us, goofing days are over, and the peace and quiet of civilian life awaits us. That is, if dodging London traffic and wearing shoes thin to find somewhere to park yourself and family, is peaceful. -The yarn- spinning and line-shooting is transferred to odd meetings in pubs and such like places. But the Navy has its peacetime job to do, and the goofers will be kept warm. Perhaps some quiet summer evening a stratospheric, jet- propelled aircraft pilot, having his last breath of fresh air before turning in, v/ill look up and see the rails once more draped with shadowy figures wearing thin wavy stripes on their sleeves. If he goes nearer he may hear snatches of conversation : "It was in the Argus in '41. . . ." " 'Tis a blooming old Stringbag. . . ." "Second wire every time, old boy. . . ." "He was in the Tndom. with me. . . ." If he is a good type, he will go below and leave them in peace.
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