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Aviation History
1949
1949 - 2045.PDF
FLIGHT, 29 December 1949 811 Now, the string was reflected in the mirror. Hence, the judge looking into the mirror saw in effect a prolongation of the finishing line. He could also see the image of air- craft crossing the finishing line, no matter at what height they might fly across in a close finish. Incidentally, Major Sippe relates that this system was the origin of bomb sights—by careful pre-arrangement between pilot and observer, a close estimate of the trajec- tory of bombs was worked out. A factor of no little importance is that in the early days every aircraft was known personally to the aviation world —a world on the threshold of discovery. Thus, for a han- dicapper, racing speeds were not so much a matter of aeronautical knowledge as the cumulative effect of brag- ging by the builders or pilots themselves. A rise from, say, 64 m.p.h. to 69 m.p.h. was something not to be kept secret. Each aircraft was handicapped on its top speed. Hence, each pilot had a built-in bonus for good cornering and skilful navigation. Col. Lindsay Lloyd, who was clerk of the course to the Brooklands Automobile Racing Club, was an outstanding air racing handicapper. Stripped for Action Deadly rivals of those days were the Bristol Bullet and Sopwith Tabloid, between which there was little to choose. Hence, the pilots went to extreme measures to overcome their handicap, and an idea of the form can be gauged from the current slang: '' So-and-so is flying without his collar stud." The atmosphere of those early races can be captured in an anecdote about Ronnie Kemp. On the day before the first Circuit of Britain race in 1911 his machine failed to take off, because of insufficient lift. The ground crew worked all night to effect a makeshift extension to the wings. Sure enough, the next morning the aircraft managed to rise from the ground; but at a low altitude the improvised port-wing extension blew off, and the machine spun into the deck. That ended the question of the handicap of that aircraft. The 1914-18 war ended the stick-and-string racing days, and the story moves to 1920, when the Royal Aero Club assumed control of handicap racing. To remove the handi- cappers from the suspicion of commercial interest, the Club asked the Air Ministry and Messrs. Ogilvy and Partners to nominate official handicappers. Captain Goodman Crouch and Colonel Bristowa were chosen, and moved into action for the Aerial Derby of 1920. By 1922, Rowarth had become assistant to Goodman Crouch, and his first duty concerned the first of the King's Cup races. He tells me he vividly recalls borrowing brass screws from the longerons of an Avro Baby in order to make the magneto work and thus get S/L. "Barge" Payne airborne. Croydon at this period became increasingly popular for air races. Here, the handicappers soon learned that they were sheep among the wolves. In one race, an Avro 504 arrived with streamlined wires and a large vertical wind- shield. The handicappers did their best, but the pilot won the first race at three-quarter throttle. Although his handicap was immediately adjusted, he won the second race—at full throttle . . - and again was penalized. Buthe also won the third race, for by this time he had entirely removed the vertical windshield . . . ~~ Class Distinction It was about this time that air racing was divided into major and junior races. In a "major," the aircraft had to be exactly as described on the entry form. In a "junior," alterations were permitted, but the handicap was adjusted accordingly. The reason for this latter action was largely convenience—the handicappers did not wish to discourage entrants to small meetings and therefore accepted the extra work of a junior class race. In a major race, there was not time to do this: Rowarth recalls one meeting where more than 50 out of 100 entries had to be altered to conform to the details on the entry form. In 1925, 1926 and 1927, Dancy took over from Rowarth as assistant to Goodman Crouch. In these years air racing expanded vastly. The next year, 1928, both Crouch and Bristowe retired from handicapping, and Rowarth and Dancy took charge. It soon became evident that the first-class professional test pilot was not at all necessarily a good racing pilot, and secondly that (as my old friend Tom Rose writes) '' The real race was between handicappers and pilots before the ' off.' " Half the fun was to try and fox Rowarth and Dancy. Consider the hazards in attempting this feat. In 1934, Capt. Norman Blackburn and Tommy Bancroft, having three years earlier won the King's Cup in a special Blue- bird, decided to enter a standard version of this widely known type. With outward innocence and inward guile, they placed at the disposal oi the scrutineers aircraft G-ACAH. Unknown to Norman and Tommy, Rowarth spotted something odd from 70 yards distance, as he and Dancy were walking to the machine "Don't say a word," said Rowarth in an aside, and, as outwardly innocent as the competitors, they came to inspect at close quarters. Norman Blackburn writes of the incident: '' The angle of the side-by-side windscreen had a marked effect on the speed . . . and we had flattened it from a standard 50 degrees to 30 degrees, feeling sure this would not be spotted. '' All went well: we were told to take the machine away. As Tom taxied off, I strolled nonchalantly away; not a stain on my character and conscience clear. But when I was about 20 yards away, Rowarth called out: ' Norman, you can put that windscreen back where you found it, and we'll have another look in an hour.' " Another coup was brought off against a pilot who had ingeniously fitted a roller blind which, in flight, couli be pulled out to deck-in a wide-open cockpit. The Old Firm was not bamboozled: but the reaction of the pilot is to this day not known to them, for they adroitly removed the blind without telling him they had done so. Western Approach Then there was the colourful character from the West who casually twiddled a Colt round his index finger as Rowarth and Dancy were questioning him on the wing area of his Lambert Monocoupe. The Prince of Wales (who was attending the meeting) drew near, and Westerner importuned him: "Say, will you write your name on my wing?" "I can't do that," replied the Prince amiably, "I'd have to do it for everbody." "O.K. Well, will you spit on it please?" One surprising thing is that until the National Air Races this year so well-known an aviator as Jim Mollison had never been in a handicap race. And that raises another memory, which might well tax Rowarth to the hilt. Announcements about the 1953 New Zealand race recall the Australia race of nearly 20 years before. In that long- ago event, one entry was a Fairey III F piloted by "Missionary" Davies of the R.A.F. (at one time, I believe, a General in some South American army) and navigated by Lt.-Cdr. "Burglar " Hill, R.N. I forget what the handicap was, but the first alighting on the race was made at Cyprus, where a wheel was damaged. All question of getting III F spares to Cyprus in time was "out," and philosophically this happy team continued their race to Australia. Days passed into weeks, and weeks into months, as the faithful III F continued across the world, stage by stage. My memory has it that they eventually got to Melbourne after a flight of more than eleven months. I cannot feel that an air race without these two com- petitors would be really satisfactory, especially as I last heard of the Missionary in New Zealand. But I would like to know exactly what handicap Rowarth proposes for them if they should enter for the 1953 event. Tailpiece by Flight's Art Editor : " Now they will NEVER be able to produce the line-abreast finish which they have been promising me for the past 21 years."
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