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Aviation History
1952
1952 - 1948.PDF
64 FLIGHT, 18 July 1952 NATO IN BEING . arrival of His Majesty the King of the Belgians, and the Monarch descended from his car to inspect the guards of honour. So wrapt were most people in this ceremony that they failed to see or hear —for the wind was strong—the approach of fourteen S.V.4 trainers of the Belgian Air Force, streaming the flags of the NATO nations. The Union Jack was worn by the starboard outer machine of the rear vie of seven, and a gallant show the little biplanes made as they battled with the gusts and passed above the King. Then, almost unnoticed again, a red, yellow and blue S.V.4 came spinning down—on to the stage, as it were—and pirouetted before the tribunes like a dainty little danseuse in a gay dress against a blue backdrop. This first part of the programme, we should explain, was devoted to the solo acts; and the vivacious danseuse gave way to a veritable virago of a Spitfire 14, clipped of wing and howling with the real old-fashioned Griffon roar. Again and again, between great cart wheel loops, it bore down the runway between a phalanx of photo graphers and the royal tribune, its airscrew tips seemingly about to bite into the tarmac like a bandsaw. Should the Spitfire never again be demonstrated before its final retirement, this show, by Capitaine Aviateur de Maere, would be a worthy one by which to remember it. But, of course, we know these Belgian Spitfire artists from ten or twelve years ago. First of the jets into the arena was Fokker's S.14 side-by-side, Derwent-powered, trainer—silver, blue-topped and yellow- ruddered, bearing Dutch Air Force markings and—with its long A.S.I, boom—thrusting in like a portly but agile war-horse bearing a knight with his lance. Gerhard Sonderman was, of course, the knight, and, true to his custom, he zoomed to gain height for a spin of many turns. The S. 14 is a new shape to most eyes and is charac terized by an unusual length of nose. It flies like a true Fokker trainer, and Sonderman's eight-point rolls might have been marked off for him by a protractor. Sonderman made way for Capitaine Aviateur Bodart, whose brief was to "devoile les possibility du Meteor 8"; and this he did with tremendous zest, in low, tight turns, repeated loops and daisy- cutting passes. Most startling—and more than a little frightening —was the moment when he whipped the Meteor into a vertical bank on the very steps of the royal tribune. We shall have more to say later of the Capitaine and his Meteor. These low-level gyrations had distracted attention from a lone contrail aloft at—we later confirmed the height—42,000ft. Abruptly the trail ended, and all was peace. Then—Bang, Bang ! —like twin reports of a giant squib behind our left ear. Somewhere a Sabre had gone supersonic. The perpetrator—F/L. E. D. Kelly, R.C.A.F., in a Canadair-built F-86E of 441 Silver Fox Squadron— now came streaking in, trailing a great ribbon of smoke across the field. Pulling up near-vertically, the Sabre flicked round in at least eight turns of an upward roll before being obscured by clouds. Returning, the "F-quatre-vingt-six" went all coy, mincing along the enclosures like a prim spinster, nose in air, and so con spicuously flapped and slotted as to disguise completely its formerly trim figure. Now we spotted—with particular satisfaction, for it was a public debut—the more massive form of the Supermarine Swift, bolting up the far runway and ascending at an interceptorish rate. Popular interest, of course, ran especially high by reason of David Morgan's 665.9 m.p.h. positioning flight on July 10th (see page 61); and Morgan gave everyone full money's worth. Like a streak of quick silver the Swift projected itself near-sonically along the runway before the King, then went hurtling round in tight turns, wherein the big flaps played a part. But never was the impression of speed so vivid as when, at a distance, it was seen flashing over the countryside in a vertical bank—for all the world like a beautiful model swung sharply round on a string. By this time Neville Duke was off in the Hawker Hunter, and he ascended without delay to the upper air. Again there was a lull, and we had disquieting thoughts of snags. But two staccato bangs reassured us : like a true gentleman, Neville had knocked twice Copt, de t/aere enjoying himself in the Spitfire 14. The tightly-turning supersonic Sabre closes its air brakes. before entering. No longer will he answer solicitous enquiries with his "Still sub-sonic, old boy." And so the first British-built faster-than-sound fighter to be adopted for the R.A.F came plummeting out of the blue to shatter everyone's nerves—and any possible doubts about its capabilities. For some unstated reason the 24 rockets which were to have helped a Grumman Albatross out of Melsbroek failed to fire, and the big amphibian went whining on its way unaided. Soothing to the nerves and, of course, thoroughly impressive, was the ensuing fly-over by twelve U.S.A.F. B-50 bombers, of which the rearmost trailed refuelling booms. The phase which now opened was a succession of formation aerobatics. Four Belgian Meteors, led by Capitaine Aviateur Bladt, showed how to stick together in true NATO style, and placed their manoeuvres to perfection before making their bomb shell break-up; then, two Vampire teams from 2nd T.A.F. (three with red fuselages and tailplanes, signifying No. 71 Squadron, and three, coloured blue, from No. 3) put the R.A.F. well and truly in the picture with consummate aerobatic formation-changing. This was the more commendable because such practice as these pilots get is mainly out of working hours. The "reds" wound up by threading the needle at runway level before King Baudouin. The 71 Squadron team was led by S/L. O. L. Hardy, and that of No. 3 by F/O. E. D. Blake. Four pilots of the Aeronautica Militare displayed exquisite Italian craftsmanship with British materials—to wit, Vampires; four Danish Meteors, once they got into their stride, put themselves straightway into the international class; and four French Vampires from Dijon displayed finesse and joie de vivre in equal measure. But it was the Skyblazers who once again stole the show—hy real smash-and-grab methods. This was their 256th performance and the four Thunderjets showed, it seemed, even more flash and dash and smoke than formerly. In naming their perfectionist pilots we wish them well when they disband in September. In the lead is Major Harry Evans. His wing men are the Patillo twins— both captains; and Capt. Damewood brings up the rear. The Skyblazer formation, incidentally, is not just a "vie and one in the box" : it is a perfect geometric cross of tip-tanked Thunderjets. The R.A.F kept up their former good work with a single Can berra (F/L. F. W. Howard) which rushed and rumbled round the field in Beamont style though, being a fully equipped squadron machine, it remained strictly non-aerobatic. Then, in passages successifs came the big formations—six Canberras of 101 Squadron, with nine U.S.A.F. B-45 Tornadoes smoking like factories at a lower level; then 48 U.S.A.F. Thunder jets, followed by 24 French machines of the same type; 64 Meteors and 36 Thunderjets of the Belgian Air Force, and eight Danish Meteors; 60 Vampires and 12 Meteors of the R.A.F., and four Norwegian Vampires tailing them. Last, flying far faster and lower (we believe their speed to have been 450 kt) came 12 Sabres of Canada's Silver Fox Squadron, arousing general admiration. The penultimate event—single-engined aerobatics and relighting by Capt. Bodart in his Meteor—now seemed rather misplaced in he programme; but this proved to be far from the case, for the sleeping Derwent was brought into fiery life immediately before the roval tribune, seemingly epitomizing the Phoenix-like rise of NATO. As the apothoese etfin du meeting 240 Belgian parachutists of the Bataillon Para quit a dozen Dakotas at low level. The wind was still blustering strongly, but these Belgian soldiers are made of the real stuff. We believe that their courage and skill will not soon be forgotten either by their Monarch or by the dignitaries of the Fourteen Nations.
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