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Aviation History
1952
1952 - 2268.PDF
206 FLIGHT, 22 August 1952 PASSING OF THE TIGER . . . directed straight to his face, thence to curl round the back of his neck, and seep through the cracks in his flying suit, freezing him into a mass of slow-witted reluctance. At all costs he must never be allowed to grow up into a limp and pampered pilot! But indeed we may rest assured that it is not for some mis guided humanitarian reason that the Tiger is on the way out. The plain truth is that it is becoming impossible to fly the Tiger Moth at all, except during prolonged fair weather conditions, and then only in the immediate vicinity of the airfield. Such is now the social standing conferred on aircraft according to the number of radio aids in their prossession, that biplanes without even one V.H.F. set have become very much the poor relations of the air. The snubs are now too open for comfort. It is unfortunate that the inadequacies of ageing craft do not become amusing until one is no longer dependent on them. But there is another, greater, and more relevant reason—as hinted earlier. The process of making an aircrew member has of necessity, with increasing applied technical knowledge, been refined somewhat, and now tends to concentrate as much on the mental as on the purely physical element. It should be realized that even if our flying classrooms were to be equipped with arm chairs and Coca-Cola machines, the purpose of these luxuries would be only to allow the pupils to be rested and revived periodic ally, in order that they might be given longer and harder doses of instructional material to assimilate. Again, the older type of instructor who relied for his effect on his superior physique is being replaced by a new variety trained in the psychological art of mental subjugation: instead of the pupil being made to feel only his physical inferiority, he is now being allowed sufficient leisure to enable him to appreciate also his intellectual inferiority. The passing of the Tiger is thus rather more than just the demise of an old aeroplane : it is the end of an era; the mark of a change from brute savagery to a more intimate form of cruelty. It is appropriate, therefore, at this point, to step aside for an instant from the melee of electronics and paraffin cans, and think awhile of the days, now fast receding, when msn ware men and flying was flying. If the memory is too much for us, we may be permitted a few tears, even though they be crocodile tears. The Tiger will be missed chiefly, of course, by the old air dogs, those tough, nerveless instructors who were so much a part of their aircraft that they positively preferred to impart their instruc tional patter while hanging upside down in the straps. One could not but admire their ability, developed through long years of practice, to roll the Tiger about a very small dot on the horizon; but for the novice the slow roll was the grimmest trial of the lot. Mental preparation was useless, for by reading up beforehand the mechanics of the roll (outlined in half a page of close print de tailing the succession of stick, rudder, and throttle movements), the pupil was apt to be conditioned in a mood of despair before even attempting the manoeuvre. The time for doing aerobatics was, by the way, usually chosen by the instructor to be in that part of the day when the morale and metabolic rate of the pupil was at its lowen; that is to say, immediately after breakfast, or after a long day's flying. It must be admitted that the condition of the pupil after five hours of bumpy flying was such as to excite compassion. His nerves, jarred by the incessant vibration, had gone completely numb. His brain was dulled by the scream of the wind about his head; and in his ears there was the high singing note left by the roaring of the engine. He was now entitled to a little quiet arid relaxation. At this point the kindly instructor (who possessed a cast- iron stomach) would gently insinuate himself into the conscious ness of the pupil, and quietly suggest an hour's aerobatics be fore tea. He would ask his pupil what he was looking so glum about: "Don't you like aerobatics ?" The pupil would choke back an oath, and restrain himself from yelling at his tormentor that the mere thought of them filled him with such a fierce loathing that to give proper expression to his feelings would entail resort to a use of language rivalling the most vitriolic excesses of an eighteenth- century pamphleteer. Instead, he would meekly crawl out to the Moth again. The system had him in thrall. In this con nection we might mention the French poet whose habit it was to sit all day among the rocks on the Atlantic coast, breathing the salt winds and spray, and thus getting into a suitably bemused state for the better composition of obscure poetry in the evening. This was before the days of flying. If he had lived today, he could have acquired his condition of mind with ease and with much saving of time by half an hour's aerobatics in a Tiger Moth. The chances which were given to the pupils to ameliorate their lot were few, but keenly grasped. Some tried to derive a little comfort by writing "D.H.82a" in their log-books, instead of "Tiger Moth," in the hope that people would think that the D.H.82a was the latest jet. Others, mindful of those yet to come, tried to ease their thorny path. Many is the time that the sweating occupant of the hood-covered rear cockpit, vainly chasing the recalcitrant instruments, must have heaved a sigh of thankfulness for the presence of the little hole in the side of the hood, worn gradually wider by generations of troubled hands; the narrow glimpse of the horizon through this aperture maintaining the one note of sanity in the whole lunatic set-up. It is well-known that the cameraderie of the air is strong. Nowhere has it been so strong as among the pupils trained on Tiger Moths. They were united in oppression, and strong with the bonds of mutual sympathy and aid. Unfortunately for the pupil, by himself he was defenceless. His body and mind palpitated under the malevolent watchfulness of his instructor. In the days before he was allowed to take a Tiger up alone, the writer had an instructor who, now and then, used to duck down below the front cockpit level, out of sight, in order to accustom his pupil to the responsibility of being in sole charge of the aircraft. He need not have worried. With or without the physical proximity of the instructor, there was always for the writer that presence lurking m the front cockpit, patiently waiting for a chance to pounce on the pupil should he be foolish enough to allow the top needle to depart for one instant from dead centre. The pupil was there on sufferance only. Sometimes, if he muffed a manoeuvre when flving solo, he would involuntarily glance ruefully to the front, and imagine in the mirror the wrathful look in the eyes of the instructor. But the reader must nor be given the impression that the writer was unhappy at flying school. He is an Anglo-Saxon himself, " The time for doing aerobatics was, by the way, usually chosen by the instructor to be in that part of the day when the morale and metabolic rate of the pupil was at its lowest; that is to say, immediately after breakfast, or after a long day's flying." "Flight" photograph
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