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Aviation History
1957
1957 - 0383.PDF
*• # FLIGHT, 22 March ,1957 385 Ark's Day . . . Lift-well view from the helicopter bay, with Skyraider en route. The taxi was definite- ly not standard carrier equipment. spotted initially in a position at the port after corner of the deck.The brakes held, however, and from the observer's seat I looked across at the two other Gannets with whom we were to carry outbombing practice. Emphasizing the restricted space on deck, their green Guinness harps, the squadron's auxiliary-fin badge,seemed all too close. "Start up Gannets" floated to us across the deck, and then wewaited as die Hawks and Wyverns were launched. An incoming flight of Hawks called up Flyco, and over the R/T we heard,"37 Leader, this is Flyco. We have one Hawk, four Wyverns and three Gannets to go. Over . . ." The launches continued until, after the last Wyvern launch,the catapult crews ran to each side and the port catapult-control howdah was lowered, clearing the deck for the Gannets' take-off.Our take-off was straightforward, pleasant and uneventful—only later did I think of the 650ft take-off run, which then seemedrather short, and the indicated speed at which we were airborne, which seemed rather low. After clearing the deck, we stayed below300ft and flew straight out until clear of the incoming flights. While the Hawks were making practice R.P. attacks on thesplash target being towed behind the ship, we filled in time with some merchant-ship scouting (estimating length, speed and ton-nage and noting the ships' names), and with a practice bad-weather let-down controlled from Ark's Aircraft Direction Room. Return- Pre-flight briefing of aircrew by Ops. 2, Lt. Cdr. Harvey. ing to a wide circuit of the ship for the anti-submarine bombing,we contacted "Royston Spotter"—the gunnery officer who was checking the accuracy of our attacks from the ship—and werecleared to begin our series of dives. The accuracy of the Gannets' bombing was called to each individual aircraft after each pass. Orbiting the carrier in echelon, we watched Hawks, Venoms andWyverns landing first, before it was time for our formation to break to port and for each machine to lower hook, wheels and flapand complete the downwind leg. We curved round on to finals at about 400ft and flew steadily down the mirror-marked groove.The actual touchdown was smooth, and the wire's restraining pressure was firm but gentle. Certainly I lunged forward againstthe straps, but there was no discomfort. My mind needed a few seconds to adjust, however; the experience of being airborne oneminute and at rest on a shir>—even a carrier—the next, was new and novel. But we had arrived, and this in itself was quite athought. There was, however, no time for thinking, only for practised,familiar drill as we came under the control of the yellow-jacketed directors. Almost before we had been pulled to a stop by No. 2arrester wire, two hook-men had run out to the Gannet's tail (one from the port catwalk, one from the group of vehicles near thestarboard mirror) to release the hook, and a director was signalling to us from the starboard side of the deck. Let her roll; brakes on;hook free; forward; select wing-fold; and on with a decisive, pointing arm to the next director, who happened to be the FlightDeck Captain. This chief petty officer, responsible to the Flight Deck Officerfor the efficiency of all the deck ratings, came from an old Naval family. Without a word, he managed to convey, in a single oremphatically repeated gesture of his arms, a complicated executive command, an expressive comment on the speed with which it wascarried out, and (if necessary) his overall opinion of the man concerned. He needed this ability, for no word, either spoken or yelled,stood the slightest chance on the flight-deck air. Keen from the wind and the ship's own speed, warm and Avcat-tinted in thegusts from Ghost, Nene or Python, this air was a rushing force. Men had to lean into it—and even then it tore at their clothes asif they, and not flag Foxtrot, were at the top of the mast. Now the Flight Deck Captain urged us over towards the star-board side of the deck, and passed us on to the final director in the deck park just forward of the island. The Gannet behind us wasjust touching down. As for us, we were jostling into position, behind what seemed already a tightly packed bunch of Hawks andVenoms ranged in "Fly One"—the forward, starboard slice of the deck. Hawks three abreast, Venoms and Gannets two abreast, allwere clear of the angled runway—and clear of the safety lane on the starboard side of it. My trip had ended as it began for, once again, as the directoreased us into position inch by inch, I had that uncomfortable deck-edge feeling. Yet I had faith in the director, and also inShorty, the control room officer, who at that moment would be looking forward out of his midget bay-window, passing a silhouettemodel of a Gannet to his assistant at the dummy-deck tray, and saying briefly, "295. Outboard." We were Gannet 295, and wehad fitted where intended into his plan. Five Hawks had been
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