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Aviation History
1957
1957 - 0386.PDF
388 FLIGHT, 22 March 1957 "Flyco, we're altering course slightly—but carry on launching." View from the bridge, with Capt. F. H. E. Hopkins, Chief Yeoman Reeves, Leading Signalman Ferguson and Midshipman Farrow. Ark's Day ... developed into a rather frightening g-cramp which locked mefirmly back in my seat (my bone-domed head had been back against the head-rest since before the booster fired, of course, andthere was no discomfort there). Time appeared to have slowed down, for several seconds seemed to elapse before the big pushended, suddenly, and we were out over the sea, and flying. Incongruous as the comparison may appear, the feeling immedi-ately after leaving the deck had been just like that after releasing from a winch-launch in a sailplane. Later, from 20,000ft, we could see the coastal mountains ofSpain to the north and those of North Africa to the south. The sun glinted steel-blue on sea and mountain-slopes, with touchesof mist in the valleys and snow on the peaks. The phrase "High in the sunlit silence" came to mind. Interceptions over, we returned to the ship for what was tobe my second arrested landing, this time at a higher approach speed and (for me) with a better view of the circuit and the finalapproach. From the time we picked up the mirror light to the deck-arrival impact (the "crunch" mentioned in Cdr. Goodhart'sarticle is undoubtedly equivalent to the "bam!" scribbled in my notebook), my main impression was the smooth continuity ofthe pattern. In spite of the obvious and great advantages of the angled deck and mirror sight, however, it was still the pilot whofitted the aircraft into this system, looking after the time element and adding precision in flying. Approach speed before and overthe round-down, for instance, was important—these Venoms did not have audio speed presentation, and normal practice wasfor the observer to call out the speed to the pilot on the final leg. The deceleration after we had landed was firm, but notuncomfortable. Commenting later on the steam-powered push to squadronpilots, I was assured that (a) one got used to it, and (b) it was a more comfortable boost than the kick from the old-type hydro-pneumatic catapult. * * * As the afternoon swung by in its regular, repeated routine, Iwatched the flight deck and its activity from three different viewpoints. On the deck itself there was bustle, drill, and wind.During launching and recovering there was just no room for unnecessary actions. Aircraft were guided out from the range,passed from director to director, and launched. Between the catapults huddled a group of blue-helmeted aircraft handlers. Ifall went well they were merely in a very noisy place. If a snag on aircraft or catapult occurred, however, they provided thebrute force which was still needed to move aircraft quickly and so avoid delays which could be dangerous, not merelyinconvenient. The flight-deck personnel were identified by the colour-codingof their helmets. Blue, as mentioned, for the general-duty air- craft handlers, including chock-men, catapult party, emergencyparty and drivers of the ubiquitious deck tractors; red, the fire parties, manning the fire-points during each land-on (plus, ofcourse, the bizarre asbestos-suited fire/rescue men, on hand with their phenomenally effective dry-powder extinguishers).Green identified the special-duties men, such as hook-men, and talkers and tellers at the mirror control position, and the "cockpitcheck" boardholder. White denoted squadron personnel (squad- ron number and trade specialization also indicated on helmet);and black-and-white striped helmets distinguished the flight-deck engineer ratings, such as those in the catapult and fuelling parties.White overalls were worn by specialist officers such as air engineers, flight-deck engineers, gunnery officers and mirrorcontrollers. There was colour, too, in the aircraft, from the glaring, wasp-like stripes of 804's Hawks and 893"s Venoms, lately engaged at Suez, to the midnight blue of the burly Skyraiders. There wasalso noise, or rather a miscellany of different noises. At one end of the scale was the bursting roar of take-off power; at theother the repeated whistle blown before an aircraft lift was moved up or down. Somewhere in the middle of the scale was thecheerful, practised invective emphatically bouncing the walls of the aircraft handlers' ready room. From Flyco, the sweep of the deck below spreads past. Rightaft are the Gannets; right forward a Venom just leaving the catapult, its strop falling away beneath the bows. Little F keepsan eye on all activity on the deck—an eye that ranges wide and fast, for snap decisions have to be made. The object of this move-ment, this flow, this teamwork on the deck? A launching interval of 30 sec per catapult, and a steady land-on interval of 25 sec.While from deck level the scene was of an immediate concentra- tion of effort, from Flyco the deck-long plan can be seen, moreeffectively, as a whole operation. But only from the planeguard helicopter is the complete patternseen. Keeping station on the port beam, the bearded pilot looks at neither instruments nor horizon, only the deck of his carrier.Now he watches each launch, for on him may depend a pilot's life. And, on the deck, he sees the slow-movement balletthat is the end-product of the flight-deck drill. A graceful, purposeful pattern of aircraft continually changing on the flight-deck stage. Before take-off on this duty, the Whirlwind's altimeterindicates 60ft—puzzling at first, at least to an outsider not accustomed to flying from a platform at this height above what isliterally sea-level. The pilot takes up station some 80ft above the water. After each aircraft is positioned on the catapult the noiseof its take-off power building up floats through to him, above the noise of the chopper. Looking across at the island, he seesthe faces peering back from the crowded windows of the navigat- ing bridge, and the windswept, off-duty spectators ("goofers" inthe vernacular) on the platform above. No matter how familiar the sight, no matter how tired the goofer, there is always a fullhouse up on the island, for they believe that carrier flying is worth watching, and they are right. Launches completed, the helicopter tilts round in a breezyorbit before taking up position for the landing-on. The returning aeroplanes fly a left-hand circuit, and so the chopper now sits tostarboard of the ship, and some distance aft of her—whence the pilot can watch the landings. Thanks to the mirror sight (theship has two, but the port-side one is normally used), there is little variation in angles of final approach. From the helicopter,distance softens the impact as the aircraft hit the deck. The occasional "bolter" goes round again; but, with the angle, he has astraight run and little bother is caused. After the land-on had been completed and the aircraft ranged, the helicopter came round and in to its own non-mirror, non- Rest (but no breather) for Naval Airman Clarke. Scene, the aircraft handlers' ready room.
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