The first recorded meeting of the Fleet Air Arm Association was in February of 1977, over 45 years ago. Over the next decade it grew from a few energetic visionaries under the Patronage ofAdmiral Sir Victor Smith, to a national organisation with a footprint in every State and Territory except for NT.
In this regard the Fleet Air Arm, as a Branch of the RAN, is unique. It cares about its heritage and its history. We are the only Branch of the Navy to have created a world-class museum, a Wall of Service, and anAssociation. We have done it because we’ve always been unique and had a healthy ‘band of brothers” philosophy that gives us such pride.
So none of us who have put time and energy into the Association could have imagined that one day its existence would be threatened by the lack of the very thing that brought it together and has been its spine ever since: volunteers.
But here we are.
Next month, unless things change, we’ll be taking a paper to the Association’s Federal Council recommending that the National Body be dissolved due to the lack of volunteers to fill key positions, and that each Division become a separate entity to run its members and manage its own affairs unilaterally. Personally, I doubt if all of them will survive if that comes to pass.
The astonishing thing is that the Association is otherwise robust. It has adequate funding, two good national magazines and a membership which, for the most part, firmly believes in it. But the lack of a
In a sad reflection of its former glory, this photo of Wessex 822 appeared recently on a Facebook page. It was in a Paint Ball park for many years and is, apparently, for sale.
National Secretary and replacement editors for Slipstream and FlyBy are the Samson’s pillars that could pull the National Body down.
So - a last ditch appeal. Please, if you care, consider giving something back and volunteering. You can find some details on page 23.
On a much more positive note the launch of the new book on VAT Smith was launched on the 30th of last month, with very nearly 100 guests there to help it on its way. There’s a write-up and a few photos on the following pages, and an article will appear in Navy News in due course.
Finally, I’m pleased to say that the FAAAA has just made a submission to the Naval Sea Power Centre (SPC) in support of adding an MRH90 ‘Taipan’ helicopter to the FAA Museum’s collection.
The SPC has, up to now, rejected the idea of including the MRH90, citing such factors as “it looks like an Army aircraft”, “its history wasn’t good” and “there isn’t room in the Museum”. The fact remains that we had at least six of these aircraft on the ORBAT for over ten years and despite its serviceability problems, it offered distinguished service to the Fleet. The Taipan also brought many ‘firsts’ to RAN aviation, such as Fly-by-Wire technology.
Following FAAAA representation, the SPC agreed to undertake a Curatorial Review to establish the value of adding a Taipan, and we await the outcome with interest. Even if they agree, however, the question remains whether one will now be available. ✈
REST IN PEACE
Since the last edition of FlyBy we have been advised that the following have Crossed the Bar: None reported
02
Rest In Peace
We remember those who are no longer with us.
Letters to the Editor
This month’s crop of correspondence from our Readers.
News about the brilliant book launch held at the end of last month.
26
Fremantle’s Subs
How Freeo became a major base for submarines during WW2.
32
Editorial
A few words and thoughts from the Editor of this magazine.
You can find further details by clicking on the image of the candle. ✈
FAA Wall of Service Update
The status of orders for Wall of Service Plaques.
Mystery Photo
Last month’s Mystery answered, and a new one presented for your puzzlement (p11).
Blinded by the Light
An account of the 2021 ditching of an RAN Sea Hawk off HMAS Brisbane.
Around The Traps
Bits and Pieces of Odd and Not-so-odd news and gossip.
First Deck Landing
Ross Smith recalls the thrill of his first carrier deck landing in the USN.
40
A lad from Adelaide did it all. 12
The First Trap Eugene Ely was the most unlikely guy ever to do the very first take off and landing to a ship.
From Radar to the Bomb
Dear Editor,
I recently heard of the death of Jake McShane, who I did my training with back in 1966. He subsequently lost his wings for reasons I’ll explain, but he gave unique service to the RAN as both a qualified helicopter pilot and submariner, and used his naval skills to hone an extremely successful career ashore. His time in the FAA was short but he is certainly worthy of remembering.
Jake grew up in Sydney where he went to Cranbrook School. He studied Engineering at Sydney University and applied to join Qantas Airways, but they were not recruiting at the time. He was determined to fly, however, so he joined the Navy!
Jake commenced Basic Aviation Training Course 3/66 in July 1966 and was sent to the US Navy at Pensacola for pilot training, returning with his wings in early 1968.
We remember day one of our course, and we had formed up and doubled to a classroom for our initiation. We were all sitting at our desks, and whoever was the supervisor (might have been the CPO) left the room for a few moments.
At this stage Jake got up and moved to the lectern, and began speaking: "ON THE SEVENTH DAY THE LORD SAID LET THERE BE LIGHT.........” he started. The moment we heard this, I thought Oh No! We have a Bible Basher in our group.......but Jake continued.... “AND THERE WAS, AND S… , YOU COULD SEE FOR F…..g MILES!” The entire class roared with laughter. He was a man of few words but he always read the room well. He must have thought some light relief was needed.
Back in Australia Jake was posted in 1968 for a rotation to the RAN Helicopter Flight Vietnam. Unfortunately he was involved in a serious car accident during the work up and was permanently grounded.
He headed off to General Service, was awarded Bridge Watch-keeping & Ocean Navigation tickets and proceeded to the UK for submarine training. For the next six years his various postings included Weapons Officer HMS Astute and
HMAS Ovens, then Navigating Officer HMAS Ovens; Specialist Sonar training in the UK with the Royal Navy, Sonar Officer HMAS Onslow, Commanding Officer HMAS Onslow, (Refit at Cockatoo Island Dockyard) and finally 6 months Executive Officer HMAS Otway
In 1976 Jake resigned from the Navy and joined Hawker de Havilland and then Hawker Pacific for over 25 years using his love of aviation and his submarine management skills to advance to very senior management postings . Sales Manager, General Manager Hawker Pacific Singapore, General Manager Hawker Pacific Hong Kong, HP Australia GM Aircraft Sales Group, Australia Executive Sales Manager, Aircraft Sales Group and retired 2002 to do various accounting courses at TAFE just to keep his hand in, and his brain active. He lived for 30 years in Pymble and St Ives.
His wife Liz met him in 1976 just after he had resigned from the Navy and was adjusting to civilian life working for Hawker Pacific. They were married in Yorkshire, England in November 1977. They lived in Singapore and Hong Kong for 13 years during which they travelled in and around Asia and holidayed either in UK, Europe and/or USA and lived the expatriate life to the full. They have two daughters who were born in Singapore and who now live close by in Sydney with two grandsons aged 7 and 4+.
Liz informed us recently that Jake had succumbed to multiple conditions, but Parkinson’s disease was the main culprit and he had died in July 2023.
He wasso proud of his time at Pensacola and how it shaped his life. A copy of Wings of Gold, An Australian Story, was on a table at the farewell service we had for him.
BATC 3/66 always saw Jake McShane as the English country squire, impeccably dressed and of quiet demeanour, a gentleman through and through. He was also a beloved husband, father to two daughters, grandfather, brother, uncle and friend.
Yours aye, Trevor Rieck. ✈
Dear Editor,
A great article “Riding The Dog” in the recent FlyBy.
Maybe a little-known bit of FAA history is that during the training of RAN pilots with the USN in the mid-1960s, the UH34 (USN desig. Seahorse/ Seabat) was the advanced helo training aircraft. HT-8 (Helicopter Training Squadron 8, based at Ellyson Field Pensacola) had on strength the “D” and “J” models – essentially the same as the “D” which (mostly) had a reinforced landing gear setup to cater for Marine use (‘nuf said!)
During my time in the FAA, I flew some 700 hours in the Wessex and only 100 hours in the H34. I still remember the -34 with fondness and in some situations was more flexible than the Wessex. Firstly it was (in the training role) much lighter and with a Wright R1820-84 piston engine developing 1527 Hp (1137Kw), the same engine and power as the S2 Tracker, but slightly less than the Wessex 1650 s.h.p. Max take-off weights were similar at 13,300 (H34) and 13,500 (Wessex).
Being a manually operated piston engine, starting the H34G became an art in itself. Once running, there being (at that stage) no load on the engine opening the (twist grip) throttle would unleash an unholy din as the engine tried to overspeed and the instructor roaring even louder. To prevent shock loading a “clutch pump” system –essentially a dry type of motor -vehicle torque converter - was employed. Switching on the pump sent fluid to the clutch with a smooth engaging of the rotor. A quick nip of throttle at this stage stopped the engine stalling. 99.9% of students forgot to switch off the pump afterwards!
A spectacular “party trick” was in confined area work. Being a manual throttle, blades at flat pitch, the rotor RPM could be wound up to max. (from memory some 104%). A huge armful of collective pitch, full throttle and droop the rotor rpm to min (again, memory 97%). A champagne cork had nothing on the rate of ascent out of the clearing !!!
Being a smug student and having mastered the startup on the “G”, we were then introduced to the “J” model. This was essentially a piston-powered Wessex, used by the USN for ASW work. With a
Jake’s Revenge
Photo by Jake McShane
totally manual throttle the work-load on the pilot(s) hovering over the open ocean would have been impossible. Thus a hydraulically-operated throttle was incorporated into the hover-coupler to automatically control rotor RPM.
When it came to the training squadron, this model still had the hydraulic throttle. Using “muscle- memory” from the ÒGÓ start and not using sound/ instruments, the boosted throttle caused the aforementioned noise from the engine/instructor to become even louder.
All in all, even though it was my first introduction to a large helicopter, I still have fond memories of the H34, even more so when I think back to the Wessex on a dark-and-stormy night chasing the elusive submarine and fighting an AFCS system hell bent on going swimming.
Yours aye,
John (Bomber) Brown.
Below: A photo of some of us with an H34. L-R. MIDN Ey, Supple, Vote, Belinski, Brown and LEUT Craig. ✈
Book Review
Dear Editor,
I’m honoured to be asked to review the book “Admiral VAT Smith – the extraordinary life of the father of the Fleet Air Arm”, authored by Graeme Lunn and published in 2024 by Avonmore Books. Graeme and I joined the Royal Australian Naval College together in 1976.
The book presents an accurate and authoritative biography of the life of Admiral Victor Alfred Trumper Smith AC KBE CB DSC MiD RAN, one of the most successful naval officers of his time –a 13 year old cadet midshipman from the “Class of 1927” who rose to lead the Navy and then the Australian Defence Force as the Chairman of the Chiefs of Staff Committee; the first RAN College graduate to achieve four star admiral rank. Through VAT’s story, the book provides an important reflection of the Navy’s story during the turbulent times of the 20th century as Australia emerged from its colonial roots.
I think any naval officer, serving or retired, or anyone with an interest in military history, will
enjoy reading the book, as I did. The inclusion of a chapter on VAT’s family and childhood made me appreciate the values that underpinned VAT’s journey through life: hard work; pursuit of excellence; service (through involvement in Scouts); a passion for sport; and duty to God and King. Many of VAT’s experiences in his formative years at the naval college and through his training as a junior officer will be very relatable to any naval officer.
There were two aspects that I particularly enjoyed about the book: one was the inclusion of a few humorous (to me, at least) anecdotes. Perhaps the most bizarre, reflecting a degree of pluck, was when VAT, then under training while serving in the heavy cruiser CANBERRA was made the senior midshipman in the gunroom.
On 25 May, 1932, the Governor General came aboard to present the King’s Medal to Midshipman Stuart Welch of the 1928 class. VAT was informed that, after the parade on the Quarterdeck, the Governor General might visit the gunroom. With only minutes available, VAT oversaw the hurried rush to square away the gunroom and in doing so Welsh’s cap was stowed away in the confusion and could not be immediately located. A quick-thinking VAT designated another midshipman, Clive Hudson, as a suitable substitute to receive the medal on parade. Unluckily for VAT, the deception was
Have you thought about getting your name put on the FAA Wall of Service?
It’s a unique way to preserve the record of your Fleet Air Arm time in perpetuity, by means of a bronze plaque mounted on a custom-built wall just outside the FAA museum. The plaque has your name and brief details on it (see background of photo above).
There are over 1000 names on the Wall to date and, as far as we know, it is a unique facility unmatched anywhere else in the world. It is a really great way to
foiled as attending the presentation was the governor general’s secretary, Captain Leighton Bracegirdle DSO RAN, who knew Hudson. In Graeme’s words “when the plot was revealed under questioning, some were amused and some were very unamused”.
The other aspect that I enjoyed about the book was reading the detail contained within the footnotes. This added an interesting dimension to the book and was reflective of the depth of research behind its writing.
I was engrossed in reading this book and found it hard to put down. I expect any reader with a genuine interest in the history of the Royal Australian Navy’s Fleet Air Arm, and one of its giant figures who so richly deserved the accolade of being the father of the Fleet Air Arm, will have a similar experience.
John Scott
have your service to Australia recorded.
It is easy to apply for a plaque and the cost is far less than the retail price of a similar plaque elsewhere. And, although it is not a Memorial Wall, you can also do it for a loved one to remember both them and their time in the Navy.
Simply click here for all details, and for the application form. If you have any questions you want to ask about it before committing, email the Editor here ✈
Commander RAN Ret’d. ✈
Remembering Admiral Smith
August 30th 2024: A special day at the Museum
On 30 August nearly 100 people gathered in the Fleet Air Arm Museum to pay tribute to the Father of the Fleet Air Arm, Admiral Sir Victor (“VAT”) Smith AC KBE CB DSC RAN. The occasion was the launch of a new book by Graeme Lunn, detailing VAT’s extraordinary life and the service he gave to the nation.
VADM Tim Barrett was the Master of Ceremonies. He introduced a series of esteemed speakers who each contributed to the event: Mark Smith, VAT’s eldest surviving son, who presented his father’s posthumous Arctic Star to the Museum; VADM Peter Jones, whose encouragement and support was the foundation of the book, Graeme Lunn, the book’s author, and CDRE Matt Royals (the current COMFAA) on why VAT’s book has been chosen to be the prize of the FAA Officers’ Leadership scheme.
The book was then officially launched by Air Chief Marshall Mark Binskin who had started his career as a young aviator in the Fleet Air Arm and, like VAT, ended it over 40 years later as Chief of the Defence Force.
Air Chief Marchall Mark Binskin addresses the 100+ guests at the event, before officially launching the book.
Top. Mark Smith, VATs eldest surviving son, told the assembly a little about his father before donating VAT’s ‘Flimsys’ and missing medals to the Museum (inset). Below. The Author, Graeme Lunn, recounting a little of VAT’s extraordinary life.
Top. Over 100 turned out for the event, with a good cross section of the ADF represented. Middle. VADM Peter Jones telling the story of how a reluctant VAT was talked in to conducting interviews in the early 90s. Below. VADM Tim Barrett in his role as MC for the event.
This accident was termed by the Director Defence Flight Safety Bureau (DFSB) at the time as a case study in cumulative risk and the aggregation of latent failures. This essentially means that the accident was the result of many hazards and hidden risk control failures in two separate systems that, when combined on that night, produce the outcome. Up front I would like to recognise and thank the investigation team members for their hard work and dedication. Detailed analysis was needed to produce the recommendations that are designed to reduce the likelihood of a similar event reoccurring in theADF
CMDR Dom Cooper, Deputy Director - Investigations, DFSB.
AROYALAUSTRALIAN NAVY (RAN) helicopter was conducting a night vision device (NVD) recovery to HMAS Brisbane in the Philippine Sea in late 2021 when the aircrew experienced NVD blooming, lost all visual reference with the ship, and impacted the water.
The aircrew of the MH-60R Romeo Seahawk launched for a single aided circuit on NVD on the evening of 13 October. At 150 feet during the final approach descent of the circuit, the aircrew members were subjected to an infrared (IR) illumination from the ship, which distracted them, and ultimately led to a Controlled Flight Into Terrain (CFIT). The three aircrew members successfully escaped the aircraft with only minor injuries and were recovered by HMAS Brisbane’s ship’s boats 43 minutes after impact. The helicopter sank within minutes of hitting the water to an unrecoverable depth.
Commanding Officer HMAS Brisbane provided a foreword for the investigation report. ‘The traumatic events of 13 October 2021 are a reminder of the inherent hazards of operating at sea ... HMAS Brisbane and Flight 2 had the best possible outcome from a worst-case situation,’ he wrote.
The investigation
The DFSB Aviation Safety Investigation Team (ASIT) determined that this Class
A aviation safety event was a genuine organisational accident. There was no singular individual action, local condition, absent risk control or organisational influence that solely caused the sequence of events that night.
Rather, many contributing factors coalesced to erode the considerable number of safeguards in place, enabling escalation to an accident. These contributing factors were grouped in the investigation report into six safety-problem categories: pre- launch considerations, actions pre-accident, CCTV IR illuminator activation, search and rescue, and safety and risk management.
Pre-launch considerations
Before the aircraft launched for the single circuit there were a number of factors that set the pre-conditions for the accident, as identified by the ASIT.
The weather had deteriorated significantly from the forecast, and there were also a series of unplanned delays, including failure of the ship’s glide slope indicator, difficulties remaining within ship-helicopter operating limits and a leaking hatch that was considered a risk to the ship’s power generation. These delays led to the cancellation of the aircraft’s intended mission; however, due to concerns for aircraft serviceability if left in the elements, the decision was made to launch for a single circuit to allow the aircraft to be traversed into the hangar.
Putting the aircraft into the hangar was not possible without launching due to an inability to engage the aircraft into the ship-helicopter secure and traverse system while the aircraft was on the deck. The ASIT found that this is a known capability risk and unique to the Hobart class of ship.
While waiting to launch for the single circuit, the aircrew members were subjected to their first IR illumination from a CCTV camera mounted above the helicopter control section. The aircrew requested its deactivation and the
IR illuminator extinguished a short time later. The ASIT discovered that the deactivation was a coincidence, and not the result of the aircrew members’ request; however the crew did not know it at the time. This activation and deactivation set up a critical and erroneous mental model among aircrew members about the degree of control they had over their environment and was a critical factor, impacting aircrew action later.
Actions pre-impact
While on the final approach to Brisbane, the aircrew again experienced an IR illumination from the same CCTV camera. This caused a significant distraction for aircrew members in flight, removing their primary visual reference with the ship through NVG.
As the same CCTV IR activation occurred pre-launch, the aircrew did not conduct an overshoot, instead elected to continue the approach and request deactivation of the IR illuminators, which was expected to occur quickly as it had before the launch. However, the illuminator remained on this time and the distraction it caused allowed an increasing aircraft rate of descent to go unnoticed, culminating in CFIT 19 seconds after the IR illuminator’s activation.
Although a significant contributor to this specific accident, the distraction of the IR illuminator could be substituted with several possible ‘on finals’ challenges faced by aircrew.
The ASIT determined that this distraction was ineffectively mitigated due to the aircrew’s preconceptions as well as a combination of sub- optimal rules, training, cognitive workload and application of nontechnical skills. The combined effect of these factors impacted aircrew decisionmaking effectiveness in the 19 seconds from distraction to impact.
In the Aviation Safety Investigation Report (ASIR), the ASIT determined that the actions of the aircrew members would pass the substitution test; that is, given a different aircrew, subjected to the same circumstances, the ASIT could envisage the
event escalating to an accident in the same way.
CCTV IR illuminator activation
The ASIT found that both activations of the IR illuminator (pre- and post-aircraft launch) were initiated by a member in the ship’s platform control room.
The member’s decision to activate the IR illuminator was not made with an intent to compromise safety, but to improve the visual acuity being displayed on internal CCTV monitors. The member was not aware of the impact of IR on NVD or how this could affect flight safety.
The effect of the CCTV IR illuminators was a known hazard first identified at the 2018 Hobart first of class flight trial (FOCFT) and subsequently the cause of several reported and unreported aviation-safety-related blooming events, prior to the accident.
The hazard of incompatible ship’s lighting was already identified in organisational riskmanagement documentation; however, suboptimally controlled.
Search and rescue
The aircrew successfully escaped the aircraft and were rescued by Brisbane 43 minutes after impact. The search-and-rescue phase of the accident was, by definition, not causal and therefore not analysed to the same depth as the pre-impact factors. Although a
review of this phase of the accident did identify several opportunities for safety improvements that would reduce time to rescue.
Training, doctrine and adherence to checklist guidance were elements that impacted the performance of the search and rescue. Given the weaknesses identified in Fleet-supporting doctrine and aviation emergency riskmanagement documentation, the ASIT considered that the actions of Brisbane pass the substitution test. As with the incident itself, faced with the same pre- conditions the ASIT could envisage similar safety problems arising were this to have occurred on a different ship.
Escape training executed by the accident aircrew and the ditched helicopter response from Brisbane saved the lives of three ADF members. This is an overwhelmingly positive aspect of the accident but should not overshadow the opportunity to learn and improve.
As a direct result of this accident, the FAA has already taken action, using the experiences of the incident crew to improve underwater escape training for all aircrew.
Safety and risk management
The ASIT observed two significantly different levels of safety and risk- management maturity between the aviation and Fleet documentation within Navy. These differences create
Bottom Left: Effect of IR illumination on NVGs.
Above. CCTV screenshot before, during and after activation of IR illuminator preaccident.
Right. Depth of wreckage. Article and images reproduced with the kind permission of the DFSB.
the potential for structural and information gaps when operations require their systems to interface.
Overall, fleet and aviation risk- management documentation lacked depth and relied heavily on administrative controls. The review of prior aviation safety events with significant similarities to this accident also indicated deficiencies with hazard- tracking effectiveness, in particular where cross-force hazard-tracking authority functions are required.
This accident occurred at the interface of shiphelicopter operations and spans several separate, complex, dynamic and interconnected RAN commands. The report only scratches the surface of the complexity inherent to ship-helicopter operations and is therefore intended to provide a catalyst for cross-command introspection and continued discourse on safety improvement.✈
Everywhere you turn in aviation nowadays there’s innovation going on, and no more so than in the electric aircraft space.
In the space of a year or two we’ve become accustomed to eVTOL designs as futuristic, multi-prop designs primarily designed for urban travel.
Not so with this Harbour Air de Havilland DHC-2 Beaver, which is an older conventional aircraft sporting a fresh coat of paint and...an electric powerplant!
The original Beavers were powered by a conventional 450hp (336kw) piston engine. The eBeavers have a 650kw powerplant but it is derated to 338 kw so pilots don’t have to get used to the different power output.
Harbour Air, as its name suggests, primarily caters for short harbour flights (in Vancouver), so a short hop electric aircraft made sense. But the 8 minute endurance of the original e-fit was just too short. Erica Holtz, the airline’s lead engineer, explained that extensive research and simulator testing showed that timeline could be improved. “The e-Beaver needs less power due to a significant reduction in drag with a sleeker cowling and less cooling, and it has a more efficient propeller. All this gave us a 33 minute flight time, which was sufficient for our short-range routes.”
The cost of electricity for flying the e-Beaver is tinyaround AU$10 for the thirty minute flight, but the operating costs fort the aircraft are about the same as the piston engined variant.
The aircraft is yet to be certified for commercial operations, but the process is in train. ✈
Australia’s first MQ-4C Triton Remotely Piloted Aircraft System – ‘AUS 1’ was unveiled at RAAF Base Tindall recently. It will (eventually) be one of four to be operated by the RAAF. It flew into Tindall under cover of darkness from NAS Point Mugu in California.
The MQ-4C Triton is a high-altitude, long-endurance aircraft that will provide persistent surveillance across Australia’s maritime approaches, complementing the ADF’s crewed P-8A Poseidon fleet. The Triton is designated ‘high altitude’ to signify its signature operating profile: that is, to climb to 50,000 feet for wide area coverage, but with the ability to descend to a much lower altitude whilst on task to take a closer look at any object of interest. It has in excess of 24 hours of endurance. ✈
Below: Back in the 80s a Welsh farmer, fed up with the RAF flying low over his house, painted “Piss Off Biggles” in giant letters on the roof of his barn. This prompted the Air Force to use the barn as a navigational landmark, although they reportedly flew over it a bit higher.
Bottom photo: A haunting image simply titled
Crewman
Photo: Matt Thurber, AIN
The Last
“The Last Crewman” ✈
First Triton Arrives
The Last of the Scooters
Around Australia, Anyone?
You would have thought that the demise of Brazil’s last aircraft carrier São Paulo in 2000 would also have been the final nail in the coffin for the VF-1 Falcãos, the fixed wing jet squadron based out of Sao Pedro, but somehow they have hung on through years of budget cuts.
Even though there was no carrier, the pilots tried to maintain their deck landing skills. A landing box remained painted on the air station’s runway and aircrew regularly flew to it, notwithstanding it was rock solid.
But recently the Squadron had a chance to re-qualify on the real thing when the USS George Washington offered its flight deck as it steamed along the coast of Brazil. Three USN Landing Signals Officers were flown to Rio de Janeiro to check out the skills of two pilots and gave them the thumbs up. Bad weather hampered the deck on the day, but landings were eventually achieved, and the Squadron thanked the USN with a flypast when the Nimitz-class carrier later docked in Guanabara Bay.
Of the 23 McDonnell Douglas Skyhawks bought by Brazil in 1998 (ex Kuwait air Force) only five remain. They are due to pay off in 2030 so the future of their Navy’s fixed wing element looks bleak.✈
Not for the Feint Hearted
How this for a hell hole?
The Brits were notorious for conceiving dodgy places for crew members to sit. One of them was the Observer’s digs in the Sea Vixen, which was tucked away to the right of and below the pilot’s right leg (inset below) At least he (Observers were all men in those days) had a couple of windows to look out of.
Probably worse was the little gem to the left, which was in the photo-recce version of the English Electric Canberra PR.9. The Nav sat in the nose wondering what was in front of him and how long he had to live.✈
This picture from the ‘Western Mail’ shows A10-3 preparing to take off from the Swan River, Perth, on 11 May 1924. The Fairey 111D was engaged in a round Australia survey flight, departing from RAAF Point Cook (near Melbourne) on 06 April 1924. Pilots were Wing Commander Stanley James Goble and Flight Lieutenant Ivor Ewing McIntyre [ex-RAF & RNAS]. The aircraft circumnavigated the continent in a counterclockwise direction covering 7,186 nautical miles (13,700 km) in 20 days of flying. Due to adverse weather conditions and mechanical problems the actual flight took 44 days, arriving back at Point Cook on 19 May 1924. Photo: State Library of Western Australia.✈
Every technology struggles to keep up with, well, other technology, as these two photos illustrate.
The top one is of a sheet of American Civil War era armour plate, which completely arrested the cannon ball embedded in it. For a low-velocity weapon it still made a sizeable impact though.
Not far from this exhibit (in Washington DC) is a section of armour from a gun turret of a Yamoto class battleship (lower photo). Its over twenty six inches thick, but was nevertheless pierced by a 16 inch shell fired from a US Navy mark 7 gun.
It wasn’t during battle, though, the section of plate was brought to the US after the war and used for ballistics testing.✈
Technology
Aussie Flying High
Yank
Not Flying At All
The AMSL has received an order for ten of their Vertiia electric/hydrogen fuel cell-powered eVTOL aircraft, with an option for ten more.
AMSL is an Australian start up-company with strong links to the Fleet Air Arm. The inset image to the right , shows the company’s principals (LR) Andrew Moore (Chief Engineer); Chris Smallhorn (Board Chair) and Siobhan Lyndon (Chief Operations Officer). Andrew is an ex-RAN Air Engineering Officer and Chris was a not-toolong-ago COMFAA.
So far AMSL has raised over $50m in capital and has received an experimental airworthiness certificate from CASA - the first domestic eVTOL developer to do so. The company plans to have the battery powered version of the Vertiia certified in 2026 and the hydrogen version, which will have about four times the range, in 2027. (Images Vertiia).✈
Readers who live in the Shoalhaven probably already know the fate of the Historically Listed Nowra Bridge, but those who live further afield might be interested to learn that a Review of Environmental Factors has now, at last, been completed. The 140 year old structure is to be ‘repurposed’ as a pedestrian and cyclist pathway.
A while ago we presented the above as a Mystery Photo, with a couple of readers correctly identifying it as Elvis Presley’s Lockheed Jetstar. It was rotting in a corner of a New Mexico airport until Jimmy Webb, a YouTube personality, snapped it up for US $234K.
Jimmy decided the US$5.7m quoted to bring it back to flying status was too much and so has converted it into a Recreational Vehicle.
He cut off the wings and tail empennage, which were converted into memorial medallions to sell to Elvis fans at US$300-500 a pop, and then mounted the fuselage on a Coachman Class diesel A ‘pusher’ (the engine is at the back), and then connected the control column to the rig’s steering assembly. Driving instruments were also hooked up, as were brakes, accelerator, lights and air conditioning. He drives the whole caboodle from the pilot’s left hand seat.
Not everyone’s cup of tea, but how he did it is fascinating. You can see that in the video above. ✈
Did You Know...
A Bridge Almost Too Far
Work will involve repainting the bridge, removal of the attached footpath, improving lighting and critical repairs to degraded steel elements, which I guess means some of the bits that are holding it up. Further, ‘new elements and features’ will be installed so the bridge meets modern safety standards for its intended users. A copy of the Review can be found here.
Work is expected to start sometime in 2024 and will take up to three years to complete, during which the bridge will be closed. No costing for the work was available. See video here ✈
...that the old Nowra Bridge is described as a ‘Rare Whipple Truss Bridge’?
Truss bridges are characterised by their interconnecting triangular structures, which give them the strength to withstand heavier and greater dynamic loads than other, older designs. The structure manages both compression and extension by spreading the load through its intricate assembly, so no one part is carrying a disproportionate load. It’s also efficient in its use of materials as every piece plays a role; and the Truss bridge can span greater widths. They do require a lot of space, however, are very heavy, and require regular and detailed maintenance so are expensive to look after.
The Whipple Truss stems from the design of Squire Whipple, who patented it in 1841. It differs from other kinds of Truss bridges (Warren, Pratt, Howe etc) by the number of diagonal tension members in the design (ie the dotted lines in the diagram), which give it greater strength and rigidity. They were usually built where the required span was longer than was practical with the Pratt Truss, which was the most common form of structure.
Whipple Truss bridges are more common on railways. They were seldom used for traffic bridges which is probably why Nowra’s bridge design is described as ‘rare’.
Watch Video
And then there was the time that unexpected visitor arrived at Albatross….
DID YOU KNOW?
The expression “Grind His Bones To Make My Bread” from the children’s story Jack in the Beanstalk may actually have been steeped in fact.
After the Battle of Waterloo in 1815 many thousands of dead bodies were buried in shallow graves. If you were to go excavating there today, however, you wound find few remains.
The story goes that in the 1830s an unscrupulous businessman saw an opportunity to make a quid by building a factory not too far from the battlefield. The mass graves were plundered, and skeletons ground up to powder which was shipped to the UK for fertiliser - mainly for the the wheat fields of Lincolnshire which grew wheat for bread.
Whether the factory existed is a moot point, but new studies suggest that bodies of men and horses probably were taken from Napoleonic battlefields like Waterloo, Austerlitz and Leipzig to be turned into bone meal fertiliser.
Reports say the practice finally stopped in the 1860s when The Yorkshire Evening Post ran a campaign criticising the practice, to the horror of the British public who had no idea they were eating crops fertilised by the bodies of dead troops.
It took another war to finally bring about the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, however, which was established in 1917 to properly inter the dead and care for the cemeteries they lie in. (Quora).
Crunch Time
Our pleas for volunteers to take over the roles of National Secretary and Slipstream Editor have, so far, turned up nix, so unless that changes we’ll need to consider (at next month’s Federal Council meeting) how the Association might need to be restructured to manage the situation.
Nobody wants to go down this path as it will fundamentally change the Association, perhaps profoundly, and not for the better.
There is still time to fix this if we can find volunteers - and, in particular, for the National Secretary job.
It’s not a difficult job to do and would suit a meticulous person who has the heart to give something back. You can be located anywhere in Australia, and training can be provided.
Contact Marcus Peake here for more details.
“Volunteers do not necessarily have the time; they have the heart’ Elizabeth Andrew.✈
Interim report reveals critical details in fatal MRH-90 helicopter crash
An interim report from the Australian Defence Flight Safety Bureau (DFSB) has apparently ruled out mechanical failure as a factor in the cause of the accident, and points towards possible pilot disorientation instead.
The report, which was selectively briefed to various stakeholders, indicates that two minutes before the crash there was a transfer of control from one pilot to the other. Flight data then shows the Taipan climbed abruptly before rolling 120° to port and diving into the sea at a 140° degree angle. The data also shows that Collective Lever demand increased from 18° to 56° moments before impact, suggesting a last second attempt to gain altitude.
Of particular interest is the ‘TopOwl’ helmetmounted visor, which had been flagged in a 2019 report as posing ‘a substantial risk of multiple deaths’ due to ambiguous and inaccurate readings when pilots looked left or right.
The investigation continues.
FThe First Deck Landing
By Ross Smith from “Along For The Ride”
third of our normal pattern height) and 82 knots (normally 90 knots) with wheels flaps and speed brake out and the canopy open, we were all deemed safe for carrier qualification.
On the big day we are briefed by our flight leader, one of our LSOs, whose job is to get four students to the boat safely, take us into the circuit, land first, park and run back to the LSO platform to wave us aboard.
recognising the large red wave-off lights so I guess passing that close to all the steel under and to the right of me is the recognition I am meant to gain.
Next two passes are touch and goes. Seem OK, get a green light from the LSO in close, close the throttle and crash down onto the deck. The dear old Wright Cyclone R-1820 can go from idle to 1,500 horsepower as fast as I can push the throttle up and believe me, I am quick! First impression is how rough the old wooden flight deck is. Second is how short it is and how close the water is.
I had no idea what to expect for the free deck launch, except having been told a dozen times not to look at the airspeed indicator. Full power, keep it lined up down the axial deck and raise the nose at the forward elevator. Bloody rough on this wooden deck.Aquick peek at the airspeed indicator. Holy hell this’ll never fly! But of course it does. Rinse and repeat five more times and I’m carrier qualified.
ormation flying goes by in the blink of an eye and with no real incidents. Once again, the USN showed that excellent ground school and pre-flight briefings, along with a well-honed flying syllabus, can get the average pilot qualified and the poor pilot identified.
Yet another move, this time back to Saufley Field, Florida, where we are back in our old barracks and flying to an outlying field every day for FCLPs - Field Carrier Landing Practice - or dummy deck landings.Acarrier deck is
Start up, taxi, take off all normal. My initial formation join is even smoother than my normal rushed and violent flailing. We switch frequencies and get a heading to the USS Lexington in the Gulf of Mexico. Lady Lex was commissioned in 1943 after the sinking of her predecessor at the Battle of the Coral Sea in 1942. She had a proud history during WW2 and was now a dedicated training carrier in the Gulf.
We are given our clearance and fly abeam the right side of the carrier at 500 feet in a line (echelon) to starboard. The leader rolls into a 180 degree turn and we all take 20 second
I’m told to put my hook down and the stress levels get even higher. It’s an instant replay of the last two passes except this time I’m almost thrown through the windshield by the arresting wire bringing me to a stop in about 100 feet. So this is what it’s all about.Aflight deck guy gets my attention, I raise the hook, taxi forward a few feet to straighten the nose wheel, increase the power to check the gauges, give the launch officer a salute, add full power and release the brakes when he touches his green flag to the deck and I’m off.
Back into the circuit at Saufley packed with all the kids in the Teenie Weenies (the T-34s) and our balls are the size of watermelons. Tightest formation ever. Best radio discipline possible. Regular landing is easy. My days of looking down on lesser mortals have just started and are bolstered by the debrief with our LSO and the huge party afterwards. We’re up there with the real Naval Aviators now and have done something that very few pilots get to do. As I will tell anyone who will listen.✈
How Fremantle Became a Major WW2 Submarine Base
By Kim Dunstan
During the war Fremantle became the second largest submarine base after Pearl Harbor, sinking some 2 million tons of shipping and damaging another 3½ million.
So what was the story?
Escalating tensions between Japan and Western nations came to a head on 07 December 1941 when the Imperial Japanese Navy launched a surprise attack on the U.S. Naval Base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. A second wave of attacks followed directed at the Philippines, Guam, Wake Island, Thailand, and the British territories of Malaya, Singapore and Hong Kong, followed by the invasion of Burma, Borneo, the Dutch East Indies, New Guinea and the Solomon Islands. After the Japanese bombed the U.S. Cavite Naval Base at Manilla, on 10 December 1941, submarines based there disbursed south with several going to Darwin, then moving to the Dutch East Indies to link-up with other U.S. subs and ABDA forces until the Japanese overran Java. When Surabaya naval base was bombed in February 1942 the U.S. submarines with several Dutch subs headed for Fremantle.
With its high tides and lack of facilities, Darwin was not suitable as a submarine base. It was also within easy range of the Japanese, suffering heavy bombing by carrier-based aircraft in February of 1942, and ongoing raids by land-based Japanese aircraft.
Exmouth Base on the W.A. coast was cut back too, as it was also within bomber range; but it was used for refuelling. Fremantle’s advantage was it had a large, safe harbour out of range of Japanese longrange land-based aircraft.
Fremantle: A Strategic Submarine Base
The U.S. submarine tender USS Holland (AS-3) with three submarines arrived at Fremantle on 03 March 1942, followed by USS Otis on March 10. Fremantle now became the operative base for U.S. submarines from Manila, Surabaya and other places. By July 1942, 20 American submarines were operating from WesternAustralia, concentrating on Japanese occupied areas in SE Asia and SW Pacific.
In 1942 a back-up submarine base was formed at the port city of Albany south of Perth, a haven where submarines could be serviced by the ten-
Left. 1945: HMS TRENCHANT on a slipway in Fremantle in 1945. The concentration of submarines in the port included boats from the the USN, Royal Navy and the Netherlands. In total they conducting almost 500 sorties which played a significant role in crippling the Japanese military's lines of supply. Photo: Flickr. Right Top: The submarine tender HMS Adamant at Fremantle Harbour’s North Wharf in 1945 with six RN ‘T’class submarines rafted alongside. Photo: Saxon Fogarty. Right Middle. Fremantle Harbour, situated at the mouth of the Swan River, was the base for these ‘T’ class boats from the 8th Submarine Flotilla positioned next to their tender HMS Maidstone which arrived at Fremantle in 1944. Capable of operating close to shore these boats patrolled SE Asian waters where they played havoc with Japanese shipping and tankers.Right Lower. This RN ‘T’ class submarine crew poses for a photo during a stopover at Fremantle circa 1944. The deck cannons visible were very effective against the smaller Japanese ships and supply vessels that were generally found at night hugging the shoreline in shallow water. We don’t know the name of the submarine, but it looks like everyone is enjoying a moment in the sunshine. ✈
ders USS Holland, Otis and Pelias which rotated between Fremantle and Albany, together with USS Anthendon, Clytie and Euryale. After reports of their Mk14 torpedoes running deep, tests conducted in Albany Harbour found the depth-setting mechanism to be faulty.
Two of Fremantle’s North Wharf grain sheds were converted to maintenance and repair workshops operating 24 hours a day. A slipway next to the harbour was well used and after repairs submarines were tested at nearby Cockburn Sound. A floating dock (ARD-10) arrived in 1944.
From 1942 to 1945 a total of 125 U.S. submarines were periodically based at Fremantle which succeeded in sinking a total of 340 enemy vessels –sadly 11 U.S. submarines were lost to enemy action.
The Dutch Submarines
The rapid advance of the Japanese through SouthEast Asia and the Malayan Peninsula was quickly followed by an assault on the oil and resource rich Dutch East Indies. On 07 December 1941 the Dutch declared war on Japan and the Royal Netherlands Navy (RNN) submarines, at great cost, began sinking and damaging Japanese vessels. When the Dutch surrendered on 08 March 1942 the remaining RNN submarines escaped to Fremantle and Colombo (Sri Lanka).
George Carter, 1783, Bernice P. Bishop Museum. Fleeing from Surabaya submarines K-VIII, K-IX, and K-XII arrived at Fremantle on 20 March 1942 carrying headquarters personnel. The ‘K’ boats were small (600 tons) yet capable. But being old and in poor shape they were unfit for operational duties. At first K-IX was used for training at Fremantle then went to Sydney for repairs. For a time, it was HMAS K9, but beset by problems it ended as a wreck on the NSW coast.
Of the submarines that went to Colombo the most reliable boats K-XIV and K-XV were sent to Philadelphia, USA, for overhaul and to Dundee in the U.K. for new radar and sonar. Returning to Fremantle in 1944 they ran ‘secret supply missions’ and patrolled the East Indies, attacking Japanese shipping. Of the boats that went to Colombo seven were sent to Fremantle. Of interest, on 09 March 1942 while heading for Colombo K-XI picked up survivors from HMAS Yarra sunk by the Japanese. In 1944 the Dutch submariners at Fremantle received a new boat to patrol the East Indies. It was RNN Zwaardvisch (Swordfish) an ex-RN ‘T’ Class submarine (HMS Talent), soon torpedoing Japanese shipping and minelayers, including a German U-boat U-168 at Surabaya. The Dutch sub-
mariners were highly professional and admired for their ability to track and sink enemy vessels. The only Dutch boat lost from Fremantle was O-19 which hit a reef and was scuttled after crew were rescued.
The Royal Navy
Following the surrender of Italy in September 1943, RN submarine reinforcements were moved to the Indian Ocean. This included the depot ship HMS Maidstone being transferred to Trincomalee in Ceylon (Sri Lanka) in November 1943, to service Eastern Fleet submarines active in the Indian Ocean and SE Asia region.
Then in August 1944 Maidstone and the 8th Submarine Flotilla moved to Fremantle for service with the U.S. 7th Fleet, attacking enemy tankers and warships in SE Asia and SW Pacific. Maidstone’s flotilla consisted of nine submarines and two Dutch boats Zwaardvisch and O-19. Being smaller than the U.S. submarines they could operate close to shore and by using their deck guns destroyed many supply vessels.
In April 1945, the depot ship HMS Adamant relieved Maidstone which then went to the Philip-
pines with the British Pacific Fleet. Following the 02 September Japanese surrender, Maidstone returned to Fremantle on 30 September before departing for the U.K. travelling via Macassar to pick up British POWs.
A total of 31 RN submarines were based at Fremantle at various times, attacking Japanese ships in the Singapore Straits and SE Asia up to April 1945 - after that enemy vessels were hard to find.
On 23 September 1944 HMS Trenchant torpedoed U-859 at Penang, and on 08 June 1945 torpedoed the heavy cruiser INJ Ashigara, near Java, with a remarkable shot from 4,000 yards. HMS Porpoise, while laying mines off Penang on 19 January 1945 was sunk without survivors - it was the only RN boat lost from Fremantle and the last RN submarine lost in WW2.
Front Line Patrols
During the dark days of 1942 Fremantle offered a safe harbour, support facilities, and access to Japanese occupied territory, enabling submarines to mount counter-offensives, tracking and attacking Japanese shipping, especially warships, oil tankers and supply vessels, denying the enemy vital supplies. Submarines operating from Fremantle concentrated on the sea lanes of the Indonesian Archipelago, Malaya, Borneo, the Philippines, South China Sea and SW Pacific.
But Japan’s vast naval forces made patrolling hazardous and challenging. Submariners worked in hot, humid, cramped conditions subject to depth charges and surface attacks by aircraft and ships. U.S. submarines could patrol for a month or more covering up to 11,000 nm, and further with refuelling at Darwin or Exmouth, slightly less for the smaller British or Dutch submarines.
Early results in 1942 included: the sinking of 40 vessels; running supply missions to and the recovery of special forces; rescuing stranded civilians; the recovery of downed aircrew, and ongoing intelligence on enemy movements. From 1943 onwards there was an upsurge in enemy sinkings boosted by the arrival in 1944 of the RN Submarine Squadron. While Fremantle based submarines performed just 22% of all Pacific patrols they sank 38% of Japanese tankers,.
U.S. submarines made lengthy patrols venturing far and wide in the SW Pacific. For example: between 1943 and 1944 USS Bowfin, a Balao Class submarine, did five patrols from Fremantle. Her second patrol was of particular interest. After setting course for the South China Sea Bowfin covered over ten thousand nautical miles before returning to Fremantle five weeks later. Along the way she sank nearly 71,000 tons (nine large vessels and eight small craft).
While attacking a convoy Bowfin was hit by a can-
non shell which damaged the superstructure, but her crew fired a torpedo at the attacking ship and sank it. Unable to submerge Bowfin safely reached Fremantle where repairs soon made her ready for the next patrol. Skipper LCDR Griffin was awarded the Navy Cross and Bowfin received a Presidential Unit Citation.
The Place For Rest & Relaxation
From all accounts Allied submariners loved Fremantle and Albany, which offered good social and recreational activities for those returning from lengthy, stressful patrols. In turn the Western Australians welcomed them.
Fremantle rated highly with submariners on leave who enjoyed opportunities for relaxation with swimming, golf, tennis and other activities. Hospitality included home stays and visits to farms. Dance halls and night clubs provided entertainment and the chance to meet women for dates and social occasions, resulting in a surprising number of marriages.
Author’s Note
The above provides just a brief outline of Fremantle’s importance as a submarine base during WW2. Further details are available via the internet and books. For those interested a base was also located at Eagle Farm on the Brisbane River 19421945.
References
Australian War Memorial.
Trove: National Library of Australia.
The West Australian, 19Nov22, Malcolm Quekett. WW2 Submarine Activity in Australia – CDR David Nicholls RAN (Ret).
Fremantle Maritime Museum.
Pacific Fleet Submarine Museum – USS Bowfin. Naval Historical Society of Australia. Submarines of the British Pacific Fleet. Dutch Submarines in Australia - DACC. Wikipedia. ✈
LAST MONTH’S MYSTERY PHOTO ANSWER
Last month we asked what this bit of engineering wizardry was, and got three replies. One reader gave a tongue-in-cheek opinion that it was the workings of an aircrew watch; another thought it might be a Wessex gearbox, and the third gave the correct answer.
We wished the first answer had been correct, as it might have caused Pusser’s watches to keep better time than they did. Mine (one of many) was woefully inaccurate, which makes the fact that they are now fetching thousands of dollars as collectors’ pieces even more extraordinary.
The correct answer is that the photo is of the valve timing gears of a sleeve-valved Bristol Hercules engine. It does my head in just to look at it. A better photo is attached below.
The engine was a 14 cylinder two-row radial sleeve aero engine produced by the Bristol Engine Company in 1939. It was the most numerous of their single sleeve valve designs and powered Bristol Beaufighters as well as many other Brit aircraft of the time.
It was designed using manual drawing instruments and 2D projections. No 3D solids or Computer Assisted Drawings in those days!
The timing mechanism was a function of the design of the engine, and specifically, of the type, nature of and number of cylinders it
had. The common engine of that time featured ‘poppet valves’, which were mechanical devices situated at the top of each cylinder opened or closed at appropriate times during the engine’s cycle. This allowed either the air/fuel mixture to enter the cylinder (prior to compression), or exhaust gases to escape after combustion. Poppet valves were typically opened by a force applied longitudinally to their stem which overcame the force of a spring that otherwise kept them closed.
The sleeve valve took the form of one (or two) machined cylinders that fitted concentrically between the piston and the cylinder block bore. These sleeves had inlet and exhaust ports machined in their periphery, which came into alignment with the cylinder’s inlet and exhaust ports at appropriate stages of the engine’s cycle.
Single sleeve valve systems had been patented back
NEXT MONTH’S MYSTERY PHOTO QUESTION
That’s a lot of engines, and we’re guessing they’re piston. Any ideas what they were strapped to? Click here to send in your answer.
in 1909. Early sleeve valve engines offered several significant advantages over poppet-valve engines: most notably, better mixing, improved combustion, better economy and engine longevity. But they were very difficult to make and tended to use more oil, amongst other problems.
The Hercules was one of the forerunners to increasingly powerful Bristol piston engines, including the Centaurus which powered our Sea Furies, and which sold into the 60s. By then the company had merged with Armstrong Siddeley to become Bristol Siddeley. This, in turn, was swallowed by Rolls Royce in 1966, leaving the latter as the only major aero engine company in Britain - a situation that persists to this day.
If you’re not an engineer and have difficulty getting your head around what’s on this page, check out red button (below) which will take you to an animated video of how the timing of the Hercules was achieved. A picture tells a thousand words.
Timing Video
Eugene Ely heads for the waves to maintain speed as he leaves the deck of USS Birmingham for the very first time in his Curtiss Pusher on November 14, 1910. (US Naval History and Heritage Command)
November brings us an anniversary worthy of remembering amongst the annals of Naval Aviation: the very first take off from a warship, back in 1910.
This was only seven years after the first manned flight, when Orville Wright coaxed his “Flyer” into an unfamiliar element. That flight had lasted just 12 seconds and reached a top speed of 6.8 miles per hour.
Seven years later aircraft were still very much regarded as a quirky and somewhat amusing novelty. Technology had moved along somewhat - for example, ailerons had replaced the ‘wing warping’ of the Flyer and more powerful engines were available - but the machines were still flimsy contraptions of wood and canvas much at the mercy of the element they aspired to conquer. It was hard to imagine that an aeroplane could do anything practical, especially in military terms.
Certainly this was the case in naval circles, where big guns and heavy armour were the ‘right’ way to do things, and frail flying machines had absolutely no part in the projection of naval sea power.
But a few innovative visionaries existed, one of which was Glenn Curtiss, who was building aeroplanes of his own design. Curtiss boldly predicted “the battles of the future will be fought in the air. The aeroplane will decide the destiny of nations”. To get the Navy’s attention, he dropped mock bombs on battleship-shaped targets.
At the urging of the civilian US Aeronautic Reserve, which unofficially organised inventors, the Navy agreed to look into the emerging technology. To do so they appointed their own visionary Captain Washington Irving Chambers.
He was an accomplished veteran whose career involved several other technical innovations.
His first hurdle came from the Secretary of the Navy, who denied him any funding for flight experiments.
Undeterred, Chambers set about finding a civilian who would be willing to try flying to or from a ship. He first approached the Wright brothers, who declared the idea was too dangerous, so he turned to their main rival, Curtiss, who had a talented young barnstorming pilot working for them named Eugene Ely. l
Ely immediately offered to make an attempt to take off from a deck, even though the Navy couldn’t pay him a dime. Even the modifications to a ship had to be privately funded.
Meanwhile, Chambers became aware that the Germans had their own plan to launch an aircraft from a ship. This was to be piloted by another Curtiss protégée, J.McCurdy. It was unthinkable that a foreign power could make such an advance with an American invention and it spurred Chambers on to even greater effort.
No time was lost in building a wooden platform over the foredeck of the coal-fired cruiser, the USS Birmingham. It sloped towards the bow to help accelerate the aircraft and was just 83 feet long.
The German attempt had been hampered by bad weather and damage to McCurdy’s aircraft which bought a few days of relief to Chambers. By November 14th, just two weeks after meeting Ely, all was ready.
The weather was not good as the Birmingham moved to anchorage near Hampton Roads. But
The First Take Off, The First Trap
by 1400 the rain had moved to the north and Ely climbed aboard his 700 lb machine and started the engine. The plan was for the Birmingham to strike anchor and steam into wind to give additional lift, but Ely saw another storm approaching from the north and knew his chance was disappearing. Without waiting for the ship to move he thrust the throttle forward and took off.
Left: Ely at the controls of his Curtiss Pusher. The controls show the the technology of the time - the large wheel operated the elevators which were of canard configuration forward of the pilot. These were later dispensed with when it was found better pitch control could be achieved using the horizontal stabiliser at the rear of the aircraft. Lateral control was achieved by means of ‘control rods’ resting against the pilot’s upper arms, which operated port and starboard inter-wing ailerons. The 40hp water cooled engine was immediately aft of the pilot, turning a pusher propeller which gave the craft its nickname. Note also Ely’s home-made life preserver: an inflated bicycle inner tube wrapped around his torso. He was terrified of water. Below. Lifting off from the USS Birmingham.
As he cleared the edge of the deck, Ely dropped his nose to gain airspeed, but misjudged the manoeuvre. His skids touched the surface, followed quickly by the tips of his propeller, which promptly splintered.
Ely managed to raise the nose and his craft struggled into the air. With salt spray obscuring the already poor visibility, he had no idea of his position and knew he could not navigate to the intended landing point at the Norfolk Navy yard.
He turned towards the nearest shore and spotted, though the gloom, a stretch of sandy beach near a cluster of houses. There he made a successful landing a few yards from the Hampton Roads Yacht Club. As he pulled up he saw a woman running towards him through the mist, and he called to her: “Where am I?”. The flight had only lasted a few minutes and had covered about two miles.
Ely was despondent about his attempt as he had failed to reach the agreed landing spot, but
Chambers was ecstatic. So was John Ryan, the wealthy benefactor who had paid for the Birmingham’s flight deck, who promptly awarded Ely a $500 prize.
But Chambers wanted to prove that an aircraft could not only take off from a warship, but land on one too. He asked Ely if he would be willing to try.
The Landing
By now the Navy was taking an interest, although it would still not provide any money for the venture, but Chambers was undeterred. He selected the cruiser USS Pennsylvania for the landing, and work began on constructing a landing deck aft of her superstructure. Aside from its larger dimensions it had one important difference: a canvas screen at the forward end to prevent the aircraft overshooting if it could not stop in time. Stopping in time was the obvious
On short finals to the USS Birmingham in San Francisco Bay. Note the number of spectators hoping to catch a glimpse of this historic event, or perhaps witness its failure. Ely had only learned to fly a few months earlier.
problem, so Ely employed a novel solution: a series of 22 lengths of manilla rope stretched in parallel rows across the deck, weighted at either end by sandbags. Steel hooks were fastened to the aircraft’s undercarriage to engage the ropes. It was the invention of another Curtis pilot, Hugh Robinson, who had used it to slow down his car whilst performing a vertical loop in a circus ring.
By mid January of 1911 everything was ready. The Pennsylvania anchored in San Francisco Bay and Ely took off from a temporary Army airfield in San Bruno, about ten miles away. He had discarded the bulky lifejacket that had constricted his movement during the take-off, and replaced it with a bicycle inner tube crisscrossed over his chest.
As he approached the ship, Ely realised that the landing would not be as straight forward as he had envisaged. He recalled later:
“…there was an appreciable wind blowing diagonally across the deck of the cruiser, and I had
to calculate the force of this wind and the effect it would have on my approach to the landing.I found that it was not possible to strike squarely toward the centre of the landing, so I pointed the aeroplane straight toward the landing, but on a line with the windward sideof the ship. I had to take the chance that I had correctly estimated just how many feet the wind would blow me out of my course.”
Aboard the Pennsylvania every vantage point was crammed with sailors, keen to see this historic event and, possibly, the chance of an accident. They watched as the little aircraft crabbed in towards the ship, holding their breath as Ely straightened up to make a perfect touch down on the deck’s threshold. The undercarriage hooks grappled the arrester ropes and the biplane stopped in time.
The waterfront erupted into a cacophony of cheers, boat horns and whistles. Ely shut down the engine and clambered from his seat to be met by his wife Mabel and Pennsylvania’s captain, Charles F. Pond. They were whisked down to the
Wardroom for lunch, after which Ely nonchalantly re-boarded his aircraft and took off for a return to his airfield.
The accolade was mixed. Captain Pond remarked that ‘it was the most important landing of a bird since the dove flew back to Noah’s Ark”, whilst an Editorial in the next day’s San Francisco Examiner was headed “Eugene Ely Revises The World’s naval tactics”.
Across the Atlantic The Aero, a British magazine, opined that “the flight partakes rather too much of the nature of trick flying to be of much practical value”. Even the US Navy remained cautious: it released the sum of $25,000 for further aviation experiments but would not build its first carrier for another decade.
Ely sought to work for the Navy as he was keen to leave his barn-storming days behind him and to settle down with Mabel. “There will probably be an experimental station,” he wrote to Chambers, “and someone who is competent will be needed to carry on the work.”
Alas, no job was available in the Navy and Ely returned to the barn storming circuit. He was killed nine months later, just short of his 25th birthday, during a demonstration flight in Georgia. He was thrown from his aircraft and struggled to his feet, but his neck was broken and he collapsed and died.
He had become such a celebrity that the crowd surged forward to overwhelm the wreck. Ely’s tie, cap and other articles were torn from his body for
souvenirs - a sad and ignominious end for the extraordinary pioneer.
Twenty two years later President Hoover posthumously awarded Ely the Distinguished Flying Cross for his historic aviation achievements.
Chambers was not forgotten either, for his vision and energy in making it happen. Chambers Field, a Naval Air Station in Virginia, is named after him and in 2010 a new addition to the Navy’s fleet was christened the USNS Washington Chambers.
Below. Ely on his approach to the USS Birmingham on 18th January 1911. Main picture. After touchdown. Note the displaced sandbags whose ropes had been caught by the aircraft. Ely is stood in the foreground, wearing his characteristic helmet.
The lad from Adelaide and his vital contribution to War
❛The bomb may have ended the war but radar won it. ❜
August 6th brings us a reminder of the awfulness of war as it is the 79th Anniversary of the detonation of the first atomic bomb over the city of Hiroshima.
It is also a testament to the ingenuity of man, who laboured on the very edge of science to bring about what they believed - at least until it was used - was a weapon of restraint. After all, they reasoned, no one would ever use it.
The names of Oppenheimer and Groves have become well known in the quest to build the first atomic bomb, mostly through the recent movie on the story. But there were many others who contributed directly or indirectly, with one being a lad from Adelaide - Sir Marcus Laurence Elwin Oliphant. And he wasn’t just involved with the Bomb, but with Radar as well - arguably the two inventions that won the war and then ended it.
Oliphant’s origins could hardly have flagged him as a future brilliant physicist. He was the eldest of five sons born to a council worker father and teacher mother - modest occupations, to be sure, but hiding a brilliance that each of them had - his father was a part-time lecturer in economics and his mother an artist.
It soon became obvious that the child’s eyesight was defective, leading to the signature glasses that corrected his severe astigmatism and short-sightedness. He was also found to be profoundly deaf in one ear, a disability that could not be corrected in the early 1900s. He attended normal school, however, graduating from high school in 1918
but without a bursary to attend university.
And so, as was the lot of a boy whose parents could put food on the table but had little money for anything else, he went to work: initially with an Adelaide jeweller and then with the State Library of South Australia, which allowed him to take courses at the University of Adelaide at night.
At first he studied medicine but in 1919 was offered a cadetship in the University’s Physics Department at a salary of ten shillings a week (about $50 today). He worked quietly on his degree and received a Bachelor of Science in 1921, followed by Honours in 1922. During this time he worked with his head of department to write two papers on the properties of Mercury, later describing ‘the extraordinary exhilaration there was in even minor discoveries in the field of physics’.
His work on Mercury earned him a Exhibition Scholarship, but his ambition to achieve greater things required a change, which he made in 1927 by moving to Cambridge in the UK with his new wife, Rosa. He’d made her a wedding ring in the laboratory from a gold nugget his father had given him.
At Cambridge he used a particle accelerator to fire heavy hydrogen nuclei at various targets, discovering nuclei of Helium-3 and Tritium. He also found that when they reacted with one another, the particles released had far more energy than they started with. Clearly, energy had
been liberated from within the nucleus, and Mark realised this was the result of nuclear fission.
The early years of the second world war interrupted his studies, however, and he found himself in the development of radar at the University of Birmingham.
At the time, radar was still secret, although scientists in various countries had known for over thirty years that radio waves could be used to detect the position and trajectory of solid objects. Work had been slow but by the start of the war the British had developed working units incorporated into a chain of stations across southern England. They were to prove crucial in the Battle of Britain.
The ‘Chain Home’ radar stations were huge: 240 ft wooden tower receivers and 360 ft steel transmitters with wires hung between them to create curtain antennae. The large scale was a direct function of the long wavelength they used. But they worked, producing a blurry image on a cathode ray tube of incoming aircraft up to 80 miles away.
Below. A WAAF RadarOperator plotting aircraft on a Cathode Ray Tube as part of the Chain Home system during the war. (IWM. Right. One of the transmitting towers in the system.
But what if they could be made smallerperhaps even small enough to fit into an aircraft to detect the enemy in the air?
Mark quickly realised a shorter wavelength radio waves were required to achieve this, but the technology had yet to be invented to achieve this. He set about to do so.
In August of 1939 he took a small group to Ventnor, on the Isle of Wight, to examine the existing radar Chain Home system first hand, and he then secured a grant from Admiralty to develop systems with
Below. Chain Home display showing several target blips between 15 and 30 miles distant from the transmitter. The operator could ‘hunt’ for the best signal which would also give a bearing.
wavelengths of less than 10 cm. The best available at the time was 150cm.
Oliphant’s group concentrated on two promising devices to generate the required wavelength and power: the klystron and the magnetron. They managed to produce an improved version of the former capable of generating more power, but a radical new design of the latter, called the cavity magnetron, gave not only equal power but a shorter wavelength - 9.8cm. By 1940 power output was improved a further one hundredfold, and the first operational magnetrons were delivered in August of 1941They were about the size of a small book.
The invention gave Britain a lead on radar development which its enemies never closed. It was one of the key scientific breakthroughs of the war and played a crucial role in defeating German U-boats, intercepting enemy bombers and in directing allied aircraft.
A Technical Breakthrough: The Cavity Magnetron
The Bomb
Whilst at the University of Birmingham, Oliphant was alerted to the theoretical work of two physicists, Otto Frisch and Rudolf Peirls, who concluded as early as 1940 that one kilogram of pure Uranium 235 could produce a chain reaction that would unleash the energy of hundreds of tons of TNT.
A select committee was established to examine the proposal and by July of 1941 had concluded that an atomic bomb was not only feasible, but could be produced as early as 1943.
Great Britain, with her back to the wall, thought the development of such a weapon as urgent, but there was much less interest in the United States which had yet to enter the war.
Acavity magnetron generates microwaves using the interaction of a stream of electrons with a magnetic field, while moving past a series of cavity resonators, which are small, open cavities in a metal block. Electrons pass by the cavities and cause microwaves to oscillate within, similar to the functioning of a whistle producing a tone when excited by an air stream blown past its opening. The resonant frequency of the arrangement is determined by the cavities' physical dimensions. Unlike other vacuum tubes, such as a klystron or a traveling-wave tube (TWT), the magnetron cannot function as an amplifier for increasing the intensity of an applied microwave signal - it serves solely as an electronic oscillator generating a microwave signal from DC electricity supplied to the vacuum tube. (Wikipedia).
In August of 1941 Oliphant flew to the US, ostensibly to discuss radar development, but his task was to find out why the US was ignoring the British findings. He later recalled: “the minutes and reports had been sent to Lyman Briggs, who was the Director of the Uranium Committee, and we were puzzled to receive virtually no comment. I called upon Briggs only to find out that this inarticulate and unimpressive man had put the reports in his safe and had not shown them to members of his committee. I was amazed and distressed.”
Over coming weeks Oliphant met first with the US Uranium Committee. He told them in no uncertain terms that they must concentrate every effort on the bomb, and they had no right to work on any other project. It would cost 25 million dollars, he said, and Britain had neither the money nor the manpower, so it was up to America.
As the Manhattan Project gathered momentum, Robert Oppenheimer tried to get Oliphant on his team but it was not to be. Oliphant preferred to head a team at the Radiation Laboratory in Berkeley to develop the electromagnetic uranium enrichment - a vital project without which the bomb could never have been built.
Oliphant returned to England in March of 1945, his work done. He was on holiday in Wales with his family when he heard of the bombing of Hiroshima and then Nagasaki. He was later to remark that he felt “sort of proud that the bomb had worked, and simultaneously appalled at what it had done to human beings.
Mark Oliphant died in July 2000 in Canberra, aged 98. By then a widower, he was survived by only one of his two children. His nephew, Pat Oliphant, is a pulitzer prize winning cartoonist.
Tribute: The Father of Carrier Innovation
Geoff Cooper, who was responsible for many of the innovations that made aircraft carriers what they are today, has died in the UK, aged 104.
WW2 and its aftermath was the age of adventure, with the carrier becoming firmly established as the capital ship of the Fleet. Key British developments over this period were the angled flight deck, the steam catapult and the optical landing system. Cooper was at the heart of these innovations which enabled the carrier to come of age.
Born in March of 1920, Cooper was educated in Farnborough, being accepted for a five year engineering apprenticeship. The final year was in the main design office of the Catapult Section of Farnborough’s Royal Aircraft Establishment (RAE). His engineering prowess was recognised and by 1941 he was fully employed there, rising quickly to become a leading member of the 30-strong team developing launching systems for British carriers.
By 1945 the Catapult Section was renamed the Naval Aircraft Department and conducted exotic experiments including Rocket Assisted Take Offs and wheel-less landings on to rubberised flight decks.
Cooper was present at such milestones as the first deck landing of an aircraft with a tricycle undercarriage, and the first twin to land on a carrier.
The same year Cooper and a colleague experimented using wooden models of an idea for an offset-angled flight deck. And in December 1945 he was involved in the trials of the first jet to land on a carrier: a De Havilland
Left:Geoff Cooper on his 100th Birthday with most of his descendants. Below: Cooper aboard HMS Empress.
Sea Venom aboard HMS Ocean in the English Channel.
After the war he became the principal engineer at the National Gas Turbine Establishment at Farnborough, where he tested Olympus engines for the AngloFrench Concorde. Later, he transferred to the Institute of Naval Medicine, in charge of the centrifuge which doctors and pilots learned to deal with extreme G-forces.
He retired in 1985 and lived a long and fruitful life, survived by three of his four sons, many grand and great grandchildren and his widow, Irene.
Cooper was a civilian and never learned to fly, but his silent contribution to Naval Aviation can’t be overstated. He was, quite literally, the father of many of the technical innovations that remain front and foremost in modern aircraft carriers today.
