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OPUS • Issue 3 • Autumn 2010
Portsmouth Grammar School • www.pgs.org.uk
The bone-breaking record-breaker An Australian Airforce base in Avalon, Victoria. In a building across the road from the hangars, high on a wall, hangs a bit of charred recording graph paper.
John Roberts OP (1943-1948) was a life-long friend of Tony Svensson. Here he tells Opus how he witnessed Tony’s thirst for adventure at first-hand…
Below: Squadron Leader Tony Svensson at Melbourne Air Base with son Mark holding his parachute at the annual Battle of Britain Family Day celebrations. The photograph has appeared in innumerable aviation publications and was originally taken for the cover of The Melbourne Times.
The one stroke of luck that day was that six doctors had been lecturing on almost every medical subject at a nearby school and were passing in a minibus on a road only 100 yards away. They were at his side immediately. They administered first aid and directed his care in a local RAAF hospital.
It is all that was left from the first Mirage (A3-1) that crashed on 7 December 1964, one of the first planes of its type to come off the assembly line. When the Royal Australian Air Force bought the French Mirage III in the early 1960s, most of the aircraft were assembled and tested in Australia. Nicknamed ‘the French lady’, Mirage aircraft were often likened to some of the more celebrated traits of their Gallic counterparts, being occasionally unpredictable or illogical, sometimes moody, often spiteful and always expensive to maintain. Despite her faults, she was admired by all who met her, including Tony Svensson OP.
Tony’s hospital recuperation lasted for two and a half years. For the first two days he was in an uneasy unconsciousness and then he slipped into a coma for 10 days.
Sqn Ldr Svensson, on loan from the RAF, was the test pilot in the cockpit on that December day on test flight number 13. Tony’s interest in aircraft started at an early age. He was at PGS from 1943 – 1949 where he was an active member of the school’s Air Training Corps. Upon leaving PGS Tony joined the RAF at Cranwell College as an officer cadet.
Tony wrote a 19 page account of the accident in 1993 in which he described that fateful test flight. He described that when the plane was in a rolling dive or spin, he had meticulously followed the instructions for spin recovery. He wrote “I memorised these instructions and remember them to this day: ‘After spin entry centralise all flying controls; pause; if conditions do not stabilise using the aircraft’s inherent stability apply full in spin aileron (similar to the Javelin). If this does not work DO NOT DESPAIR! but maintain the spin recovery action.’ ”
It was during engine surge testing at approximately 43,000 feet when he was carrying out a manoeuvre he had been ordered to at near the speed of sound that he lost control of the Mirage. Although he had shut off the engine, the plane went straight down, nose first, increasing its speed every second and rolling at the same time. Tony gave this account of what happened next: “For the next 90 seconds I was frantically busy. I kept a running commentary going to the ground station saying what I had done, what had happened to me and what I was trying to do to get the plane out of its downward
Both of his legs had to be re-broken during his hospitalisation so that the bones could be re-set. He injuries meant that he was even unable to claim the prize of a family holiday to the Great Barrier Reef for winning the Melbourne to Sydney Air Race which he had taken part in just before the accident. Neurosurgeons from Melbourne’s Royal Hospital stated that it was only Tony’s fitness that pulled him through. Colleagues would comment that Tony could always be found sitting outside the base hospital at Laverton following the accident in remarkably good spirits talking amiably to passers-by, arms and legs stuck out comically in plaster. The pilot who replaced him, also seconded from the RAF, in his welcoming diningin night, said that he had come out to fill Tony’s hole! That’s all was left of the Mirage. At the end of two and a half years he was finally told that he could go back to flying, not merely to flying but to test-flying and even took up flying helicopters.
plunge. But whatever I did made no difference. The Mirage still went on down increasing its speed every second despite the fact that I had cut off the engine. At 7,000 feet I decided that it was high time to get out and pulled the blind which fires the ejector seat.” His helmet was violently torn off, the contents of his zipped pockets absorbed into the atmosphere and his watch was cleanly ripped off his wrist. The Mirage hit the ground just three seconds later. So late had Svensson left his ejection that he landed only 600 feet away with broken arms and legs and with his spinal column compressed by some two inches. As the rocket-propelled seat lifted him from the cockpit into the cruel supersonic airstream, the leg restraining straps broke and his flailing arms and one leg were badly broken. Squadron Leader Svensson was by now unconscious and broke his one remaining sound leg in two places on landing.
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The plane caused a crater 45 feet wide and 25 foot deep at the point of impact two miles north east of Avalon and a booming supersonic bang was heard for many miles around. As Sir James Martin, the famous British designer of the ejector seat which saved Tony’s life, wrote to him: “Your ejection at 932 miles per hour was by far and away at the highest speed that has ever been recorded.” He was later presented with the Caterpillar Club pin, awarded to all MartinBaker seat ejectees. This unenviable record still stands to this day. The Caterpillar Club pin, awarded to all Martin-Baker seat ejectees.
French influence prevented the Mirage from being employed in Vietnam, and as a result two generations of RAAF fighter pilots never saw a shot fired in anger. However, in view of the appalling FL104 US fighter plane losses in Vietnam, perhaps these same fighter pilots have reason to be grateful that they had a beautiful aircraft to fly if not to fight with. Tony settled in his beloved Devon with wife Pam and son Mark after retirement, but was still determined to feed his thirst for adventure. He set up firstly a pony trekking centre and then a windsurfing school, a pastime at which he excelled and enjoyed immensely. Sadly, Tony passed away in June 2009, but his legacy as a fearless and exceptional test pilot and aviation pioneer lives on nearly half a century later. Of the 12,000 human ejections from aircraft on record, his still remains the one conducted at highest speed. The school Air Training Corps which fuelled Tony’s passion for flying has been replaced by the RAF section of the Combined Cadet Force and continues to inspire young people to take to the skies. This summer a female cadet from PGS was lucky enough to be selected to visit the Red Arrows at RAF Scampton for a tour of the facilities and a unique chance to fly with the world’s foremost aerobatic display team. One thing is for sure, Squadron Leader Tony Svensson would have relished this opportunity.
“ When Tony joined PGS in 1943 the War was at its height. At this time the school was evacuated to Bournemouth. His interest in aircraft soon became obvious. In our first term 12 of us shared the same billet, which had previously been a seaside bed and breakfast. Often Tony would spend time making model aircraft and he collected Sweet Caporal cigarette packets which featured details of allied and enemy aircraft. Many American servicemen were stationed in the Bournemouth area and they happily gave us their empty packets. I am sure that, like myself, Tony witnessed wartime dogfights over Portsmouth and even the wreckage of aircraft in flames (sometimes seen in daylight from the open doorway of an air raid shelter), as well as the aftermath of bombings. In the Bournemouth area there was also a great deal of air activity, but of a very different kind. Squadrons of B17 Flying Fortress bombers of the US Air Force would fly low overhead on missions to attack enemy targets or return to base at Hurn Airport. Tony’s first flying experiences were as a member of the school’s Air Training Corps. They were from local RAF stations at Thorney Island, Middle Wallop and in a huge Sunderland flying boat at Calshott, on Southampton Water. Aircraft aside, Tony had an enormous zest for life generally. One Easter holiday he and I hitch-hiked to Switzerland and arrived back at school a week late! On another occasion, he invited me to come sailing in his tiny dinghy. We set off from Ports Creek, sailed down the harbour on the outgoing tide and made for the Isle of Wight. At one point a huge liner was bearing down on us, sounding the horn furiously. Sensing my concern, Tony said reassuringly, “It’s alright John.... power gives way to sail!”. Considering his adventurous nature, is it any wonder he ended up as a supersonic test pilot?“