Open Cockpit Flying - The Way It Should Be
by Brendan Rogan

As a youngster I always had my head in the clouds. My ambition was to fly and as soon as I could, I joined the local Air Training Corps, 1141 Squadron. It didn't take me long to work out that although the ATC was all about flying, the actual chance to get airborne was somewhat limited.

The allocated flying time was limited to the opportunity about twice a year to get an Air Experience flight at the local University Air Squadron in a Chipmunk Mk10, and these few opportunities were further limited by the fickle Scottish weather that regularly swept high wind and rain across the runway at Edinburgh Airport, or Turnhouse as it was known in the 1970's.
Many times you would turn up for a flight, get kitted up with a 'bum' chute, walk with a waddle, then sit there for hours on end, waiting for the howling wind to stop and praying for a break in the weather. Just imagine what it was like in winter!

But when you did get the chance, boy was it good!
Waddle out to the aircraft, heart thumping, pull yourself onto the wing and somehow get yourself and the parachute into the steel hollowed out seat (the parachute also formed your cushion and you sat on it while flying), and wait for the cartridge to fire up the engine. Magic!

The pilot was talking to you through the headset but it was all garbled and who cared what he was saying. You were going flying! You nodded, gave the thumbs up, the engine roared and soon enough you were lifting off the ground and flying.

The Chippie was a great aircraft and I'm pleased to note that after all these years one of 'my' planes (WB567 / VH-JHN) is now resident in Australia, having a wonderful retirement in Toowoomba, and looking resplendent in full RAF colours by all accounts! Another is spending its retirement in South Africa (WP920 / ZS/OMA) but I have been unable to track the third Chippie that I flew in.

All up I made 3 flights in Chipmunks, 2 flights in an RAF Britannia (Brize Norton - Gibraltar return), a couple of flights in RAF Bulldogs, and other flights in a RAF Vickers Varsity (post war development of the Wellington), RN Percival Sea Prince, RN Sea King and RN Gazelle light helicopter.

The Varsity and the Sea Prince I flew in are now housed at Aero Venture Museum, Doncaster in the UK but they seem to be in poor condition and I think the Varsity has been reduced to a battered cockpit only. The Sea Prince is outdoors and looking fairly sorry for itself.

However, the highlight of my ATC flying career was the gaining of my glider pilots wings whilst flying a Slingsby T31 Kirby Cadet Mk III.

This was true open cockpit flying. Wind in your hair and bugs in your teeth!
The Kirby Cadet Mk III was a tandem, open-cockpit, high wing glider with a timber frame and stretched, doped cloth covering the fuselage and wings.
The student pilot sat in the front seat with the instructor behind, sitting under the wings and directly over the single wheel.

In hindsight, I appreciate that the Instructors must have been a hardy breed. Taking young lads, 17 years of age, into the air in a 'stringbag' glider, and trying to teach them how to fly the thing solo! They must have had nerves of steel.

The single wheel and its position, at the end of the central skid, directly below the instructor was, as I was to learn later, a major source of concern for the instructors well being. Rumour had it, and we certainly believed it to be true, that in a seriously heavy landing there was an excellent chance that the wheel could come adrift from its skid mounted position, and relocate itself somewhere in the Instructors lower abdomen! No wonder they became a bit antsy when you slammed the thing into the deck!
The flying qualities of the Cadet MkIII were also questionable in certain attitudes, most notably the spin, which was generally understood to be unrecoverable after the first two or three seconds. This made the spin recovery lessons extremely short, sharp and to the point!

The rest of the time it just flew like a brick.

All our flying at the ATC flying schools was done by winch launch and the first take-off was something most cadets never forgot!

No parachute this time. We were assured that there wasn't enough height to worry about parachutes, so why bother. You were strapped into the very tight cockpit and the instructor gave you a quick 'tour' of the sparse instrument panel, which chiefly consisted of an altimeter, ASI, rise and fall indicator and slip and turn indicator. However the main 'instrument' was a small cardboard cone that was attached by some string to a small pitot-tube mast in front of the cockpit. This was your primary guide to the airflow and immediately told you if you were slipping and sliding your way through the air instead of gliding through it. Very basic but very effective.
Sometime later I saw a similar piece of 'equipment' on a Royal Navy Gazelle helicopter but in this instance it was used to indicate if the chopper was in a hover by being blasted down the way and showing zero forward movement. Sometimes the simple things are the best!

Back to the first launch. In my case it was a blustery summer day in 1973 at RAF Kirknewton, on the outskirts of Edinburgh. The weather was just kind enough to let us launch and after watching some of my mates get catapulted into the air I was appreciably nervous but excited.

My turn eventually came, and after being strapped in and given the 'tour', a few commands were yelled out by the instructor to the Staff Cadet at the wing tip, there was a jolt, the ground rushed past, we were airborne, then we went ballistic!

With the stick pulled as hard back as he could, the instructor was attempting to gain as much altitude possible off the winch launch. Below us the winch was winding in the cable as quick as it could, or to be correct as fast as we were allowed to fly, and the glider was a kite rather than an aircraft. The nose high attitude was easily in excess of 45û (it felt more like 80û) and with the wind rushing past, it was a pulse-racing experience but at the same time exhilarating, as the ground rapidly fell away below us.
As the 'kite' got to the apex of the climb the speed started to slow and right at the apex there was a heart stopping dive followed by another jolt and a lurch as we released the winch cable. The speed dropped off to walking pace, or so it seemed by comparison to the 'express-elevator' type ride we had just experienced and we carried on in a straight line for a while as nerves and heartbeat settled and a wide grin split my young face.
This was fantastic. What an amazing feeling. The noise had gone, the speed had gone and the fear had all gone. We slowly banked around and the Instructor did his best to tell me what he was doing and where we were in relation to the field.

He passed control to me and I managed to wander about the sky for a bit whilst trying to keep it straight and level. A few turns later and the Instructor had us rushing back to earth. It was all too short and I was desperate to do it again. I only had to wait another fifteen months before I had another glider flight and appreciated it even more this time since I knew what to expect from the heart thumping launch. I managed two flights on my second visit to RAF Kirknewton and I was hooked.
I must admit, that even though I was to go on to do 32 flights in the Kirby Cadet MkIII, the moment of releasing the winch cable, at the top of the climb, was always the moment of most tension. If it were to 'hang-up', and the cable fail to release, you had a very limited set of options to get you back on the deck in one piece.

Time went past, and having just turned 17 years of age I was awarded a place on a weeks intensive gliding course at RAF Syerston in England. It was too good a chance to miss and time off school was quickly organised. A quick train trip later I was settled at AF Newton, where we were to be billeted for the next week, with my new class mates.

RAF Syerston was originally a Second World War bomber base but was then, and still is today, the home of the RAF Central Gliding School.
It was winter and hardly the best time of year for learning how to glide but we weren't to be put off and the first two days were spent in the classroom and in the gliders on the ground, learning all we could about flying the gliders and the procedures and emergency drills.

We were kitted out in flying overalls, which, in time honoured fashion, we wore over our blue, serge, horse-hair uniforms. This was complemented by a scarf, leather gauntlets, soft flying helmet and goggles. Biggles eat your heart out!

On the third day we took to the air and I have to admit that nerves got the better of me and in my first few flights I was struggling to master the basics of straight and level flight. Without the ability to do this there would be no solo flights, no graduation and no 'wings'.

The more I 'hunted' around, trying to fly it straight and level, the worse I became. After a few flights I had mastered the hump, bump, lump and slide but still not the straight and level. My instructor gave me some time off. It was no doubt welcome for both of us.

After lunch my daring-do Instructor decided to take me up again and off we went. Bingo! This time I nailed the art of straight and level flying straight away. How? Who knows? It just came to me and I felt like I had been doing it all my life. It couldn't be easier and we could now get down to the serious business of learning how to fly the aircraft.

Launches, in that cold December air, barely made 1,000 feet of elevation with most flights consisting of a circuit, with a 'rams-horn' (270û) turn at the turn onto the down wind leg and were around five to six minutes duration. However, although the flights were short, and the chance of finding a thermal was zero, you did gain a lot of practice in take-offs and landings.
Emergency drills were practised, including winch failures at low, medium and high levels. This was done by the Instructor releasing the cable without telling you when he was going to do it. The cable gave off a huge 'bang' as it was released and the instructor yelled 'cable-failure', just in case you had failed to notice it.

Since you were at a very high angle of attack, with your nose pointing skyward and airspeed disappearing rapidly, the idea was to get the nose down and airspeed up all in one very swift action!

Of course this was most difficult during the low level winch failure, since a rapid nose down attitude could turn the Kirby Cadet Mk III into a Field Plough MkI, in just a few seconds.

Stalls were demonstrated and practised until the Instructor felt it was time to practice the Spin Recovery. This was probably the least welcome lesson for everyone concerned due to the rapid response time required, and the dire consequences if you should fail.

A spin was initiated by the Instructor slowly pulling the glider into a stall and just before the stall took over, he'd kick in a boot full of rudder and in a split second the aircraft would stop flying and drop like a stone, sideways, out of the air.

As the aircraft went into the spin the instructor would yell, 'Recover' and you immediately kicked in as much opposite rudder as you could whilst aiming the nose to the ground. As soon as the tail came up you then had to haul the nose back before you exceeded the design speed of the aircraft. Recovering from a spin but pulling the wings off was not considered a successful recovery!

The student then got to put himself into a spin and recover it while yelling 'Recover' at the top of his voice. That awful feeling of your stomach departing over your left shoulder, whilst your body plummeted to the right was something that I haven't forgotten.

I never knew how long the Instructor would give you to recover before he intervened but I suspect it wouldn't have been more than a second longer than what you should have done. Luckily my reactions were lightning sharp but I probably over-did the recovery, sticking the glider in a very uncomfortable nose down attitude a couple of times!

There was only one tense moment between myself and my instructor and that was when I totally fouled up one landing. I still don't know exactly what happened but we were hit by a side wind just as we were landing and I got everything totally crossed up. The final ten feet were flown at an angle of approximately 45û to the line of flight and we came down with an almighty thump, followed by a ballooning hop, in which I managed to straighten us up and salvaged a reasonably decent landing at the second attempt.

This did not stop my instructor from taking off his leather flying gauntlets and severely smacking me across the head, several times, as I brought the glider to a standstill. He was yelling as he smacked me, and since I was tightly strapped in, and was busy finishing the landing, there was little I could do apart from accept the repeated clouts on the head from the back-seat!

I suspect he was somewhat concerned about the security of the wheel, as I slammed the aircraft sideways into the deck. The lesson was learnt however, and after that all landings must have been deemed acceptable, since I never got belted on the head again.

Eventually on the second day I was told that I was ready to go solo. It was a terrible day. Very cold, low cloud, occasional rain and very blustery. We were right on the edge of acceptable conditions but we had a whole class to qualify, and each student had to do three solos to gain his wings.

As it turned out I was the first of the class to go solo and it was with a very dry mouth that I listened to my Instructor extract himself from the back seat and wish me luck. Luck! Yesterday I couldn't get it straight and level, today I'm going up on my own! I'd need all the luck I could muster.

A special flag was flown from the control caravan to let the winch operator, at the other end of the airfield, know that the next launch was a solo flight. The aircraft weight was much lighter and the winch speed had to be throttled back accordingly otherwise the safe speed would be exceeded in the climb.

As a parting instruction I was told that if the climb speed was too fast, to yaw the glider from side to side, to let the winch operator know that he was going too fast and he'd slow down.

My concentration was total as I went through the pre-flight checks and the cable was attached to the nose of the glider.

It was time.
"Take up slack" I shouted and the cable slowly snaked itself into a straight line in front of me giving the glider a gentle tug then stopping. "All clear above and behind" I called to the wingman, who was holding the wing level for the short take-off run. "All clear above and behind Sir" came the reply. This was it. "All out" I called and the control caravan lights flashed the order to the winchman some three-thousand feet away.

The glider lurched forward, with a take off run of about 10 feet, I held the stick level for the first 50 feet then pulled back, burying the stick into my stomach. I wanted every scrap of height that I could gain from the launch.
It only took a few seconds for me to comprehend that the launch speed was way too fast, and that the winch operator didn't appreciate that this was a solo flight. I started kicking the rudder bar left and right and yawed my way up the climb. It was all to no effect and the speed did not reduce until the top.

By then I had given up worrying about the speed and just prayed that the wings would stay on, and that the cable would fall away cleanly. I got to the apex, pressed the nose down and pulled the cable release. Twice for good luck.

The cable behaved itself perfectly and fell away on its little parachute. I was off, drifting along all by myself. How good was that!

The wind was very blustery and a river ran along the downwind side of the airfield. As I passed over the top of the river, which had quite steep banks, I felt myself bump along as if I was in a four-wheel drive. Should it be that bumpy at 1,200 feet? I didn't know, I didn't care! I was flying solo and was giving my full concentration on getting this glider, and myself, back on the ground in one piece.

I turned onto downwind, then crosswind, then finals. Airbrakes (spoilers) out and a fast approach, pick your point and fly the glider onto the grass. I came skimming in over the grass. I have never felt all my senses at such a high pitch. I could clearly hear the wheel skimming through the top of the grass before it touched the ground. I held the glider at an altitude of about 3 inches for what seemed like an eternity, airspeed dropping until the wheel finally contacted terra firma and I had a landing run of what felt like 20 feet, if that.

I had done it. I sat there in the cockpit, the glider stopped but perfectly balanced upright on the wheel and the skid. Eventually I leant to one side and the wingtip dropped to the ground.

The bright yellow recovery Land-Rover and trailer, with my Instructor in the back came bumping along to retrieve me. My instructor greeted me with a beaming smile and pumped my hand in congratulations. I think I was in serious danger of splitting my face in two from a hyper-extended smile. It was a great moment.

Next, the glider, with me still strapped in, was loaded onto the trailer for the run back to the launch area.

Two launches later and two successful landings meant I had earned my wings, exactly one week after my 17th birthday. It was a wonderful time and I spent the remainder of the week chasing around acting as ground crew while the rest of the class qualified.

I went on to become a Staff Cadet at the gliding school at RAF Kirknewton and spent many a happy weekend acting as ground crew, helping introduce young, nervous cadets to the joys of open cockpit flying, and occasionally getting in some gliding myself.

I've researched the fate of the four gliders that I flew and what I found was quite interesting. One of 'my' gliders, XN239 (10 flights) is now preserved at the Imperial War Museum, Duxford, another, XA302 (5 flights) is on display at the RAF Museum Hendon and a third, XE799 (12 flights and first solo) is in the Boulton Paul Museum, Wolverhampton. The fourth glider, XE801 (5 flights) is being converted into a powered glider / aircraft in the UK. You can see its 'stable-mate', another converted Kirby Cadet Mk III, G-BZLK, which stars on its own web site at www.ivan.pfanet.co.uk

When I told my children this their reaction was, 'In a museum? Dad, you must be really old!' Sad but true! However, for a young lad it was a great way to spend my time and gave me a love of flying that lasts to this day.