大象传媒

A Test Flight Crash

It was early in 1942, together with several hundred of my contemporaries within the RAF, we were hustled aboard the French luxury liner Louis Pasteur for transportation to Canada. Although unaware at the time, we were all to become part of what was to be known as 鈥淭he Commonwealth Air Training Scheme鈥�. Because of unsuitable conditions existing in England at the time the training of RAF aircrew was moved to such places as Rhodesia, Canada and the USA.

It became my lot to be posted to No.36 SFTS (Service Flying Training School) at a small outpost named Penhold, some ten or twelve miles from the city of Red Deer, a small town on the prairies in the province of Alberta. Number 36 SFTS was a pilot training school to familiarise aircrew with the handling of twin engine aircraft so enabling their onward promotion to Bomber Command.

We were equipped with Airspeed Oxford Aircraft, of wood and skin construction fitted with two Cheetah X engines. Whilst not a very robust construction they were ideal for their task and flew constantly for many hours with only routine inspection. The major overhaul of the oxford was executed every 240 flying hours at which time engines were removed and stripped down and the airframe was thoroughly examined for stress fracture, major examination and the incorporation of special modifications.

All inspections including D/I (Daily Inspections) were carried out in special heated hangars during the winter months as blizzard conditions existed and temperatures could drop to 60 degrees below zero giving 92 degree frost! I can assure you there were many unusual and freak accidents when final adjustments were made in the arctic conditions that existed on the tarmac engine tuning pads.

To enable flying to take place in winter months, a fleet of tractors and massive rollers constantly compressed the snow on the runways so enabling aircraft to make reasonably safe landings and take-offs. The Flying School comprised one Maintenance Wing and three flights, A Flight, B Flight and C Flight, an administration wing and a hutted encampment comprising Headquarters, Officers quarters, NCO and other ranks quarters, dining rooms, Chapel, NAAFI and Canteen. All these respective units were of wooden structure and each surrounded by a huge moat like ditch to absorb melting snows in the spring of each year.

Although perhaps not relevant to this story I have included this foreword to give a basic insight into conditions at the School.

As I recall, it was in the January of 1943 that I, as a junior NCO Fitter E(Engine Fitter) was called upon to fly with an aircraft that had just completed a 240 hour major overhaul. All work had been completed, a daily inspection carried out and the aircraft cleared and signed as airworthy. A qualified pilot instructor had been allocated to flight test the aircraft and as technical NCO in charge of overhaul and daily inspection I was appointed to fly with the aircraft as flight test engineer.

In cooperation with the pilot it was our joint duty to fly the aircraft on a given course and to check all system e.g. instruments, flaps, undercarriage, stall checks, fuel consumption, oil pressures, oil temperatures, air speed indicator, cabin heating circulation etc. As the first flight of the day the pilot also had instruction to carry out a full daily weather check. Prior to take-off the pilot had been handed a poor weather forecast by our station meteorological office, and a suitable flight plan had been briefed to avoid the bad weather.

After executing all pre-flight checks we taxied to our relevant take-off position, awaited green light clearance from the flight control tower and made a normal though somewhat bumpy take-off. Undercarriage was raised and locked, flaps set and trimmed, our flight path schedule was set and settled down for a routine test flight. The pilot was in constant touch by R/T with the control tower and having reached 3,000. Ft., we made several instrument checks and found all to be well. Having satisfied ourselves that all instruments were functioning, and flying controls were satisfactory, the pilot informed me that he wanted me to switch off the port engine at a given signal, and that he would fly for one minute using only the starboard engine. After relevant control adjustment the engine was duly switched off and the necessary exercise executed all went well and a similar exercise was executed for the starboard engine. We exchanged the thumbs up sign and then I became very apprehensive as the pilot informed me he was going to execute the stall test.

We made an excellent recovery from our stall test and the pilot in his exhilaration decided to 鈥渟hoot up鈥� a few fir trees to relax himself and it was agreed we would make for home. Our joint exhilaration was short lived, however, when we discovered that our compass had become unserviceable, and the pilot was having some difficulty contacting base. Releasing my harness I walked aft to midships and put my head up into the astrodome. I could observe that the R/T aerial had come adrift from its mounting point at the forward staff, and was lashing about dangerously close to the aircraft tail/rudder assembly.

I informed the pilot of the situation and he in turn told me that all communication with base had been lost. He then pointed to the compass, the needle of which was flailing in all directions, gave me the thumbs down followed by a look of complete bewilderment. After our various air tests and a series of aerobatics neither of us had a clue as to our whereabouts. All we knew was that we were flying over a densely wooded are near some foothills. The weather had closed in, a strong wind had risen and visibility was decreasing rapidly.

Meanwhile, the compass was doing everything except function in a normal manner and to make matters worse it started to snow. Fortunately, our fuel situation was quite good and we had several more hours of daylight, but the problem was to discover where we were and how to get back to our airfield.

The pilot worked frantically to make the radio operate, but without success, and we had to agree we were hopelessly lost. The compass did nothing but completely confuse us, and the snow was now falling quite heavily.

We worked on several theories to help us to try to obtain a bearing on our return flight, but everything seemed against us. The visibility problem was now quite serious and we were forced to gain some height because of the ever increasing density of the trees and undulating terrain. The pilot had by now become extremely concerned for our safety and I must admit I was more than anxious to be back on terra firma. The situation deteriorated rapidly, visibility in the storm was almost zero, ice was building upon the wing leading edges, oil pressures were rising and there was still no compass or radio contact. The pilot decided to climb up to try and lift out of the storm, but thoughts went to the conservation of fuel plus the fact conditions were not improving.

At this stage of the proceedings, the altimeter was constantly fluctuating in its reading, and the pilot confirmed that this was due to the constantly changing terrain beneath us.

We were lost, we were cold and we were now quite concerned, everything seemed to have turned against us. There was now almost a complete 鈥渨hite out鈥� , visibility was zero, the D/F compass was dancing madly, our fuel was down to one quarter capacity. I was nervous to a point of feeling quite sick, the pilot was intensely worried and we were going precisely nowhere.

The pilot suggested I move midships to the wireless operator鈥檚 desk and harness myself into that position thus enabling me to make an occasional visit to the astrodome to view what was now an impossible situation.

The pilot signalled to me ensure that I was safely harnessed into my radio operator seat, then he indicated that he was going to take the aircraft down.

I am certain that my internal anatomy went through a changing process; my mouth, my stomach was near my boots, I think one can summarise the situation by stating I was now scared stiff! Although I could not read his mind, the pilot appeared full of self-confidence; he made a quick survey of all the instruments, gave the aircraft a few degrees of flap, lowered the undercarriage and started to edge the control column forward.

I was rigid in my seat, I felt terribly sick, looking forward at nothing except a blanket of white, no trees, no hills, no grass, nothing except a white blob 鈥� it was terrifying. It seemed never ending, down, down, down, down into nothing. When was it going to end, how was it going to end? The pilot throttled back as far as it was safe to do, down, down, down, how much further and into what?

I felt a sharp crack beneath my feet, the undercarriage had hit something, the pilot pulled the aircraft up, and he had felt it also. On, on, on, down, then another crack beneath my feet.

Then it happened鈥�. It was as if an unseen hand pulled the aircraft down. The wooden propellers disintegrated, perspex screens and windows splintered everywhere, I was thrown forward and downward in my harness, the pilot slumped forward in his harness and the whole aircraft was torn asunder tilting first to port then to starboard. Tree branches tore through the frail canvas and wood structure and the engines screamed to a point of seizure. There was utter confusion, wood canvas, pieces of tree, snow, perspex and a terrible biting cold wind all around; oil, hydraulic fluid, blood and the most dreaded of all smells鈥�.. petrol.

I was in a complete state of shock. My harness had kept me secure but my hands and face were scratched and torn by the pieces of flying perspex and wood from the fuselage and trees. The aeroplane had come to rest at the most obtuse angle; I was literally hanging in my harness unable to witness anything outside except masses of snow and green trees. I called to the pilot who was in his harness but slumped over the control with both arms hanging limply in front of him. I again called to the pilot and received no reply, I realised I had to do something, no matter what our position.

I think I began to panic; the pilot looked in a bad way. I was suspended by my harness and could not put my feet on anything solid. It was freezing cold and there was that constant smell of petrol. I glanced at the co-pilot鈥檚 seat which the pilot had told me to vacate. It had been torn from its mounting and a broken tree branch had penetrated the aircraft just about where I would have been seated.

I struggled to free myself, completely forgetting the harness quick release buckle and I began to swear profusely. I screamed for help (I have many times since wondered why) and I truly began to lose my nerve.

A chance glance at the pilot brought me to my senses again and I realised I had to do something quickly and on my own. I wedged my feet into the airframe superstructure, took my weight by holding a tree branch that had penetrated the aircraft above my head and pressed the harness quick release button. Nothing! I kicked and screamed and pressed and twisted the harness quick release.

The next thing I recall, I had fallen forward and was wedged between the co-pilot鈥檚 seat and the dual control column. I looked up to see blood dripping onto my face and I thought 鈥淥h, God now what have I done!鈥� I had not done anything, the blood was dripping from the face of the pilot but I could not see what injury he had received.

I managed to free myself and in so doing, saw from the instrument panel that all electrical switches were in the 鈥淥n鈥� position and main power was 鈥淥n鈥�. I switched 鈥淥ff鈥� all the switches I could see and touch and was again terrified by the smell of petrol. I still do not realise how I managed it, but I did manage to stand in a reasonable upright position, lifted the pilot鈥檚 head to see a severe gash above his right temple. Without giving the matter sufficient thought, I released his harness safety control and the two of us crashed down only to be pinned between the two control columns. Fortunately I fell uppermost so was able to extricate myself and be of some assistance to the pilot.

I can only assume that in the initial crash the pilot must have knocked himself unconscious, for after his second fall with me he regained consciousness, and was able to converse with me. He complained of terrible head and neck pain and told me he felt terribly sick. Between us we extracted ourselves from the cramped positions we found ourselves in and lay for a while, not on the floor of the aircraft but on the port side of the aeroplane which proved to be the flattest horizontal position available. After gaining my second wind, I scrambled toward the tail end to open the first aid hatch and retrieve the Red Cross Kit stored inside. Using the contents to the best of my ability I cleaned the pilot鈥檚 head wound, applied some sterilised coagulant and dressed the wound with a bandage. And he had obviously suffered a mild concussion; I was dubious about him taking analgesics so made no attempt to offer them. As for myself, with the aid of a polished metal mirror supplied with the first aid kit, I managed to remove several pieces of perspex that had penetrated my head and face and cleaned the wounds with surgical spirit.

The storm had increased in intensity and despite our warm clothing we were both feeling terribly cold. We did at last have some protection from the bitterly cold wind, but the snow penetrated every available orifice. Although shocked, freezing cold and with slight injuries we thought seriously about food and warm drinks, but thinking was about as far as we were able to proceed. We discussed our predicament and confirmed that all necessary action and precautions had been taken then we tried to make some plan.

We were both quite weak and in a state of shock, cold, hungry and very weary, to make any plans was out of the question, in the first place we were unaware of our surroundings, we were quite unfamiliar with the terrain and above all we had absolutely no idea where were or even how far we were from any type of assistance.

The pilot insisted he was tired and wanted to sleep, but I recalled in the distant past someone had told me never to let a patient sleep if he had suffered a blow to the head, so I constantly thought of all things we should do in order to keep the pilot awake. As we clambered about taking pieces of wood and canvas from one place to keep out the cold wind from other places, the pilot suddenly looked me full in the face, smiled and said,

鈥淪 and R鈥�.

I was quite confused, was it the blow to his head, was he becoming delirious? 鈥淪 and R鈥� what was he talking about? What was he trying to say? And why was he smiling?

鈥淪 and R鈥�, he said again. 鈥淭he S and R beacon, was it working?鈥�

It was the pilot鈥檚 prerogative to think of such things; it had not even crossed my mind. The search and rescue beacon should operate automatically in the event of a crash; I had not even considered it in all the confusion.

鈥淥h God,鈥� I muttered to myself, 鈥減lease let it be working!鈥�

I looked toward the tail section, or rather what was remaining of the tail section, quite honestly not knowing in the least what I expected to see. I knew where the equipment was fitted but not being an electrician and not ever having any technical reason to handle or maintain the beacon I was quite unfamiliar with it. It transpired that if the beacon was operating it would be emitting a small red intermittent light and a combined bleep signal. We both looked and listened, but we were unlikely to know what the weather conditions were outside the aircraft. The wound dressing on the pilot鈥檚 head was showing signs of blood permeating though, so I placed a pad of cotton wool over the wound area and applied a second dressing. The pilot felt quite 鈥淕roggy鈥� so, placing my parachute pack in the most suitable space I could find, I suggested he rest and use the parachute as a head rest.

The entry/exit door which was positioned mid fuselage aft of the wing trailing edge, had been torn from its hinges, so venturing forth, I started my search for the S and R beacon. The doorway was now at floor level, the aircraft having come to rest on its port side so it was now a question of what lay beneath the doorway and could I get out?

On looking around I came to the conclusion that we had come down in a densely wooded area and that the aircraft, was suspended in the trees some feet from the ground. It was bitterly cold and I felt quite nauseated, but we had to do something. Exactly what, I was not quite sure. Cont..

Extracted from Per Ardua Pro Patria by Dennis Wiltshire - ISBN 1-873203-50-0

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