OT: The hazards of being an aircraft technician
May 27, 2020 0:20:09 GMT -6
dorn and akosjaccik like this
Post by cv10 on May 27, 2020 0:20:09 GMT -6
I was reading the memoirs of a FAA fighter pilot named Mark Crosley, and he recalled an incident that is stranger than fiction. At the time, he was stationed in the Orkneys when Lt. David Wilkinson landed from HMS Furious with an unauthorized passenger on his plane:
“For 15 minutes, Leading Air Mechanic James Edward Overed, 35, FAA technician, who had been swept off the deck of an aircraft carrier, clung to the tail of a Seafire. Here is his own story:
The aircraft carrier was operating in home waters on a cold windy day with a snowstorm likely to break at any moment. We had headed out to sea at about 1100. The snowstorm had already begun and, with a hurricane blowing, we could hardly stand on the flight deck. When the order came over the loudspeaker the aircraft were duly ranged and placed into flying position, with the air mechanics standing by their respective kites. I was responsible for Lt Wilkinson’s and he was first off. The planes were all being ‘run-up’ as the ship turned into wind, and a terrible wind it was, too. Lt Wilkinson’s plane was running at a fast tick-over, warming up before the full-power check. He gave the signal for two men to lie on his tail, while he revved up to full power.
This task was done by another rating and myself. We both lay prone on the tailplane, he on the port side and me on the starboard, and we waited for the pilot to open up. After a while, the other rating got off to remind the pilot that we were waiting for him to open up. Then the fun began. The pilot opened up his throttle to full boost and up came the tail. I knew this had happened but still thought he was doing the full-power check. Then, the aircraft started to move forward but I had no feeling of forward motion. The terrific slipstream plus the hurricane was doing its utmost to remove me from the tail. The only grip I had was at the elevator hinge, so with this and my legs swinging in mid-air, I held on.
I had a feeling that the tail had come down on the deck again and I got ready to get off at any second. I had my eyes closed, but on opening them I saw to my horror that the carrier was below and astern and that we were just passing over the top of a cruiser underneath. I hung on like glue . . . I thought of my wife and daughter . . . I thought my number was up. I was tempted to let go when I saw the cruiser, for he might rescue me if he was watching, but decided to hang on. After about 15 minutes or so, I heard a reduction in engine revs and I prepared for a crash landing, not knowing where I was. The runway (at Hatston) was white with snow so I thought he was crashing in a field so I pulled my legs up in order not to have them trapped under the fuselage. After landing I did not remember anything more until I ‘came to’ inside the ambulance.
I was told afterwards that the pilot removed me and placed me upon the snow and covered me with his flying coat and put his Mae West under my head for a pillow . . . Next morning the pilot visited me in hospital, and though I was too full of admiration for his skill to speak, he said: ‘Good show, jolly good show’."
“For 15 minutes, Leading Air Mechanic James Edward Overed, 35, FAA technician, who had been swept off the deck of an aircraft carrier, clung to the tail of a Seafire. Here is his own story:
The aircraft carrier was operating in home waters on a cold windy day with a snowstorm likely to break at any moment. We had headed out to sea at about 1100. The snowstorm had already begun and, with a hurricane blowing, we could hardly stand on the flight deck. When the order came over the loudspeaker the aircraft were duly ranged and placed into flying position, with the air mechanics standing by their respective kites. I was responsible for Lt Wilkinson’s and he was first off. The planes were all being ‘run-up’ as the ship turned into wind, and a terrible wind it was, too. Lt Wilkinson’s plane was running at a fast tick-over, warming up before the full-power check. He gave the signal for two men to lie on his tail, while he revved up to full power.
This task was done by another rating and myself. We both lay prone on the tailplane, he on the port side and me on the starboard, and we waited for the pilot to open up. After a while, the other rating got off to remind the pilot that we were waiting for him to open up. Then the fun began. The pilot opened up his throttle to full boost and up came the tail. I knew this had happened but still thought he was doing the full-power check. Then, the aircraft started to move forward but I had no feeling of forward motion. The terrific slipstream plus the hurricane was doing its utmost to remove me from the tail. The only grip I had was at the elevator hinge, so with this and my legs swinging in mid-air, I held on.
I had a feeling that the tail had come down on the deck again and I got ready to get off at any second. I had my eyes closed, but on opening them I saw to my horror that the carrier was below and astern and that we were just passing over the top of a cruiser underneath. I hung on like glue . . . I thought of my wife and daughter . . . I thought my number was up. I was tempted to let go when I saw the cruiser, for he might rescue me if he was watching, but decided to hang on. After about 15 minutes or so, I heard a reduction in engine revs and I prepared for a crash landing, not knowing where I was. The runway (at Hatston) was white with snow so I thought he was crashing in a field so I pulled my legs up in order not to have them trapped under the fuselage. After landing I did not remember anything more until I ‘came to’ inside the ambulance.
I was told afterwards that the pilot removed me and placed me upon the snow and covered me with his flying coat and put his Mae West under my head for a pillow . . . Next morning the pilot visited me in hospital, and though I was too full of admiration for his skill to speak, he said: ‘Good show, jolly good show’."
