CHAPTER XII
SOME WAR-TIME EXPERIENCES
Testing Production Machines—The Distinguished General and the Camel—The Boredom of Old-Fashioned Transport—And How it was Remedied on One Occasion—Testing a Doubtful Machine—Harry Gives Expert Criticism—And Predicts the Performance of a Four-Engined Aeroplane.
CHAPTER XII
Harry was flying at Brooklands on Saturday, July 4th, 1914, when from a height of 11,000 feet he could plainly discern the Isle of Wight, so good was the visibility. A week later his machine arrived from Australia. He lost no time in assembling the Tabloid, for during the afternoon and on the morrow he gave looping exhibitions on it. These Sunday exhibitions became a regular institution, and Harry’s demonstrations were frequently referred to by the technical Press as the “finest ever seen.”
On Monday, July 13th, Harry flew to Farnborough and back on the Tabloid, certain parts of which had been replaced by modifications since its return from the South. The principal alterations were the application of a lateral dihedral angle to the lower planes and the uncovering of the rear part of the fuselage, the latter feature resembling in some measure the practice adopted by Blériot in his early monoplane designs. These changes were made to improve the suitability of the machine for looping-the-loop.
For looping displays at Brooklands during the period July 13th to 31st, 1914, Harry received bonuses amounting to £30.
Public interest in displays of looping-the-loop was at its zenith about this time, and Harry was kept very busy satisfying the craze, until war was declared. On August 4th, the fateful day, he delivered his pet looper to the Royal Aircraft Factory at Farnborough.
By this time the Commonwealth of Australia had a flying-school in good working order and instruction had begun in earnest. It was generally conceded that the great enthusiasm which the Australians had for flying was largely aroused by the demonstrations which Harry gave there and the pronounced views which he expressed.
So far as the public were concerned, nothing more of Harry’s flying was seen for several months after war was declared, until early in March there arrived at Hendon, after journeying by air, a two-seater tandem Sopwith biplane, a development of the Tweenie and of a size intermediate to the Scout and the standard two-seater: and the pilot was Harry.
The privileged few who saw this businesslike-looking machine gleaned from Harry that it climbed exceedingly well, besides being easy to handle and comfortable to fly. Those who had not had an opportunity to watch Harry’s piloting during the previous few months were particularly gratified to see him coming in from Brooklands at a high speed and exhibiting that brilliancy which characterised his piloting in happier days of looping exhibitions and race meetings.
Harry’s flying visits to Hendon were very frequent about this time, partly because there was a very big training centre of the Royal Naval Air Service there, in charge of the late Commander J. C. Porte, R.N. On one occasion it was noticed he was flying for a long period far beyond the precincts of the aerodrome, and numerous guesses were made as to the cause, ranging from the belief that he had lost his way to another that his engine had stopped and he was floating about, unable to get down! When finally he had landed it was ascertained that he had merely been completing the Admiralty one-hour test of a new machine.
Some say Harry was the first pilot to loop-the-loop on a seaplane. Be that as it may, on a certain spring morning in 1915 he was out testing one of the Tabloids to which floats had been fitted. He described a couple of loops as perfect as any that could be done on a land machine.
Although most of his experience had been gained on high-powered Sopwith biplanes, Harry was always equal to the occasion when it came to flying something of a different order. Thus on a certain Sunday in August, 1915, he made a successful flight on a single-seater Beatty-Wright biplane at Hendon. He was especially struck by the ease of handling and sensitiveness of the controls of this machine, which in a sense was not new to him, for it bore a striking resemblance to the old Sopwith-Burgess-Wright.
On June 6th, 1915, Harry broke the British Altitude Record for pilot alone by ascending to 18,393 feet. This height exceeded the previous record by nearly 4,000 feet.
During April, 1916, Harry had the honour of flying before the King and Queen at Brooklands, on the occasion of a Royal tour of inspection of the Sopwith Works.
The welfare of munition workers during the war when the strain was greatest was of the utmost importance, and no explanation is needed as to why the Sopwith Aviation Company held an athletic sports meeting in the summer of 1917. In the afternoon a Sopwith Camel came overhead, piloted by Harry, who performed what were described as “the most hair-raising stunts ever seen.” At a very low altitude, so that all could see in detail, he carried out loops, side-twists, apple-turnovers, spiral dives, and other evolutions for which names did not then exist. Once or twice the machine swooped down so low that people ducked their heads. Those who recall the giant German Gotha aeroplane exhibited at the Agricultural Hall may remember that it was by a Camel that that particular machine was brought down.
Of Harry’s work as test pilot to the Sopwith Aviation Company during the Great War the best record is contained in his personal log-book, or pilot’s diary, although this is by no means complete and many entries are obscure, for Harry had no love for clerical work.
To reproduce this diary would occupy many more pages than the whole of my book, but the more interesting details and a statistical summary for the period 1914-1916 are not out of place. In the particular book with which I am dealing the first entry was made on July 13th, 1914, and the last on October 20th, 1916. Entries were made relating to flights made on 199 different days during that period. The different machines flown and tested numbered 295, a remarkable record when it is realised that with no more than a dozen exceptions all the machines were brand new and put through their initial tests by Harry.
Places mentioned in his diary as visited by Harry on his testing expeditions include Brooklands, Farnborough, Southampton, Eastchurch, Hendon, Blyth, Killingholme, Yarmouth, Dover, Calshot, Montrose, Dundee, Woolston, Felixstowe, Chingford, Isle of Grain, Lincoln, Kingston, Dunkirk, Villacoublay, Coventry.
Photo by]
[Newspaper Illustrations, Ltd.
OUR HOUSE AT HOOK, SOON AFTER NEWS OF HARRY’S RESCUE FROM THE ATLANTIC.
[Facing p. 174.
Photo by]
[Newspaper Illustrations, Ltd.
HOME AGAIN! HARRY AND GRIEVE AT GRANTHAM STATION, AFTER THE ATLANTIC FLIGHT. MR. SOPWITH IS STANDING IN THE DOORWAY.
[Facing p. 174.
During the war several thousands of Sopwith aeroplanes were supplied not only to the British Government but also to France and other countries; and it not infrequently fell to Harry’s lot to pay flying visits to Villacoublay during the years 1915-1917. On one occasion, while Harry was there, a certain British General—who shall be nameless—came on the scene, full of his own importance and talking loudly of what he knew and of what he did not know. The subject under discussion was the Sopwith Camel, a machine which Harry loved to fly and believed to be well-nigh perfect, despite adverse criticism occasionally directed against it. The General said he had had a good deal of experience of the Camel, and that he found great difficulty in getting the machine out of a spin, which, of course, was a serious matter.
In an undertone to a colleague, Harry said: “I don’t believe he has ever flown one.” He then ordered a Camel to be brought out from the sheds and extended to the General an invitation to make a flight with him. Having carried the “Brass Hat” about 2,000 feet up, he put the machine into a right-hand spin, from which he did not attempt to recover until within but a few hundred feet of the ground. Instead of landing and permitting the General to stand on terra firma, he went up again and repeated the manœuvre, but with a left-hand spin this time. Harry got out of the machine as if nothing untoward had happened. He made no comment; but those who witnessed the incident affirm that the way he looked at the General spoke volumes; and as for the General, well, he suddenly discovered he had to go off and inspect other sheds!
The episode seems not to have ended there, however, for within a day or two the officer in charge of the Villacoublay sheds (the friend to whom Harry had confided in an undertone) was requested to report to the controlling authority there, who made serious complaint and requested him to write a letter of apology, containing assurances “that Mr. Hawker would not do this sort of thing again.” It appears that just before Harry had carried out the stunts with the General there had been an epidemic of crashes through foolish, inexperienced young pilots stunting too near the ground. Harry was therefore chosen as the victim for chastisement, an action which caused him and his friends much amusement.
On one occasion it was necessary for Harry to go over from England to Villacoublay by boat and train, a journey which to anyone, aviator or not, was a miserable proceeding during the war. It is said that he arrived at the aerodrome abusing everything to do with the sea, the ships on it, the French railways, the railway officials, and everything connected with rail transport. Finally he explained that he must have a machine on which to fly back, as it was the only way of getting about in reasonable comfort. How his want was satisfied provides an interesting story.
For some time the French had been in a very parlous state in regard to fighting machines, in consequence of which the Sopwith representatives at Villacoublay applied to the Air Board to let them have a Camel to submit for tests. The request was complied with, and instructions were sent from London to G.H.Q. at Marquise for a Camel to be detached from store and sent to Villacoublay. A quaint old ruin turned up, that had about as many flying properties as a tea-tray: the engine, a subcontracted Clerget, was described as “simply a collection of ironmongery,” and, taking the machine as a whole, it was just possible to stagger about in the air if one knew a lot about flying. Needless to say, the machine was of no use for its intended purpose, namely, for demonstration purposes before the French Government, and in consequence it had been rotting in the sheds for months.
When Harry asked for a machine on which to make his return journey, he was told that this was the only one available, and its history was recounted in detail. Nothing daunted, he went and had a look at it, and, after a few minutes’ examination, he expressed the opinion that as apparently it had some indication of having been an aeroplane, he thought, with care, it might be flown to London; and anyhow, anything was better than boats and trains. He took the machine up and found it unsafe to fly in its existing condition, for the engine very nearly came out of its fixings.
As it happened, there were one or two experimental Sopwith 1½ Strutter biplanes, the property of the French Government, in the sheds, and as the authority in charge decided that something very serious might occur if Harry did not fly back, he ordered the engine from one of these machines to be installed in the decrepit Camel.
Harry set out for England in the Camel next morning in filthy weather, but it was not he who had the “hump,” for those at Villacoublay had intermittent spasms of what they called “heart disease” during the next twelve hours, as they could get no news of his safe progress or arrival.
Really, they said, they had not the least anxiety, for they had unbounded confidence in what they described as Harry’s uncanny capacity for getting out of trouble. Nevertheless, there were considerable expressions of relief when news turned up that he had landed safely. During the flight he had three forced landings owing to failure of petrol feed; and he pulled out sundry odd bits of inner tube and rubber piping from his tank. How they ever got there was never discovered, but Harry regarded it as all in a day’s work, and a subject of amusement rather than annoyance.
Mr. Alan R. Fenn, a colleague of Harry’s and French representative of the Sopwith Company at that time, to whom I am indebted for some of these reminiscences, in a recent letter to me wrote:
“One other little thing that occurs to me is concerned with the Dolphin. You will remember that we converted the 200 h.p. Hispano-Dolphin to take the 300, and this work was done in Paris, all more or less by rule of thumb. I then asked Harry to come over and look the job over and fly it, if he thought well, and generally to see if it was all right.
“This was an extremely important matter, not by any means solely from the point of view of the Sopwith Co., but much more from the point of view of the French and American Armies in the field, who had then no fighting machines coming forward for the 300 Hispano at all.
“When Harry arrived and I pointed out to him that he must not be too particular, explaining to him the very serious position of matters, he did not hesitate for a moment, but took the machine straightaway in the air, and as there was some little question as to its strength, he gave it a thorough good rolling, spinning, and diving, just to make quite sure it was all right.
“It was so characteristic of the man in showing his complete absence of fear, even when there might be a doubt in his mind as to the capabilities of the machine. As a matter of fact, when this machine was stressed, it was found to be very seriously weak, and before it was put into production it was, of course, stiffened up.
“There is one other characteristic little incident that occurred as illustrating his outspokenness when he knew a machine was not right.
“I took him to the sheds of a certain very famous designer and constructor at Villacoublay to show him the new machine which had just been offered for test to the Technical Section of the French Government, and was supposed to be going to do all sorts of wonderful things.
“It was a weird affair, and its designer and constructor happened to be in the shed at the time. Harry had a careful look over the whole machine and made one or two caustic comments to me. I then introduced him to the designer, who was a fairly tall man, and Harry, looking at him squarely with his brown eyes, enquired which way up the machine was intended to fly!
“It was a tense moment, but Harry’s obvious sincerity completely disarmed the designer, and they went into a discussion of the pros and cons. Unfortunately I have no capacity for describing incidents of this sort, but it really was very comic, for it never occurred to Harry that his remark might cause offence: the design was wrong, and that’s all there was to it!
“I need hardly say he was correct in his views, as the machine never did anything except kill a couple of people: which was what Harry said it would do.
“On another occasion there was a big four-engined Blériot. Harry was on the field when this machine crashed at its first flight. The pilot, I believe, was paid one thousand francs for every minute he remained in the air. Harry was aghast at the whole machine and that it should ever go into the air. He foretold precisely what happened when it was flown.
“The tail twisted off, and the machine, after falling like a stone, caught fire.
“Harry’s visits were very much looked forward to at Villacoublay, and among the French pilots he was a source of considerable admiration for the brilliancy of his work and his profound knowledge of air work generally. Everybody turned out when they got to know that Hawker was in the air.”