H. G. Hawker, airman: his life and work

by Muriel Hawker

The first trouble was the front cross member of the frame, which did not allow sufficient room for the long engine, and for days he debated whether he would cut out the Mercèdes four-speed gear-box and substitute a smaller box of two gears or shift the member. He decided to move the member back, and in the end the frame had so many holes in it that it had the appearance of having been “lightened.” However, he had all the surplus holes filled and the frame strengthened to take the extra weight. Then he got the engine in, and the trouble became the ground clearance, which only amounted to about six inches. The engine was raised a little, and although the oil-sump and fly-wheel seem perilously near the ground, no damage has ever been done. The radiator he obtained off an aeroplane, which he had nickelled, and the propeller-hole filled in with tubes. Then he started with sheets of aluminium to make the bonnet. I became so proficient at riveting that one side was left to me, which I successfully accomplished, though the length of the bonnet, about 7 feet, made it cumbersome to handle. Messrs. C.A.V. made a special starter capable of turning it at a good speed, as it was impossible to start it by hand. I well remember the first evening we started her up. The batteries were so low that the starter would only just turn the motor over. The car was not ready for the road, so we could not tow it, and we were a long time trying all means to start it. At last, with Harry swinging for all his might, helped by what little effort the starter could manage, it started up, but on one side of six cylinders only.

With the deafening roar of an unsilenced aero engine running in the confined space of a shut garage, and with the exhaust filling the air, it became very uncomfortable to me, but not so Harry. He seemed quite content to stand and watch it. Whether he had had secret forebodings as to whether it would ever start, or, having started, whether it would blow itself up, I do not know; but he looked so impressed to see the motor running, although only on one side, that it was quite an effort to leave it to fetch some tools which he needed from the adjoining workshop.

It had been running some time, and not too slowly, when, looking round, I saw the induction-pipe was red hot. I called to Harry to come and stop the engine, but in the din he did not hear, so, rather than waste a second, I stopped the engine. After all the trouble we had had to start it, Harry thought I must be mad, until he saw the induction-pipe creaking and cracking—all the solder run.

For a minute he thought the motor was spoilt, realising that it had been running too long on one side alone.

However, off came the induction-pipe, and the next day it was brazed up and then replaced.

A few days after this saw it out on the road for its first run. It exceeded all expectations both as to speed, flexibility, and especially acceleration, and we returned home covered in mud and home-made glory. Harry had a special aluminium body fitted of his own design, one of the first aluminium bodies seen on the road, and certainly the first real attempt at protection for the rear passengers. For some time we had a good deal of plug trouble. Continually they oiled up through running slowly. Sometimes a good fast run would clear them, but generally they had to be changed, and with twelve sparking plugs this became pretty frequent. The use of special adapters, into which his ever-favourite K.L.G.‘s were fitted, completely solved the difficulty and never has the trouble recurred.

This car became Harry’s most valued possession. In appearance, an ordinary powerful touring car, he loved to try her out against anyone willing for a “go.”

I remember being passed on the Portsmouth Road at a high speed by a 12-cylinder Packhard, driven by a big American. We were not exactly “dawdling” along at the time, and the Packhard came for us, thinking Harry had his foot down. However, following it through the town of Kingston at the staid pace that town demands, but, happily for its finances, does not always obtain, we found the broad straight road of Kingston Hill practically empty of traffic. The American opened out, and the 12-cylinder Packhard is no indifferent “speed model.” He sped away, we following closely, until well on to the hill, when Harry, without need of the rapid change down employed on lesser cars to get away quickly, put his foot down, and with a dig in the back due to the acceleration we shot ahead with half the power to spare.

At the top, the man on the Packhard came alongside and said, “Say, that’s some roadster you’ve got there. What power is she?” To which Harry replied with his usual inoffensive bluntness, “Same as yours. Twelve cylinders, only better ones.” They struck up quite a friendship, the American vowing at parting that he must get something like that to take back to America with him.

Another time, going to town to have it out with some body-works people who had kept a chassis of his an unconscionable long time fitting a body, and getting no satisfactory promise of an early date of completion, Harry told them they could leave it altogether and he would take the chassis home. He had a friend with him at the time who had never driven a car in his life, and knew nothing about such troubles. Well, the car was to be got back somehow, and if this man could not drive it he “could at least,” says Harry, “sit and steer it while I tow you gently.”