33 SA Flyer Magazineinto the front cockpit, wedge his coconut
against the rudder pedal and work with his
hands above his head where he can’t see
what he is doing.
I learned two things from this. First, if
you think there is a strange noise, there is
a strange noise. Next, it seems that, if you
want to do a pre-flight properly, you have
to endanger your life by running the engine
with the cowlings off.
CRUISER CRISIS
The Cruiser had equally profound
lessons for me:
- Don’t risk your life trying to train a
student who doesn’t understand
the only language in which you are
proficient. - Ensure that the student is capable
of following simple instructions. - Make sure the student can read,
and understand, the stick-on
‘Dymo tape’ letters on the panel. - Try to establish whether the
student is half-witted before
climbing into an aeroplane in which
a number of vital controls are
within his reach, but not yours.
I must tell you that this student with
whom I flew the Cruiser was a hell of a nice
guy, and it’s really not his fault that he was
born with less than the normal allocation of
brain cells, taxi-door ears, squiff teeth and
long floppy arms. Poor guy, that is simply
the way he had been kitted out at birth. But
I would enjoy a world in which such people
are not given to me as students.
So I am doing circuits and bumps with
this guy, and they are not going well. While
his body was definitely in the aircraft, his
mind was sitting on a stone in the sun,
chewing a piece of grass.
We were doing a glide approach when
all the cheese-holes became aligned with
the planets.
In a few seconds he had done two
things wrong: He had started the glide too
early, and he had forgotten to use carb-
heat. In those days, most training landings
were from a glide approach that started at
1,000 ft on base.
Now before going on, I should tell you
that the Cruiser has fore-and-aft seating,
like a Cub. The instructor sits in the back
and only has access to three controls: the
stick, the rudder and the throttle. Apart from
this, you can see little more than the back
of the student’s head, unless you loosen
your seat-belt, move forward to peer over
his shoulder.
A Cruiser is huge fun, but not the ideal
training aeroplane.
Anyhow there we were in a glide with
no carb-heat, so the engine was about to
stop. This would be fine if we were going to
make it to the field – but we weren’t.
“Carb heat,” I say.
Nothing happens, so I repeat my
request, louder. I should tell you that in
those days we didn’t use head-sets – we
just shouted. The comparative silence of a
glide approach made comms pretty easy.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t hear me – it just
wasn’t getting through. His mind was still
sitting in the sun chewing grass.
“Carb heat!” I shout, and tap him on theshoulder.
He is made of rubber. His head twists
round 180 degrees, like a turkey, and he
seems surprised to find someone else in his
vicinity.
I point at the panel and repeat my
instruction slowly as if talking to a wayward
infant.
He faces ahead again and yanks out
the mixture. The engine noise ceases, and
the prop slows to a windmill.
“Not that one,” I screech. So he pulls
another knob that works the cabin heat. But
leaves the mixture out.
I seldom shout at a pupe, but this called
for decisive action, so I bellow at him to
push the red knob – the mixture – in.
There is just one other red knob in the
cockpit – it’s the throttle on the left sidewall,
just below the window. So that’s what he
goes for. The only thing that changes is
the expression on his face. Of course the
throttle makes not a damn bit of difference,
because the mixture has killed the engine.
I grab the controls. We skim over the
dirt road and plonk down in a boulder-
strewn area 50 yards short of the runway.
And stop almost immediately.
There is no damage, but I have to get
out and swing the prop to get us to the
numbers – let alone the hangar.ANOTHER CRUISER
And while we are talking about
Cruisers, here’s another quick story about
one in Port Elizabeth, a couple of years
later.
Ian Ritchie, the engineer, had done a
major rebuild on this one. I think I was the
only commercial pilot around then – so the
test-flight was my job.
This time I sat in the front. There was a
southerly wind, so we taxied out to Runway- We went through all the normal pre-
takeoff formalities, and told the tower we
were ready to go. They said okay, so I lined
up and poured on the coal.
There was a brief instant when
everything was going according to the
agenda; then I suddenly got the feeling
I was falling over backwards. This was
indeed the case.
Ian had forgotten to secure my seat to
the floor. My head crashed down on his lap
and my feet got stuck under the panel while
my bum was pushed up by the now vertical
base of the seat.
Ian hauled his throttle back as we
columns
More than the usual rattling was
coming from Mr de Havilland’s
black, oily lump of pig-iron that
powers the Tiger Moth.