Pilot UK - April 2015

I signal to the crew chief and then operate

the starter switch alongside. The airframe

lurches as it twists in reaction to the

tremendous torque of the motor and then

shivers again as the first few pots fire.

With my right hand, I turn on the mags

(switches on the forward left cockpit wall,

ahead of the quadrant) and then reach

under my left hand to put the mixture to

auto lean. The engine now erupts into a

cacophony of pops and blats, quite literally

roaring into life. The sound is spellbinding

with the canopy half open−and I’m

wearing earplugs and a bone dome! No

wonder that most of the WWII pilots I

have met are hard of hearing. I release the

start switch and place the guard over it,

check oil for pressure rising, wind the

canopy forward, switch on the alternator

and avionics master, raise the flaps and

signal the crew chief that I’m ready to taxi.

The instructor is doing the radio for me

to reduce the workload so I can spend my

time concentrating on weaving that

beautiful nose and looking for obstacles.

The rudder pedals are as massive as you’d

expect but offer smooth, progressive

toe-operated brakes. (Some Mustangs are

fitted with bigger P-63 Airacobra brakes,

but with these you have to take care not to

stand the ‘Stang on its nose.) You can

steer through five degrees either way and

negotiate the majority of taxiways without

touching the brakes but for sharper turns,

set the pedals to the neutral position and

then push the stick all the way forwards to

lift the locking pin out of a disc atop the

tailwheel, allowing it to castor. This gets

the instructor’s attention−our aircraft just

turned into a four-ton supermarket trolley,

going backwards. It’s still manageable but

you mustn’t let a swing develop. (Just like

taking off and landing, then.)

As we get to the end of the taxiway a

bunch of elderly golfers on the adjacent

golf course stop what they are doing, take

off their caps and stand up straight. As if

I don’t already know it, it hits me right

between the eyes what this aeroplane

represents−along with the our own

Hurricanes and Spitfires, the P-51 played a

major part in winning WWII. (Even sitting

here writing this a few days later and

remembering the look on those old chaps’

faces, I have to admit I’m welling up. You

probably think I’m sentimental, but you

weren’t at that golf course.)

The engine run-up is a premonition of

what’s to come. We line up into wind−

important, because it really will overheat if

you don’t−and open up to 2,300rpm. The

noise lever has already done its work−I

can barely think straight as I exercise the

prop and check the mag drop, then clunk

roomier than a Spitfire’s−but nothing is

more than an arm’s length away. If the

gun sight was fitted you would probably

have just banged your head on it. Without

it the view forwards and outside is

impressive−better than a T-6 and better,

looking forwards, than a Spitfire. The

British and American fighters are both

powered by almost identical, tightly

cowled Merlins but the Mustang sits at less

of an angle than the Spitfire because its tail

is higher off the ground.

OK, let’s get started. I reach forwards

and right to find the battery switch on the

horizontal panel by my right thigh, check

battery voltage and the fuel gauges on the

floor each side of the seat. (In typical

1940s US ‘Pursuit ship’ style, the fuselage

sits on top of a single-piece wing, its upper

surface forming the cockpit floor.) To my

left is the throttle quadrant: I want the

throttle an inch open (to confirm this, I

stick my finger in the gap behind the lever

and the rear of the gate−a tip from

9,000hr man Lee), with the prop lever

fully forward and mixture set to cut-off.

Under the throttle quadrant are the

switches that operate the oil cooler and

radiator doors underneath the aircraft−

one at a time, I flick them up to auto and

listen for the motors winding the doors

shut beneath me. Then I operate one of

the toggle switches at the left base of the

instrument panel to prime the Merlin−

eight seconds for a cold engine on a

standard day, none at all for a hot engine

on a warm day.

Beyond the PPL | Mustang Conversion

26 | Pilot April 2015 http://www.pilotweb.aero

There are plenty of PPL-holders flying

Mustangs. Ideally they will have

started their tailwheel conversion

with something like a Cub or

Chipmunk and graduated onto the

T-6 (or SNJ). In the UK you can hire

these at White Waltham, Goodwood

and Headcorn — and if you get a

chance fly something hot like a Pitts

S-2, Extra, Sukhoi, RV-6,-7 or -8,

take it!

You could go straight to Stallion 51

and start on their T-6 (obviously if

you are low-time don’t expect to

jump straight in the back of a

Mustang and automatically graduate

to the front seat after the first flight.)

My top tip would be to contact the

UK T-6 operators first and experience

what it’s all about.

Average time for the full Stallion 51

course is around twelve hours, taking

the front seat after two rides. I’m

lucky to have a lot of tailwheel time

on high-performance aeroplanes, so I

did it in nine and a bit hours — but I

went up one last time to fly in

formation with my friend, Spitfire

pilot Sam Whatmough in the two

Crazy Horses. After 37 years, 13,000

hours and 250 types logged this was,

by a considerable margin, the best

flight — and the best two weeks — of

my life.

ME TOO?

Uniquely, Stallion 51 operates

a pair of two-seat Mustangs

PHOTO: MATT GENUARDI