bentley priory - Spink

September 6, 2012 - LONDON
Pilot Officer should be nicknamed “Boy” by his fellowofficers.
But the name did not stick. Young as he was, there
was a certain quiet determination in his manner, and a
steadfastness in the gaze of those blue eyes that soon made
them think of him as more than just a boy.’
He won the respect of the men who serviced the aircraft.
Here was a pilot who asked shrewd questions, and whose
criticisms were always constructive. This young pilot officer
was no flying-club-week-ender to be turned aside with
smooth answers, or a bit of technical double-talk.’ (ibid)
Rawnsley, then aged 32, had originally joined 604 Squadron
as an Aircraft-hand; his dream had always been to be a
member of aircrew; however, his advanced age and
diminutive stature stood against him; he changed roles and
through a lot of hard work became an air gunner in
September 1937; as the junior air gunner in the squadron he
was crewed up with the youngest pilot - this suited
Cunningham and Rawnsley perfectly.
At roughly the same time Captain de Havilland’s eldest son
Geoffrey became the Company’s Chief Test Pilot, ‘at this
time Geoffrey and his small test-pilot team of George Gibbins
and Guy Tucker had an almost impossible workload.
Production lines were turning out Tiger Moths, Queen Bees,
Rapides and Oxfords... Captain de Havilland was well aware
of John Cunningham’s growing flight experience, and that
the Company was becoming seriously short of test pilots.
He suggested to John that he’d like him to help out by testflying
the Moth Minors. This machine was at the production
stage, and John had done a considerable amount of work in
developing the prototype... he realised that specialised design
and engineering work were not for him. His ambition was to
become involved in the manufacture of aircraft, or, better
still, in flight-testing... He could not have wished for
anything more than to have the opportunity of becoming the
fourth member of the D.H. test team.’ (ibid)
An Early Taste For Night Flying
Prior to the outbreak of the Second War Cunningham took
every opportunity to be airborne, ‘he enjoyed flying the
Hawker Demon at night with his air gunner in the rear
cockpit. They went up only when the weather conditions
were good, and they could see the conurbation of London lit
up like a giant Octopus, with the Thames running through
the centre. ‘You could see where you were,’ he said, ‘picking
up the river and identifying the major roads leading out. I
could always spot the Edgware Road - originally built by the
Romans, it was dead straight for miles - and then the paraffin
flares just east of that road at the aerodrome. The demon was
nice to fly at night, and it was the only time when a pilot had
to attend to his instruments.’ (ibid)
Rawnsley had been inspired by the Air Aces of the Great War,
for Cunningham it was all about the aircraft and the
engineering, not heroics but the machine itself and his
dedication to improving the symbiosis between pilot and
machine; having been mobilised at the time of the Munich
Crisis, September 1938, Cunningham recalled that, ‘War was
fast approaching, and we were given the Blenheim with a tray
of four machine-guns underneath, where the bomb bay had
been. “There you are”, they said, “you now have a night
fighter.” We had no radar and, although the machine was
pleasant to fly, I realised that we stood little chance in
combat. We all knew how active the Germans had been in
Spain, and how well the Messerschmitt Bf 109 had
performed.’ (ibid)
Down To Earth With A Bump
Work was progressing well at de Havilland and Cunningham
was testing both the Moth Minor and the Hornet Moth; at
the start of 1939 he had nearly completed flight-testing the
Moth Minor and Cunningham asked the Chief Test Pilot to
take it up for his opinion, ‘he reacted somewhat impatiently
to John’s suggestion, saying that he was far too busy.
However, John persevered, repeating that he was only a
junior, and that Geoffrey ought to fly it himself before
launching it into the world. Later Geoffrey acquiesced, and
suggested that he should do the aft-centre-of-gravity
spinning tests, with John accompanying him to provide a
representative load... Having reached a compromise, the two
test pilots climbed into the Moth Minor on 11th April 1939,
to carry out spinning tests. The prototypes had had an antispin
parachute fitted before spinning programmes were
carried out, but recoveries had always been achieved without
recourse to this safety device. The standard production
machine they were flying, however, naturally had no such
safeguard.
They took off, with John in the rear cockpit, and climbed to
about 8,000 feet, where Geoffrey initiated a left-hand spin,
completing eight turns before the textbook recovery. They
climbed back to 8,000 feet, where Geoffrey put her into a
right-hand spin. During the first revolution the engine
coughed and stopped, and simultaneously the nose reared up
and she went into a flat spin. She whizzed round rapidly but
with a slow rate of descent, like a sycamore leaf, resulting in
a total loss of control. After a few turns of this unpleasant
state of affairs Geoffrey spoke into the Gosport tube, the
primitive intercom, saying that he was getting no response
from the controls and asked John to try. John could not
achieve anything and suggested that they both jump.
Geoffrey agreed, and told him to go right away.
The ground was revolving fast, and coming up to meet them
when John hauled himself out of the cockpit. He watched
Geoffrey get out and, he thinks, pulled his own ripcord while
standing on the wing. The chute blossomed and whipped
him clear of the aeroplane as, simultaneously, the Moth
Minor dropped its nose and recovered from the flat spin! The
propeller then started windmilling, which got the engine
going because they had not switched off the ignition before
baling out. The aircraft began turning around the descending
pilots, with the danger of either of them drifting into it.
Fortunately the Moth Minor was coming down fairly quickly
and bade them adieu before crashing into a large oak tree
near Wheathampstead and bursting into flames.
John remembered coming down rather sharply... He landed
near the rapidly burning wreckage, and, having collected
himself, he fished out his camera, and took a photo of the
wreckage, and of his parachute neatly laid out on the ground.
Such a reaction from someone who had just baled out in dire
emergency - few had in those days - was quite remarkable,
and reveals what a cool, calm character he was.
Collecting up his parachute, and tucking it under his arm, he
saw a lady on a horse approaching and recognised Jean
Paterson, daughter of the owner of the land. ‘Are you all
right Can I help’ she asked. ‘No harm done - nothing
broken’, he said. ‘I’m going to walk across the field to the
road’. He knew that he would find Geoffrey in the nearby
Crooked Chimney, so he thumbed a lift and a passing car took
him there.
Sure enough, there was Geoffrey surrounded by various
colleagues. It was evident that the crowd had the same hunch
as to where they would find Geoffrey, and a few drinks were
consumed. After chatting about their good fortune, and the
behaviour of the aeroplane, John recalls Geoffrey saying
something like, ‘Oh God, now we’ve got a job to do. You’d
better get on with it. That’ll keep you busy’. (ibid)
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