Flying Visit To An Australian Aircraft-carrier
Oct 17, 2023 9:59:27 GMT 12
skyhawkdon and mcmaster like this
Post by Dave Homewood on Oct 17, 2023 9:59:27 GMT 12
From The Press, dated 18th of November 1959.
Flying Visit To An Australian Aircraft-carrier
[By a Staff Reporter of "The Press"]
Drop in, said the invitation from the Royal Australian Navy, and see us aboard the aircraft-carrier, H.M.A.S. Melbourne, cruising somewhere off the coast of Canterbury. So yesterday a photographer and I dropped in and saw them from 1200 ft in one of the carrier’s anti-submarine Gannet turbo-props.
Passed fit several days ago to stand the sudden stop of landing and catapult take-off from the carrier, we reported at the control tower at the R.N.Z.A.F. station, Wigram, at 8.30 a.m. Two other passengers to fly out to the carrier reported at the same time. There were to be two Gannets with two passengers in each.
A Gannet peeled off from a formation after passing over the city and landed just after 9 a.m. The pilot told us why there was only one aircraft: a fault had “grounded” the other on the Melbourne.
This meant two passengers would fly straight away. The other two would have to wait for him to come back. A coin was tossed for first flight and we lost. Five hours later the second Gannet arrived. This time the pilot reported that all Gannets had been grounded until he took off because news of a fault in aircraft in Australia had been signalled to the carrier, and all machines aboard had to be checked. A little group of airmen stopped working to watch the pilot handing out Mae Wests, flying helmets, crash helmets and overalls.
Conditions Good
A message came from the control tower: “Conditions over the carrier are the same.” Conditions over Wigram airfield were good, too, as the Gannet taxied out on to the grass and made a short, chunky take-off. The pilot, a tall, red-haired Western Australian, said the carrier was about 30 miles out to sea, “I think.”
A Gannet carries its passengers in separate cockpits in line behind the pilot My cockpit was mostly filled with instruments and an altimeter showed 1200 ft as the plane crossed the causeway at McCormack’s Bay. The South Pacific was blue and calm, but there was no sign of the Melbourne. I checked the six sets of straps holding me in place. There were straps for a parachute and a dinghy and some just to hold me in the seat I looked at the sea and the sky, and a St Christopher medallion my wife gave me years ago. Suddenly a voice crackled over - the inter-com: “We arrive at the carrier in seven minutes.”
Carrier Sighted
Fluffy, puff-ball clouds slid under the aircraft and then suddenly over to the left there was a tiny aircraft-carrier sweeping in a wide circle. The Gannet circled, slowed and dropped sharply lifting me off the seat as far as the straps would go. About here I looked at the St. Christopher again. I thought maybe I would hold it between my teeth then thought it would go down like a giant asprin if the plane landed with a jolt!
Suddenly a helicopter passed on our left going backwards; there was a slight bump; the Gannet’s engines cut; there was a mist of faces and red and yellow shirts to the right and we were down.
The deck of the carrier felt so good that it took me 10 minutes to realise that it was not dry land and I had to get back off again. A naval officer in blue battledress and beret (“I’m the press liaison officer. Call me Bob”) took me up to the carrier’s bridge to meet Rear-Admiral G. G. O. Gatacre.
He apologised for the delay and talked about the bad weather the carrier had seen since being in New Zealand waters and how the pilots commented on the scenery.
“From out here the coastline looks like Korea,” he said. The admiral said that during flying operations on passage the R.A.N. had made its 10,000th carrier landing and only once had any aircraft been damaged beyond repair. Bob took us aft to show us the marks made by the plane that did not quite make it.
Sea Venom Lands
A Sea Venom shrilled overhead seeking permission to land. A loudspeaker barked, the helicopter (called “The Chopper” by the Navy men) took off for standby duty from where it had been resting aft.
During all landings and take-offs the helicopter hovers alongside in case any aircraft crashes into the sea.
Three fire-suit men in asbestos armour stood amidships as the Sea Venom circled for its landing and deck crewmen in their identifying skull-caps and shirts, some red, some yellow, chatted together. Arrestor wires lifted into place, stringing in six lines across the aft end of the carrier’s angled deck.
Steadying itself in the landing aid mirror, the Sea Venom screamed on to the carrier; its arrester hook caught the third wire; it bounced slightly; burned a tyre mark on the deck and stood still.
Below decks mechanics worked in the carrier’s giant hangars, not in the least concerned about what was going on above. Through an airlock door and across a passage aircrews sat in the briefing room —a long cabin with padded, high-backed seats that made it look like a theatrette.
Pin-up pictures on the walls no longer interested them. They jostled, joked and decried the Royal Australian Navy.
Preparing For Take-off
From the loudspeaker came the instruction to position the Gannets on the deck ready for takeoff and for us to be ready to leave. About five deck men helped me climb into the Gannet. Again I was buckled in. There were instructions about using the parachute and dinghy (“But you won’t want them”).
“The Chopper” was alongside again. The fire-suit men put their helmets back on. Deck directors in their yellow skullcaps bustled around and we were on to the steam catapault ready for take-off.
Piloting the Gannet back was Eric (Dinger) Bell—a friendly New South Welshman. His voice came through my headset earphones: “There’ll be a jolt any moment now, but it won’t be much.” I closed my eyes and waited. We were still jiggling on the catapault. Suddenly came a muffled roar. My glasses pressed back against my face, my helmet tilted forward, a metal box toppled out of a rack on to my knees, there seemed to be a white blur in front of my eyes, and we were airborne.
The pilot said later that we took-off at 120 knots because of a favourable wind — that was 120 knots in about 100 ft. Circling the carrier in a tight turn the Gannet waited for a second plane to take off and then flew in formation back towards the misty coastline.
New Brighton pier was passing 1500 ft below. A voice came over the radio: “This is my first airfield landing in 10 months. I hope it's not too bumpy.”
As the Gannets passed over Cathedral square the buses were just loading at the end of the working day. Christchurch looked pretty good, but Wigram airfield looked much better as the Gannets circled ready for landing. The other Gannet went in first. Our Gannet followed close behind. There was no bump and the taxi-run to the control tower was the smoothest part of the trip.
H.M.A.S. MELBOURNE, NOW IN NEW ZEALAND WATERS for exercises with ships of the Royal New Zealand Navy, was yesterday visited at sea, off the Canterbury coast, by a photographer and a reporter of “The Press.” These photographs show:—TOP LEFT: Approaching the carrier—a photograph taken from a Gannet aircraft circling the ship before landing. TOP RIGHT: A “fire-suit” man donning his asbestos clothing on the deck of the carrier. BOTTOM LEFT: A Sea Venom all-weather jet fighter strains at its catapult sling a split second before its 120-knot take-off from the Melbourne. BOTTOM RIGHT: Aircraft, with wings folded, ready to be lowered by lift into a below-deck hangar. The two planes in the foreground are Gannets, and the others are Venoms.
Flying Visit To An Australian Aircraft-carrier
[By a Staff Reporter of "The Press"]
Drop in, said the invitation from the Royal Australian Navy, and see us aboard the aircraft-carrier, H.M.A.S. Melbourne, cruising somewhere off the coast of Canterbury. So yesterday a photographer and I dropped in and saw them from 1200 ft in one of the carrier’s anti-submarine Gannet turbo-props.
Passed fit several days ago to stand the sudden stop of landing and catapult take-off from the carrier, we reported at the control tower at the R.N.Z.A.F. station, Wigram, at 8.30 a.m. Two other passengers to fly out to the carrier reported at the same time. There were to be two Gannets with two passengers in each.
A Gannet peeled off from a formation after passing over the city and landed just after 9 a.m. The pilot told us why there was only one aircraft: a fault had “grounded” the other on the Melbourne.
This meant two passengers would fly straight away. The other two would have to wait for him to come back. A coin was tossed for first flight and we lost. Five hours later the second Gannet arrived. This time the pilot reported that all Gannets had been grounded until he took off because news of a fault in aircraft in Australia had been signalled to the carrier, and all machines aboard had to be checked. A little group of airmen stopped working to watch the pilot handing out Mae Wests, flying helmets, crash helmets and overalls.
Conditions Good
A message came from the control tower: “Conditions over the carrier are the same.” Conditions over Wigram airfield were good, too, as the Gannet taxied out on to the grass and made a short, chunky take-off. The pilot, a tall, red-haired Western Australian, said the carrier was about 30 miles out to sea, “I think.”
A Gannet carries its passengers in separate cockpits in line behind the pilot My cockpit was mostly filled with instruments and an altimeter showed 1200 ft as the plane crossed the causeway at McCormack’s Bay. The South Pacific was blue and calm, but there was no sign of the Melbourne. I checked the six sets of straps holding me in place. There were straps for a parachute and a dinghy and some just to hold me in the seat I looked at the sea and the sky, and a St Christopher medallion my wife gave me years ago. Suddenly a voice crackled over - the inter-com: “We arrive at the carrier in seven minutes.”
Carrier Sighted
Fluffy, puff-ball clouds slid under the aircraft and then suddenly over to the left there was a tiny aircraft-carrier sweeping in a wide circle. The Gannet circled, slowed and dropped sharply lifting me off the seat as far as the straps would go. About here I looked at the St. Christopher again. I thought maybe I would hold it between my teeth then thought it would go down like a giant asprin if the plane landed with a jolt!
Suddenly a helicopter passed on our left going backwards; there was a slight bump; the Gannet’s engines cut; there was a mist of faces and red and yellow shirts to the right and we were down.
The deck of the carrier felt so good that it took me 10 minutes to realise that it was not dry land and I had to get back off again. A naval officer in blue battledress and beret (“I’m the press liaison officer. Call me Bob”) took me up to the carrier’s bridge to meet Rear-Admiral G. G. O. Gatacre.
He apologised for the delay and talked about the bad weather the carrier had seen since being in New Zealand waters and how the pilots commented on the scenery.
“From out here the coastline looks like Korea,” he said. The admiral said that during flying operations on passage the R.A.N. had made its 10,000th carrier landing and only once had any aircraft been damaged beyond repair. Bob took us aft to show us the marks made by the plane that did not quite make it.
Sea Venom Lands
A Sea Venom shrilled overhead seeking permission to land. A loudspeaker barked, the helicopter (called “The Chopper” by the Navy men) took off for standby duty from where it had been resting aft.
During all landings and take-offs the helicopter hovers alongside in case any aircraft crashes into the sea.
Three fire-suit men in asbestos armour stood amidships as the Sea Venom circled for its landing and deck crewmen in their identifying skull-caps and shirts, some red, some yellow, chatted together. Arrestor wires lifted into place, stringing in six lines across the aft end of the carrier’s angled deck.
Steadying itself in the landing aid mirror, the Sea Venom screamed on to the carrier; its arrester hook caught the third wire; it bounced slightly; burned a tyre mark on the deck and stood still.
Below decks mechanics worked in the carrier’s giant hangars, not in the least concerned about what was going on above. Through an airlock door and across a passage aircrews sat in the briefing room —a long cabin with padded, high-backed seats that made it look like a theatrette.
Pin-up pictures on the walls no longer interested them. They jostled, joked and decried the Royal Australian Navy.
Preparing For Take-off
From the loudspeaker came the instruction to position the Gannets on the deck ready for takeoff and for us to be ready to leave. About five deck men helped me climb into the Gannet. Again I was buckled in. There were instructions about using the parachute and dinghy (“But you won’t want them”).
“The Chopper” was alongside again. The fire-suit men put their helmets back on. Deck directors in their yellow skullcaps bustled around and we were on to the steam catapault ready for take-off.
Piloting the Gannet back was Eric (Dinger) Bell—a friendly New South Welshman. His voice came through my headset earphones: “There’ll be a jolt any moment now, but it won’t be much.” I closed my eyes and waited. We were still jiggling on the catapault. Suddenly came a muffled roar. My glasses pressed back against my face, my helmet tilted forward, a metal box toppled out of a rack on to my knees, there seemed to be a white blur in front of my eyes, and we were airborne.
The pilot said later that we took-off at 120 knots because of a favourable wind — that was 120 knots in about 100 ft. Circling the carrier in a tight turn the Gannet waited for a second plane to take off and then flew in formation back towards the misty coastline.
New Brighton pier was passing 1500 ft below. A voice came over the radio: “This is my first airfield landing in 10 months. I hope it's not too bumpy.”
As the Gannets passed over Cathedral square the buses were just loading at the end of the working day. Christchurch looked pretty good, but Wigram airfield looked much better as the Gannets circled ready for landing. The other Gannet went in first. Our Gannet followed close behind. There was no bump and the taxi-run to the control tower was the smoothest part of the trip.
H.M.A.S. MELBOURNE, NOW IN NEW ZEALAND WATERS for exercises with ships of the Royal New Zealand Navy, was yesterday visited at sea, off the Canterbury coast, by a photographer and a reporter of “The Press.” These photographs show:—TOP LEFT: Approaching the carrier—a photograph taken from a Gannet aircraft circling the ship before landing. TOP RIGHT: A “fire-suit” man donning his asbestos clothing on the deck of the carrier. BOTTOM LEFT: A Sea Venom all-weather jet fighter strains at its catapult sling a split second before its 120-knot take-off from the Melbourne. BOTTOM RIGHT: Aircraft, with wings folded, ready to be lowered by lift into a below-deck hangar. The two planes in the foreground are Gannets, and the others are Venoms.
