You will recall that air, at all altitudes, consists of about 20% oxygen and 80% nitrogen, and that the effects of lack of oxygen (hypoxia) usually start at about 10 000 feet, possibly lower, where the oxygen partial pressure is about 150 hPa and the amount of oxygen in the bloodstream is around 90% saturation. The aircraft oxygen system increases the proportion of oxygen inhaled, through the mask, as altitude increases thus countering the oxygen partial pressure reduction, until at about 34 000 feet the pilot is breathing 100% oxygen. This system works satisfactorily up to about 42 000 feet where the total atmospheric pressure is about the same as the oxygen partial pressure at 10 000 feet. The lungs need the 150 hPa oxygen pressure to force the oxygen into the blood but of course the pressure should not exceed the external atmospheric pressure. Thus, above 40 000 feet or so, external pressure must be amplified via a pressure suit or cabin so that the internal oxygen pressure can be increased to maintain the effective 10 000 feet pressure level.
Oxygen is also beneficial when the pilot is not so fit, so on a "morning after" one tended to use it on low level flights, or even partake of an emergency oxygen bottle, normally attached to the parachute harness, in the crew room. Oxygen was always used for night flying even for low level flight – it improves night vision.
The second problem arising from high altitude flight is the "bends". At about 30 000 feet the small amount of dissolved nitrogen in the blood starts to form bubbles – I suppose because of the much higher partial pressure of atmospheric nitrogen – which usually manifest themselves as a sort of tickle in the joints, but may obstruct small blood vessels and cause severe pain. For high altitude runs breathing oxygen on the ground 30 minutes prior to flight helped rid the nitrogen from the bloodstream. Speech too was forced because of the low air density and tended to make VHF transmission less intelligible.
The third problem is the severe cold, minus 50° C in the mid-latitudes at 35 000 feet. Even with heated gloves and boots and multiple layers of clothing, the body felt painfully cold and 30 minutes or so was the most one could reasonably be expected to cope with in an insufficiently heated cockpit.
About 40% of pilots were not able to fly much over 30 000 feet because of susceptibility to bends, sinus difficulties, etc, and pilots wishing to gain an altitude rating had to undergo an high altitude selection course. I, unfortunately, as I discovered later, received an "unlimited" rating – which meant my body could supposedly ascend as high as the aircraft of the day.
I say unfortunately because there was not much high altitude naval work called for, but there was one very boring job – high level ship's radar calibration and height finding exercises for radar operators. This involved me, as the junior officer with the unlimited rating, stooging around at various heights up to 36 000 feet or so, painfully cold, while the more senior squadron members might be enjoying themselves beating up the same warship in simulated low level attacks, thereby exercising the close range radar and gunnery crews.
When descending from high altitude the windscreen and canopy tended to mist up. Some aircraft had a hot air windscreen demister but in those where the demister was ineffective or non-existent the carriage, in a sponge-bag, of a rag soaked in the engine coolant liquid – glycol – provided a handy demister. Hardly high-tech, but it worked.
One difficulty with high altitude flight in a Seafire was that, because of the reduced cooling effect of the low density air, the automatic shutters of the engine coolant radiators, situated in fairings under each wing, remained open. The pilot had an over-ride switch to open the shutters for ground running, but none for closing the shutters. The oil cooler was positioned alongside, or perhaps in front of, the coolant radiator in the starboard underwing fairing. With the shutter open at very low ambient temperatures coring might begin in the oil cooler. This phenomenon was an expanding core of congealed oil which would gradually shut off oil flow through the cooler, with consequent rise in engine oil temperature followed by a fairly rapid drop in oil pressure. The only corrective action was to increase rpm, drop the airflow through the radiator by reducing airspeed, usually necessitating lowering landing gear and flaps, and descent to warmer altitudes.
Fuel consumption depended of course on boost, rpm and aircraft weight. The table gives some idea of consumption at typical service load:
| Sea Fury 11 | Seafire 47 | |||||
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Boost | RPM | L/min | Boost | RPM | L/min | |
| Maximum power | + 9 | 2700 | 20 | +18 | 3000 | 14 |
| Intermediate power | +4 | 2400 | 12 | +7 | 2400 | 7 |
| Endurance cruise | -2 | 1600 | 5 | -2 | 1800 | 3 |
The internal fuel capacity was 900 litres for the Sea Fury, and 675 litres for the Seafire. Carriage of external tanks about doubled capacity. The Seafire 47 had seven internal tanks, two of them only 30 litres, illustrating the shoe-horned utilisation of all available space, particularly within the wings. The fuel system – with 17 associated switches, push buttons, cocks and gauges – allowed ample opportunity for management error.
The usual technique when cruising for range was to use high boost, up to the maximum weak (i.e. optimum) mixture boost – +2 lbs Sea Fury, +6 lbs Seafire – and reduce rpm until the target airspeed is acquired. The high boost / low rpm combination gives more efficient cylinder charging and better combustion, together with less horsepower loss driving the supercharger, less friction and less fuel consumed. The high boost also acts as a cushion in the cylinders, reducing engine stress. If the rpm lever is set in the auto position the target airspeed is obtained by adjusting the boost setting.
The Seafire model which preceded the 47 in squadron service was the Seafire 17. This aircraft was fitted with a less powerful Griffon and a big four blade propeller, which rotated anti-clockwise viewed from the cockpit. This engine/prop combination produced so much torque at full +15 lb boost at take-off that the aircraft hopped to the right down the runway. Consequently runway take-off boost was restricted to +7 lbs. The Seafire 47 had no take-off vices, rudder trim neutral, elevator trim one division nose up, rpm set at maximum, lock tail wheel, open up to +18 lbs and once you got the tail up a bit the aircraft would just about climb away hands and feet off. Free take-off from a carrier required use of partial flap, opening up to about +4 lbs. while holding on the brakes, release and open fully to +18 and fly-off in a somewhat tail-down attitude. A pre-take-off check, unique to naval aviation, was to double check wings spread, locking pins flush with the wing upper surfaces and the cockpit wing folding lever securely locked down!
I once witnessed a demonstration of the thrust provided by the Centaurus engine/propeller, while standing at an entrance door to the carrier's 'island' superstructure, watching a Sea Fury launch. As the aircraft neared the end of its take-off run the hook dropped and picked up a safety barrier cable. The barriers were hydraulically activated and lay flat on the deck during launch operations. The hook assembly was torn out of the aircraft and went rocketing back down the flight deck while the Sea Fury continued its take-off, seemingly without faltering, and subsequently safely landed ashore.
Rocket assisted take-off was used as an alternative to catapult launching for heavily loaded aircraft, or in low wind conditions. One or two rockets were fitted in jettisonable carriers each side of the fuselage, above the wing-root and angled up. The rockets were fired at a pre-calculated distance from the start of the take-off run determined according to aircraft weight, wind speed and take-off run available.
In the early '50s a Firefly driver, doing RATOG practice from an airfield in Northern Ireland, pressed the firing button and the rocket motor on the port side immediately departed its carrier and neatly removed all four propeller blades, plus the pilot's beard – which spread out luxuriously from under his oxygen mask. The subsequent noise from a pilot with a burnt beard and a Griffon engine at full throttle under no-load conditions, must have been something. It would be interesting to know what rpm were run up before the pilot overcame the shock and chopped the throttle.
Another demonstration of RATOG use, or misuse, occurred in 1950 at Malta. HMS Glory was leaving harbour and decided to launch a flight of four Fireflies. There was a 10 knot wind, but coming from astern and the ship was moving ahead at 5 knots, so a launch in the reverse direction, to take advantage of the 5 knot relative wind, was decided. The Fireflies were fitted with rocket assisted take-off gear, ranged at the bow and took off towards the stern. All made it but they were dodging amongst other vessels' superstructures until they managed to claw back some height, after dropping down over the stern round-down. Each 5 knot variation in wind over the flight-deck varied the free take-off distance by about 30 metres. A Sea Fury, at normal service weight (full fuel and ammunition) with a 25 knot wind over the deck, had a safe take-off distance of 180 metres, which was just about the flightdeck length available in a light fleet carrier.
When an aircraft was catapult launched the initial acceleration force was about 4 g and required prior bracing of the head, arms and legs. The booster mechanism was hydraulic/pneumatic with the rams driving a shuttle along a slot in the deck. The two ends of a steel wire bridle were attached to the aircraft's catapult hooks – each side of the under-fuselage and near the centre of gravity. (The Sea Fury had only one catapult hook). The bight of the bridle passed around the shuttle. A hold-back strap was fixed to the deck and clamped to a fitting behind the tailwheel. The holdback incorporated a metal ring, or other device, with a calculated breaking strain. When the aircraft was correctly positioned, maximum lift flap, tailwheel locked fore and aft, canopy locked open, the bridle and holdback under tension and deck crew clear, the pilot opened up to full throttle, locked the throttle quadrant tight, checked that the engine was giving the required power and then signalled ready to the launch controller. The pilot then put his left forearm level across his stomach and held the control column, for a nose-up attitude, with his right hand and with the right elbow wedging the left forearm in place. The rudder pedals were centred and the head pressed back against the rest. These were the most critical moments of the launch with the pilot watching the rpm indicator like a hawk, waiting for the kick and not daring to move anything. If rpm were dropping his only hope was that the launch controller's ears were sufficiently attuned to detect the change in engine note and abort the launch. If he didn't there was a good chance the aircraft would not gain flying speed and would descend into the water in front of the carrier.
A verse from the Fleet Air Arm's traditional song -
"I sat on the booster awaiting the kick
Amusing myself by rotating the stick,
Down went the green flag, the engine went 'cough'
'Gawd blimey', said Wings, he has tossed himself off!"
When the launch controller initiated the launch the ram pressure built up rapidly. The hold-back ring fractured, the clamps flew off, the shuttle shot forward pulling the aircraft after it and giving the pilot a 4g kick in the back. When the shuttle reached the end of its run, the aircraft kept going, the bridle dropped off the hooks and the aircraft was flying. The pilot kept it level or let it drop a bit (an elevated runway and no trees or fences at sea) until he had everything sorted out, and then climbed away, mentally chalking up one more safe launch.
The hydraulic catapults in the light fleet carriers had only enough boost to accelerate a Sea Fury, at maximum weight of 6650 kgs with a full load of external stores, to about 65 knots so a wind down the deck of a least 30 knots was required for the laden aircraft to attain a minimum flying speed. Some of those carriers were pushing to steam at 22 knots, particularly when in need of a hull clean, so light wind conditions added another unfavourable variable to the launch prognosis. Take-off safety speed was not a term often bandied about. There was also a limitation on the acceleration force that the airframe could withstand, I have an idea that the Seafire maximum was an acceleration to about 60 knots on the booster.
There were accidents involving catapult launches where the aircraft never gained flying speed and subsequently went into the sea, but a most unusual accident happened to a Sea Fury pilot. The aircraft was ranged for take-off at the stern with the engine warming up at 1200 rpm and with chocks only in front of the wheels. The pilot didn't have the parking brake fully applied and, with his head in the office, never noticed that the wind was rolling his 6 tonne aircraft back. You guessed it – the Sea Fury fell off the stern.
Landing on
There were some advantages in the approach and landing on a carrier deck which are usually unavailable with a runway landing. The main advantage is a constant velocity wind, usually a minimum 25 knots, which is aligned more or less down the deck thus removing any need for crosswind compensation. In normal seas frictional turbulence, except for that generated by the carrier superstructure and engineroom exhaust, is low and wind shear is most unlikely. And of course there are no trees, wires, hills or fences at sea, the runway is elevated and operations within the vicinity of the carrier are tightly controlled.
Normal Seafire landing practice was to join circuit upwind at 400 feet above surface level, flying at a high cruise speed along the starboard side of the runway or carrier. About halfway along the runway, or ahead of the carrier, the aircraft was rolled into a steep left turn, chopping the throttle back and moving the rpm lever to maximum. The Griffon exhausts emitted quite a crackle and snarl when the throttle was cut. Airspeed washed off fairly quickly in the first 90 degrees of the 2g turn, sufficient to lower the gear at 175 knots, wind the canopy open – if you are a very careful pilot also partly unlatch the cockpit door to prevent the canopy closing – and get first stage flap down before rolling out onto the short downwind leg. Then arrester hook down and full flaps, set 2600 rpm while still at 400 feet, get altitude/airspeed and boost set up and then, when about opposite the carrier's 'island' superstructure, turn into a approach that consists of a slow, steady rate of descent [about 1° slope] whilst turning through 180 degrees, with a very short straighten-up prior to a full flare and touchdown. Initial airspeed 100 knots reducing to 85 knots halfway round for an airfield landing and 90 reducing to 75 for a carrier. It was vital to re-trim the elevator setting all the way around. Boost setting was about zero reducing to minus 2 with the rate of sink controlled by the throttle. Speeds for the Sea Fury were 15 knots higher.
The angle of attack at those approach speeds was probably around 12 degrees so the thrust vector had a significant vertical component, supplementing lift. The Seafire 47, in engine-on landing configuration, stalled at 65–67 knots so a continual scan between ASI, boost gauge and the deck was vital. The Firebrand, which was a bit of a dog, had an additional ASI enclosed in an external fuselage fairing so that the pilot could include the low range airspeeds and the batsman in the same sight line.
Deck landings were directed, from half-way through the turn, by the batsman who, with the aid of a tennis racquet sized 'bat' in each hand, and a lot of body language, indicated if you were too high, low, fast, slow, or a combination of these, and whether to tighten or relax the turn or to straighten up. The batsman stood on a small platform, protruding from the port side of the flight-deck near the stern, with his "talkers" behind and below him. The talkers kept him continually informed of events on the flight deck and in the circuit. The batsman was always a very experienced pilot doing a tour of specialised duty.
The aim of the co-operation between batsman and pilot was to bring the aircraft into an imaginary box – extending from just astern of the flight deck and along the extended centre line – at the right speed and height with wings level. An aircraft "in the groove" with wheels, full flap and arrester hook down, received a constant "come as you are" signal to bring it ino the box. There were two orders to be obeyed immediately – the "wave off", if the approach was hopeless or the flight deck fouled, and the "cut" when in the box at the end of a satisfactory approach
A pilot, receiving the cut, immediately (bearing in mind that the aircraft was moving at 30 – 35 metres per second relative to the deck and that the landing distance available was only about 100 to 130 metres) chopped the throttle right back. The nose dropped to maintain the trimmed airspeed, giving a quick glimpse of the flight deck – which, except for the batsman's platform, was totally hidden by the aircraft's nose after straightening up – enabling a quick line-up correction with rudder before flaring the aircraft by smartly heaving the stick fully back. [The big six blade propeller of the Seafire 47 in fully fine pitch and virtually windmilling, presented a high solidity disc to the airflow. The drag from the blades braked the aircraft rapidly and consequently the nose drop was very fast.] The near-stalled aircraft dumped lift and sank in a taildown attitude, the hook picking up one of the 8 or 10 hydraulically damped arrester wires just before the aircraft hit – and stuck – in a perfect 3-point arrival. That was the theory anyhow.
The batsman timed the cut according to the aircraft's position and speed within the box. If you were rather high and fast he cut early. If you were rather low and slow he cut late. However sometimes things don't go to plan. If you were a bit faster at the cut the aircraft floated and you picked up a late wire and were belted down hard on the main wheels or if you were decidedly fast, or slow in reacting to the signal, the aircraft floated above the deck, the hook missing all wires, until brought to a messy halt by one of the safety barriers abeam the island. If you didn't get the stick right back the aircraft would hit main wheels first and bounce and, if the hook hadn't picked up a wire by then the probability of ending up in – or worse, over – a barrier was high.
Another verse -
"When the Batsman says lower I always go higher,
Float into the barrier and prang my Seafire.
The boys in the goofers all think I am green,
But I get my commission from Supermarine!"
Much depended on the batsman's expertise in timing the cut and it was very much the batsman's judgement that could get a tolerable landing out of a less than perfect approach. The crew operating the safety barriers also helped if they could drop the first barrier quickly when an aircraft caught a late wire which would then extend far enough for the aircraft to otherwise hit the barrier. But the probability of getting the barrier down was very low.
The recommended minimum approach speed for ultralight and GA aircraft is 1.3 times power-off stall speed, whereas deck landing approach speed was less than 1.1 times power-off stall, and not to set up and maintain the right attitude could be a traumatic experience. Consequently the batsman was also concentrating on attitude and thereby could accurately assess airspeed within a couple of knots. The aircraft were fitted with attitude indicator lights, usually one on the port undercarriage leg and one on the tailwheel door, activated when the undercarriage and arrester hook were lowered, and vital for night landing!
A good airfield landing is one where the driver has absolute control of the aircraft throughout, arriving smoothly and precisely at a pre-targeted runway position, with minimum subsequent roll. A landing which looks professional to the observer – who of course is never around when you do. As you are well aware such a landing, whether in ultralight or naval aircraft, requires that attitude is set up, and maintained, early in the approach, so that the pilot can then concentrate on rate of descent, position and adjustment for atmospheric conditions.
As I understand it the conventional wisdom for ultralights favours a high, steep and straight final approach with low power, from a close circuit, presumably in case of engine failure. In high performance naval aircraft the pilot relied completely on the engine at all times, plenty of power on during the relatively low and slow approach, boost of zero to –2 lbs, equivalent to full throttle running in a normally aspirated engine. The engines/propellers were reliable, responsive and very powerful but these very attributes led to a potential for disaster. In the nose-up attitude of a 5 tonne aircraft, 8 or 10 knots above stall speed, rapid application of full power, following a baulked or low and slow approach, can easily result in a torque stall, where the airframe rotates around the propeller, demonstrating Newton's law of action/reaction, and the aircraft rolls and falls. Following a wave-off in a Sea Fury, Firefly or Firebrand, it was a long couple of seconds transition time for the pilot easing up full power, and trying to hold airspeed whilst inertia brought the deck, or the stern round-down, looming closer. The Seafire 47 however lacked this idiosyncrasy due to the counter rotating propeller – slide the rpm and boost levers fully forward and it was up, up and away – and then one had a hand available to get the undercarriage up.
I recall the Australian naval aviator who, in the final stages of a batsman controlled approach in a Sea Fury, received a red Verey cartridge signal from the flying control position in the carrier's island structure and for no apparent reason. This is a mandatory go-around instruction over-ruling the batsman. After aborting the approach, and a subsequent quiet circuit and landing, the pilot was still obviously suffering from the stress of the go-around for, as soon as he got out of the aircraft, he stormed up to the flying control position in the island which, as well as its normal complement of brass, also housed some very senior officers visiting the ship. Our friend's first, and only, words were "What stupid bastard fired that red?". Later that evening, after suffering the consequent chastisement, Commander (Air) approached and bought him a large gin, noting "Of course it would have been a lot worse for you if you'd said "which stupid bastard"!".
The worst situation to get into was low and slow towards the end of the approach, with the flight deck round-down coming closer, together with its associated down-draught and possibly the 'burble' from the island superstructure and the engineroom exhaust. But you still had to lower the nose to correct attitude adding power to slow the rate of descent. Not enough power and you hit the round-down, too much you end up flying straight and level, pick up 5 or 6 knots and the prospect of an arrival that "Wings" – the Commander (Air) – is going to strongly condemn.
However, low and fast can be just as bad as low and slow, as demonstrated by a Firefly attempting a landing on HMS Puncher, an escort carrier. This aircraft got into a low but fast approach, lost the arrester hook on the flight-deck round-down then lost the undercarriage in a barrier, slid along the forward deck on its belly with the starboard wing passing under the port wing of the aircraft which had landed ahead of it – and which was still taxiing forward – skidded over the bow, fortunately still moving at a fair clip, and splashing down sufficiently far ahead for an alert helmsman to take evasive action. The pilot survived, but not the observer.
Another verse -
"They say in the Air Force the landing's O.K.
If the pilot spins in but can still walk away.
But in the Fleet Air Arm the prospects are dim
If the landing's piss poor – and the pilot can't swim."
When you consider that the full flight deck length of a Royal Navy carrier was between 210 and 250 metres (the WW2 escort carriers were about 140 metres) and that the landing distance available was only about 55% of that length and TODA about 85%, or less, then the 580 metre 14/32 runway at Holbrook airfield looks decidedly lavish. About four aircraft carriers could be parked along the 810 metre 04/22 with a bit of overhang all round.
On deck-landing the arresting force was usually around 3 g so you needed to prepare yourself for the deceleration. The retardation and side loads were much greater if you landed off-centre. The gun firing switch for the four 20 mm cannon was located on the control column spade grip and was operated with the right thumb. A safety cover had to be flicked over before firing but instances of guns being inadvertently fired were not rare, particularly when the aircraft nose pitched down after hooking a wire, as the Firefly tended to do; its hook was mounted under the fuselage rather than the tailhooks of the other aircraft. During Korean operations HMS Theseus experienced three such occurrences during one day with one resulting in a flight deck fatality.
In the early 1940s, and the larger fleet carriers, the last arrester wire, just before the safety barrier, was not hydraulically or friction drum damped and stretched only as far as elasticity allowed. If an arrival missed the prior wires and caught the last then the deceleration force was 6 g or so, or the hook was torn out and the aircraft was stopped by the safety barrier. The popular term for that last ditch arrester was the "Jesus wire", probably coming from the pilot's exclamation on trapping it.
The long established routine, for launch and recovery, was for the carrier to turn into wind and increase speed so that the 'wind you feel' down the flight deck was at least 25 – 30 knots. In 1940 HMS Illustrious was anchored in Bermuda harbour with a good stiff breeze blowing right down the flight deck and forecast to continue all day. Someone decided it would be a good idea to launch the ship's two squadrons of Swordfish torpedo aircraft and one squadron of Skua two seat naval fighters for exercises, while the ship remained at anchor. This was duly done, without incident, and on completion of the exercises, the squadrons returned to the anchored carrier to find the harbour calm as a millpond.
The ship needed at least an hour to raise steam, the nearest airfield or carrier was out of range, there was no straight stretch of road on the island and fuel was getting low, so the only option was to land. The safety barriers were dropped and all the Swordfish recovered safely, but even they, with their very low landing speed, were pulling the arrester wires out to their full extent.
The Skuas however had a much higher landing speed and consequently demonstrated, to the unfortunate 'someone', two immutable laws – firstly, Murphy's and secondly that kinetic energy increases as the square of velocity. As each Skua hooked a wire, and pulled it out to its full extent, it kept going, tearing the arrester hook out of every aircraft. Some aircraft stopped by deliberately nosing into the island, others fell off the bow. Only one managed to stop, teetering on the brink, to the cheers of many of the ships company, who were crowding every vantage point to watch this spectacular retrieval. One Skua, who landed very fast, lost his hook, took off again and subsequently force-landed on a golf course where he also lost both wings down the fairway before stopping on the green. That was the Royal Navy record for deck landing accidents – one entire squadron lost in 20 minutes, without serious injury, except to their pride.
A few months later those two Swordfish squadrons, 815 and 819, launched from Illustrious and crippled the Italian fleet at Taranto, the Fleet Air Arm's finest hour. During Illustrious' operations in the Mediterranean fighter cover was provided by the Skua squadron, 806, re-equipped with the then new Fairey Fulmar eight gun naval fighter, and predecessor of the Firefly. The squadron shot down 16 aircraft of the Italian Regia Aeronautica in the two month period prior to Taranto. Pride restored, but the Luftwaffe then joined the fray and by the end of January 1941 Illustrious had been severely hurt by dive bombers, 806 squadron was reduced to one Fulmar and the surviving crews of 815 and 819 were amalgamated into 815 with 819 being temporarily disbanded. History repeating itself as 815 was originally formed about a year before from the survivors of 811 and 822 squadrons after the torpedoing of the carrier HMS Courageous.
Illustrious was consequently out of action for 12 months while being repaired in California. After fighting the Regia Aeronautica and the Luftwaffe, 806 went on to tackle the Imperial Japanese Navy, when this squadron's Fulmars shot down four Val dive bombers off Sri Lanka in April 1942. 815 squadron continued to battle on from shore bases around the Eastern Mediterranean, fighting in Albania, Greece, Crete and the Western Desert. In March 1941 two squadrons of Swordfish torpedoed the eight inch cruiser Pola which then led to the destruction of the Italian 1st Cruiser Squadron. During its time in the Eastern Mediterranean 815 carried out attacks on 17 U-boats.
815 squadron still exists [2001], now operating some 30 Lynx anti-submarine helicopters from Royal Navy frigates and destroyers.
In 1950, during the Korean war, Seafire 47s from HMS Triumph, operating a combat air patrol over the fleet, were vectored to intercept a loose formation of overflying American B29s. The CAP formed into line astern and flew sedately down the line of Superforts to say hello, at which the last B29 shot down the last Seafire. Fortunately the pilot, after bailing out, was quickly recovered from the sea with only some facial burns. A few days later the local American forces newspaper published some good Seafire portraits noting that it was a friendly aircraft likely to be seen in the area. Although somewhat unilateral that was the last air-to-air combat of the Spitfire clan. The first being 11 years previously in Scotland, October 1939. The Israelis and Egyptians still had a few time-expired Spitfires at that time but I doubt they were involved in later air-to-air fighting.
Demanding careful treatment on the ground, even though the undercarriage track had been widened 30 cms, but a delight in its element, the Seafire 47 was probably the best of the Spitfire line, if not the best performing of the piston fighters, with a tremendous climb rate - 10 minutes from brake release to 30,000 feet and still climbing at 2,000 feet/minute passing 30,000! But it wasn't a robust carrier aircraft and maintenance was difficult and expensive, which I suppose is the reason they are all long since departed from their natural environment, although one was undergoing (2001) restoration in Texas.
However the Sea Fury is still hanging in there, in a new-found niche as a pylon racer in the USA but the Centaurus engine is rarely used, the sleeve valve design being very difficult to keep serviceable at race power settings. A Sea Fury won the Reno Air Races Unlimited class closed circuit race in 1983 and 1986, at average speeds of 435 mph or so. Lap times around the 8 mile circuit are not much more than one minute, and the basic flight rules are said to be 'fly real fast, fly real low, keep turning left'.
Four Sea Furies and five P51D Mustangs competed for the 8 lap Gold Unlimited trophy in the September, 2000 races. There were 13 Sea Furies enrolled for the Unlimited class, eleven mounted Wright R-3350s and two including - Furias - had the massive Pratt & Whitney R-4360 (71 litre) four row 28 cylinder "corn cob" engine, which consumes about 30 litres of fuel per minute - while idling! A P51D won the trophy at an average speed, around the 10 pylons, of 462 mph. A Sea Fury - Critical Mass - won second place at 435 mph. This aircraft has been re-engined with a Wright R-3350 Turbo Compound although the turbine system may have been removed for racing purposes.
The Mustang racers are usually engined with that incredible engine from 60 years ago - the Merlin V1650 - now modified and fuelled to develop about 3500 hp for the race period. It is interesting to note that fuel injection systems are usually replaced with more reliable carburation systems in most of the engines modified for racing. The 2001 US National Championship Air Races were cancelled following the events of September 11, 2001.
A contemporary of the Hawker Sea Fury – the Grumman F8F-2 Bearcat has also been very successful at Reno. Both aircraft have similar histories in that they were both developed as lighter and more manoeuvrable versions of their predecessors – the Hawker Tempest and the Grumman F6F Hellcat – and both benefited from design studies made in 1943 of a captured German Fockewulf 190; whose pilot had landed at an RAF airfield in South Wales, believing he was landing in German-occupied France. The Bearcat's designers achieved the weight target but the Sea Fury ended up some 150 kg heavier than the Tempest.
At 3500 kg empty weight the F8F-2 was much lighter than the Sea Fury, also about two metres shorter and one metre less in span and, with the 2250 hp Pratt & Whitney R2800-30W engine, it had a better power/weight ratio and consequently a better rate of climb. The Bearcat was very strong allowing the pilot to pull +7.5/–3.7 g when lightly loaded. As a demonstration of its power and strength the flight test commander at the Patuxent U.S. Navy facility would take-off, leave the undercarriage extended, hold the aircraft down for 2000 metres then heave it around a four cornered loop and land back on the runway he had just vacated. The Sea Fury was marginally stable in all axes whereas the Bearcat was unstable and thus more manoeuvrable, although the Sea Fury was said to be a better weapons platform.
... JB