The TSR-2 Story

But what a year it was! The magnificent TSR. 2, had it been allowed to live, could have been an active element in the Royal Australian Air Force Battle Order in 1981, despite all the possibilities and probabilities that still haven’t actually landed on RAAF airfields.

Look at the TSR. 2’s pictures, some of them faded and yellowing, and see how many ’80s strike aircraft design features have been adopted and developed from that great weapons concept design.

Look, and then wonder how little has been accomplished in the 16 years since they buried the TSR. 2 . . .

From the beginning, back in 1959 when the British Secretary of State for Air announced that a first-phase development contract had been awarded, the whole TSR. 2 stories exuded pure adventure, excitement and brilliance.

The concept was new to Britain, one in which all systems were integrated throughout the program. The boffins got down to work as has been mentioned ad nauseam through the years, the Whitehall warriors were at the same time erecting an impossible arrangement of unworkable committees which eventually killed the entire project.

The management board, as it was mistakenly called, had Royal Air Force, Ministry of Aviation and BAG people sitting on it – but only one industry representative.

Briefly, too many amateurs and too few engineers. There were also panels, sub-panels and working parties, plus numerous hangers-on who attended both the baptism and funeral of this lovely and workmanlike aircraft.

Despite the messing about, TSR. 2 took shape until the definitive brochure was issued.

It was – and still is a tremendously exciting array of figures, later to be proved in performance tests on the one and only prototype:

The TSR. 2 would cruise at Mach 2. 5 plus, at height; lower down it could hit Mach 1. 1 with ease and rock-like steadiness; it could span 1000 miles on internal tanks, 1500 nautical miles with underwing tankage added. The ferry tank range was up to 3700 n. m.

It could operate from low-grade fields and had a rate of climb surpassing 50,000 fpm at sea level. A brace of Bristol Siddeley Olympus jets would deliver more than 61,000 lb of thrust with reheat.

A mix of conventional and nuclear bombs could be carried with effect, using a lot-bombing technique if the nuclear weapon was to be delivered in free-fall mode.

The whole aircraft and its systems combined to make it the aviation debutante of the century. Most pilots still consider her to be the most desirable thing in their lives, all the technological marvels now coming out notwithstanding.

In terrain-following operations the TSR. 2 was superb.

She could carry special packs for specific missions; a Q-band SLAR (sideways-looking radar), automatic navigation relec1se systems for her warlord operated via a digital computer; active optical lines can and three cameras.

Air-to-surface guided weapons formed part of the warlord, as did rocket packs, depending on the mission – nuclear strike or high-explosive strike.

Getting there and back consisted of pre-planning the raid on punched tape, and then feeding the tape into a Veroan digital black box.

Doppler, intertidal platform and . an air data computer checked position accuracy and sang out, “Wrong!” when necessary.

All this electronic wizardry didn’t come cheaply, and in 1960 the Treasury asked the Air Staff if it was possible to cut down on the spending for TSR nervous system.  The Air Staff’s answer was blunt, “No”. Little wonder the RAF didn’t want to cut bc1ck at this or any stage. In the TSR-2 they had an aircraft that could do just about everything. Take the terrain-following system; for example:

It provided for continuous flying at 200 ft over any sort of terrain, with the choice of either automatic or manual flight. And it worked wonderfully, as you’ll read later in this report.

How was the bird built? In five main components – two centre fuselage sections, section, tail section and the complete wing

All this data sounds very much like it! The specs for the F-111; but the TSR. 2 had requirements written! Into its design which wasn’t thought of in the American type like bird-strike specs. The TSR. 2’s windscreen was made of high-temperature alumino-silicate, able to take the impact of a 1 lb bird while the aircraft was at transonic speed.

Many brilliant brains had a hand in designing this British wonderplane. Unfortunately, equally brilliant British brains had a hand in killing it.

Al! The departmental hassles which beset the TSR. 2 are shameful history. Might have first flown in 1963, but it didn’t take to the skies until 1964. To be honest, part of the delay was caused by snags in the. Bristol Siddeley Olympus.

The trouble was an engineering one in layman’s language, Bristol Siddeley had decided to yank out the centre shaft bearing and put in a bigger diameter shaft to take the tremendous loads imposed by asking the engine to give out with high thrust at low altitudes and provide full reheat as well.

Experts say this mode induced what is known as the bell mode; the shaft began resonc:1ting at specific revs, literally rang like a bell – then disintegrated with accompanying loud and expensive noises.

As mentioned in an earlier edition of AADR, the late Lord Louis Mountbatten, at that time Chief of Defence Staff, put paid to the chances of Australia getting the TSR. 2 – and a damned fine fighting machine into the bargain – by ruthlessly pursuing his personal idea that what was wanted for Britain were Buccaneers and more aircraft-carriers.

His justification? Scrap the money-gobbling TSR. 2 program and use the money for cheaper Buccaneers (both for the Royal Navy and Royal Air Force) and more aircraft carriers.

Lord Mountbatten’s visit to Australia destroyed the good work earlier put in by Sir George Edwards, who had plugged the TSR. 2 for Australia and dangled heavy AIP as bait.

If Australia had come into the TSR. 2 program, we would have had a fighting element just as good as the F-111s – and years earlier, plus the spin-offs of collaborative programs like the Jaguar, MRCA and other types.

But we didn’t . . .

Back home in Britain, the men who did the frontline work were still hard at it, and finally the only TSR. 2 prototype to fly – XR 219 – was ready. The man in charge of the flight test program was Roly Beamont.

His comments are worth remembering; at the outset, Beainoht said that the TSR. 2’s design approach outcome was the successful evolution of an outstandingly controllable, large and fast aircraft.

His narrative of a typical test sortie is absorbing and reflects the sober and experienced judgement of one of the world’s great test pilots who flew in the halcyon days of Britain’s aviation zenith.

The cockpit layout for the military pilot was designed for maximum convenience and accessibility. With Martin-Baker Mk. 8 rocket-ejection seats, HUD and all the fun of the electronic fair at his fingertips, cockpit checks were at first lengthy. Beamont says that with practice one could get through the checks in 20 minutes.

The TSR. 2’s cockpit was the most comfortable military one he’d operated in at that time, he adds.

The pilot’s view from his office was outstanding; forwards, he had an almost unrestricted view over the sharply raked nose housing the forward-looking radar. He had multitudinous switches and knobs at his command – even one to extend the nose leg oleo for short-field takeoffs.

Behind him sat the navigator/weapons officer, faced with rapid processing units and other devices, also sitting on an M-B Mk. 8 “bang-seat”.

While taxying, after firing up the two Olympus jets, the TSR. 2’s centre of gravity was adjusted to the briefing value by a fuel-balancing system. This was crew-controlled but production aircraft would have had an auto-balance system built into the design.

Beamont found the nose-wheel steering adequate – he had the choice of fine or coarse gearing. Pedal forces were a mite heavy on the ground, he adds.

Opening the taps for a military take-off – even with derated development engines, he found what he conservatively called a fighter-like acceleration rate.

Came Vr and the next surprise. Stick movement matched pitch response precisely, with no tendency to over- or under-control.

The big 100,000 lb gross weight TSR. 2 rotated smoothly to V1, about 188knots on the clock and at 12. 5 degrees incidence.

The long-stroke undercard action was so silky that Beaumont, with all his experience, found it hard to judge the unstick point. The only thing he could spot was a tickle of airframe buffet from the undercard down and 20 degrees of flap configuration as the drooped wingtips clawed for altitude.

Reheat off, undercard tucked away, the engine roar crackled down to a quiet hum as Max. Dry settings were applied to the Olympus twins astern. The first thing to impress Beamont was the rock-steadiness of this big bird, thanks to its low gust response wing.

“The TSR. 2 simply did not respond in the conventional way to gusts and turbulence,” he said after the first flight.

“Flight at Mach 0. 9in the climb, at 500 to 600 knots at low level, or through Mach 1. 0 to supersonic speed at altitude all took place in an almost unreal calm which gave the crew an impression of being in a fixed-base simulator and not in free flight at all!”

Even though the first prototype lacked stability augmentation there was basic stability and damping plus smooth precision in control.

Beamont had plenty of experience in flying the English Electric Lightning, renowned for its dramatic performance and fine controllability. But he was surprised by the way his TSR. 2 behaved at low levels and high speed.

“The TSR. 2 was impressive at a low level, particularly as it scarcely responded to levels of turbulence which on more than one occasion caused the Lightning chase pilot to pull up to a higher level ‘to get out of the roughness’,” reported Beaumont.

This rock-steady behaviour made for rapid acquisition of confidence, he added, and pilots were soon able to contour-fly manually at Mach 0. 9 over hill country in completely relaxed and comfortable conditions in which flying in-trim stick-free at very low level was quite practical for short periods.

(Hands up those F-111 pilots who can truthfully report the same behaviour . . . )

Roly Beamont, always the professional, reported that during Mach 0. 9climb to 30,000 ft, the TSR. 2’s remarkable trim symmetry made little or no trim adjustment necessary. The same applied in the supersonic regime, he added. Some of his readings during a typical test flight make interesting reading: Mach 0. 9; vibration free. Control harmony satisfactory for continuous cruising without auto-stability. Lateral response is perhaps a little too sensitive relative to the effects of inertia.

Mach 0. 94; onset of very slight buffet vibration. No trim change.

Mach 0. 98; cessation of any buffet vibration. No trim change.

Mach 1. 02; no vibration. No trim change. PE (position error) jump as the shock wave passes the static holes.

Mach 1. 1; no vibration or buffet. No trim change. Lateral control response in exact harmony with pitch and yaw axes and virtually ideal for flight conditions . . .

In manoeuvring, the low tailplane position was highly effective in sustaining longitudinal stability at transonic speed, reported test pilot Beamont.

There was no pitch-up when transitioning back to subsonic.

Such was the efficiency of this wonder machine that the first supersonic transition, first cross-country, first weather penetration and first instrument descent were all made on its first flight!

Beamon! got rid of excess speed in the circuit (always a problem with high-speed aircraft) by a high induced-drag turn before dropping the undercard.

En route to Warton, he found there wasn’t all that much startling manoeuvrability in the clean condition below about 300 knots.

In landing mode he found longitudinal and directional stiffness and control harmony giving him a feeling of immediate security and confidence, flying a two-degree glide slope. There was no throttle pumping even when well below the minimum drag speed of 16 5 knots indicated.

Landings in high-lift configuration ( 50 degrees flap) and using flap-blowing resulted in a positive pitch control to the 1 4- 15 degrees flare incidence, he reported. Result? A gentle touch and minimum run without being brutal on either brakes or drag chute, of a maximum of 850 yards!

The only critical item – apart from the Olympus bell-mode syndrome which was being ironed out – was the undercard. The spring rate of the mains was obviously not matched to landing loads. There was consequently a tendency to rebound strongly, commented Roly Beamont. In fact, on the eleventh flight, the TSR. 2 landed heavily enough to damage its undercard.

This problem was being resolved when the Government-wielded chopper fell.

The whole concept is best summed up in the words of Wing Commander R. P. Beamon!, who was in charge of the TSR. 2 flight test program:

“TSR. 2 was a brilliantly successful pilot’s aeroplane which, at the time of cancellation, had already demonstrated successful confirmation of its most significant aerodynamic and engineering features, and had in parallel reached a point of similar success in the developing and testing of its advanced navigation/attack and reconnaissance avionic systems.

“It seemed well set to achieve all the targets of its stated operational role and in the process to set new standards of precise controllability which have not been surpassed, or perhaps even equalled, to this day . . . ”

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