Reflections-DH Tiger Moth

I am still flying, instructing in ultralights and getting as much fun out of it as I did in those first 33 years. I think the true test of an aviator is someone who must look up when an aircraft passes overhead, or if indoors and an ‘oldy’ makes itself known (particularly a radial) must go outside to find it. I am firmly in this category and know that I will remain so all my life.

I would like to share my experiences of the aircraft I have flown, to give my impressions of them and to recount some tales – some amusing, some less so – along the way.

Along with countless others, I learnt to fly in Tiger Moths. I joined number 2 course in May 1948 and underwent initial naval training at HMAS Cerberus.

It is clear in retrospect that the Navy didn’t really know what to make of this new breed of seafarers it had let into the fold, however it did its best and then let us loose after three months into the hands of the RAAF at Point Cook. Fortunately we had been sufficiently programmed in naval ways not to be seduced by the Air Force’s relaxed approach to life, even to the extent of ‘going ashore’ at the weekends in true naval fashion.

After some six months of ground school where we were given a solid grounding in the theoretical aspects of flying, at last came the great day when we were kitted up with flying suits, helmets with Gosport tubes and the joy of our hearts, fur lined black flying boots!

Like most, I found the Tiger Moth a little difficult at first, particularly landing, however the fine art of holding off came to me before the dreaded flight grading test and I made good progress from there on in.

We had a mixture of mph and knots ASl’s as the changeover to the latter was still in progress, so it was essential to include the ASI calibration in your pre-takeoff vital actions. I can still remember reciting to myself “58 knots= 66mph” (the approach speed). My turn for solo finally came. My check ride with the deputy CFI was okay, but the aircraft was not rigged properly and instead of 11 o’clock on the trim ‘cheese cutter’ it needed to be placed at 1 o’clock. He reminded meof the latter when he climbed out of the aircraft, but of course I completely forgot when doing my vital actions.

I took off okay but immediately found that I was carrying a lot of forward stick. As I let go the throttle to retrim, it closed, as I had not tightened the friction nut sufficiently. I let go the stick but the nose pitched up alarmingly; I tried holding the stick with my knees but that didn’t work. There I was, frightened f–tless, not game to let go either control and well past the height for turning onto the upwind leg. I finally calmed down and throttled back which relieved the trim problem and allowed me to sort out the throttle friction nut. Despite all this the landing wasn’t too bad.

Our instructors were wartime trained NCO pilots who didn’t really have much experience in the art of instructing. For most of them we were their first students. One thing that must have been rammed into them on their short instructor’s course was to watch for the use of an aileron should a wing drop on landing. This seemed to be a particular sin and cause for getting the ‘chop’. I got caught in a wind change on landing once and almost dug a wingtip in – the aileron was subjected to very close examination for signs of scraping but I was in the clear. We progressed through the usual spinning, aerobatics, and finally into low flying. The instructor who took me for the latter sequence was having a ball doing steep turns round trees – I’m certain he was working out his frustration at having to instruct. We must have taken an aircraft with less than full fuel because the ‘bobble’ in the tank soon showed it was time to head for home. I advised that we were getting low, but he made light of it saying that there was plenty of fuel even after the ‘bobble’ had disappeared.

Finally we departed the low flying area with the ‘bobble’ well and truly out of sight. Sure enough, about a mile from the airfield at a height of 1,000 feet, the motor stopped. I particularly recall being shocked that we didn’t go through the emergency actions for engine failure but on reflection realised there was no need as we both knew why it had stopped! We were lucky to find a clear paddock underneath us but it was mighty small. As we came over the fence, with the instructor swearing his head off and fish tailing violently to wash off speed, we saw that we were going to land diagonally across large ploughed furrows. We hit with an almighty thump and rocked our way into the field stopping just short of a solid row of trees.

Still swearing, my instructor directed me to look after the aircraft whilst he phoned Point Cook from a nearby farm house. At this point I discovered a truism of aviation – that is, that a crowd will materialise from nowhere should an aircraft force land, particularly small boys.

In due course the CFI arrived with five gallons of fuel and a few hands to shift the aircraft out of the paddock and onto a dirt road. As the CFI strapped in, one small boy, obviously thinking himself knowledgeable in these matters, advised his mates that the pilot would shortly call out “contract”. This relieved the tension a little and even my instructor couldn’t help smiling.

The road was narrow and there wasn’t much of a takeoff run, so two hands were detailed off to hold the wing tips as power was applied. Sure enough, one let go before the other with the inevitable result, however the CFI straightened it out in time and there was an audible sigh as he set course for Point Cook.

The sequel to the story is that I had to give evidence before the CO of FTS (a future CAS) as he investigated the case. I found this very embarrassing, but it ended without too much pain.

We moved on to Wirraways and I next flew a Tiger in the mid fifties at NAS Nowra where one was held on strength for no good reason that I could discover. We operated from the runways, which didn’t seem to present much of a problem although it was a little heavy on tailskids. That particular aircraft now proudly forms part of the Historic Flight.

My final brief association with the Tiger was while serving on exchange with the Royal Navy at the Day Fighter School, RNAS Lossiemouth in 1959. As a part of Airday that summer it was decided to put on a novelty event using Tiger Moths. The plan evolved was to stage an air race around the airfield, each aircraft having a coloured tail skid pennant and a Wren onboard wearing a coloured jumper to match. After three laps we were to land and the girls were to jump out and race through an obstacle course to the control tower. The rules for the race were that you could use full power until you overtook the leader, when you had to throttle back to 1,800rpm until you were in turn overtaken.

My wife was an ex Wren and had just missed out on flying with me in a Sea Fury trainer on her last day in the service, but that is another story. She was keen to have another go so we dressed her up in a flying suit and the Wrens in the squadron looked after the kids as I took her up on one of the rehearsal days. She was obviously scared stiff as I didn’t really need the intercom to hear her queries as to what was happening.

The race on Airday was a great success as we three Tiger pilots tried to out do each other landing as close to the tower as we dared. I made my approach across the main runway with the aim of touching down just on the other side. As I washolding off, to my horror I saw great lengths of anchor cable, used for the arrester, gear immediately under us. In a flash I realised that we would touch down past it but it was a pucker situation for a moment.

My recollection of the Tiger is of an aircraft that was a delight to fly, once you had mastered it. I flew it off and on over a ten year period during which I had gained a lot of experience, albeit on muchheavier aircraft. Each time I returned to the Tiger my appreciation of the aircraft was enhanced by that experience and I came to realise what an excellent little aircraft it was. I wish I had one now.