Flying the Bristol Freighter

George Palmer remembers his time on Air Express’s Bristol Freighters

On 10th May 1975 at 2.20 a.m., Air Express Ltd of Essendon lost a Bristol B170/21 Freighter 17 miles south of Wangthaggi, Victoria. Under the command of Capt Les Barnes and in the company of a young Radio Operator, they went down at night into the sea unable to maintain height after shutting down the port engine. It is not fair nor my intention to speculate, but one believable theory was that following a catastrophic engine failure, one of the petal cowls (hinged from the rear) opened. The resulting drag gave the crew little chance to make landfall and forced a night ditching. Both crew members lost their lives and little of the aircraft was recovered. The then Department of Transport conducted a lengthy investigation, the results being largely inconclusive but several recommendations were made.

Weight restrictions on the lower powered Mk 21 model were imposed and the requirement for two pilots became standard. By mid 1977, the operational changes were in force and Air Express were looking for co-pilots. In need of “Heavy time” to further my career, I applied, and after a successful interview with Derick Scott and Chief Pilot Gordon Howe I was offered one of the positions available. 

After a short ground school, I found myself assigned to Capt Len Veger, my training Captain. After 12 days I was cleared to the line as a first officer. My first flight was in a Mk 31, VH-ADL, on the 10th October 1977. The Mk 31 differed from the Mk 21 by having bigger Bristol Hercules engines of 1980 BHP, a dorsel fillet, engine spinners and toe brakes. The Mk 21 had the very English hand operated brakes using a bicycle type lever on the control wheel. The brakes were pneumatic. The “walk around” was standard and straight forward but I do remember being surprised at the amount of oil running down the undercarriage leg and onto the tyres. Wooden cleats used as gust locks had to be removed from the rudder and elevator and these were placed behind a small seat at the rear of the cargo hold. Entry to the cockpit was via a small hatch beneath the nose. Turning the handle, the hatch hung down, suspended from the rear. On the inside of the hatch, two “toe holes” enabled the crew member to climb inside the nose area (known as compartment “A”). The heavy over centre locks holding the nose cargo “clam shell” doors were then checked and also the wire gates separating the cargo department were locked in place. A quick check of the cargo nets and then it was time to climb a ladder on the right forward fuselage wall to the cockpit. Entry was via a hatch in the cockpit floor. 

The job of the co-pilot was to take a wooden dip stick stored in the cockpit and climb, yet again , through another hatch in the cockpit roof behind the co-pilot’s seat and onto the wing to check the oil. The oil tanks were directly behind the engine and had a capacity of 20 gallons (the engines used about 3 gallons of oil an hour). One of the hazards of this task, apart from falling off the oily wing, was negotiating an aerial stretching from the top of the fin to an aerial mast just behind the roof hatch. Today I still have a small scar on the bridge of my nose when in darkness and running late I allowed my situational awareness to lapse. 

Once back in the cockpit, the pre-flight checks were completed. Like most English cockpits of this era, the cockpit design and ergonomics left much to be desired, with most of the Navigational Aids attached as “add ons” on top of the instrument panel. VH-ADL the Mk 31 had a full ILS but VH-SJG the Mk 21 had only a localiser with no glide path. Both aircraft had DME, ADF and VOR. The control wheels resembled that of the DC3 but much larger, giving a slight “tram” appearance. A large Sperry autopilot dominated the centre panel complete with a lever (not unlike an undercarriage lever) marked “ON” and “OFF”. Three large tuning knobs allowed the Auto Pilot indices to be “trimmed” in roll, pitch and yaw prior to engagement. Years later on the Fokker Friendship we had an Auto Pilot called the AL30/J, quickly nicknamed the “Hi-jack box” because it seemed to have a mind of its own. The difference with the Bristol was it had no mind. The tall “T” handled throttles were coloured red for port and green for starboard as were the pitch levers and friction nuts. In place of mixture controls were “carby shut off valves” marked “OFF” and “RUN”. One of the unique features of the Bristol was automatic mixture control and it worked very well. Both pilots had the standard flying panel and two large feather buttons were positioned just above the Auto-Pilot. The primers and starters were on a small panel to the left of the Captain’s knee.

Engaging the starter we counted out aloud the number of blades passing the cockpit window. Primer buttons hit, ignition on, and the engine fired up as only a large radial can with a lot of smoke and fanfare. The Hercules engine ran very smoothly with a distinct crackle from the stub exhausts. Due to the delay in the pneumatic brakes, taxiing was not as easy as one would imagine and it took several hours before I felt comfortable. The secret was to apply the brakes together and then one more than the other to achieve the desired directional change. To apply one brake only tended to cause overcontrolling. One eye had also to be kept on the split pressure gauge. As I gained more experience, especially when making directional turns, assymetric power helped to contain any tendency to “overswing”.

The aircraft was fitted with another quaint and very English system, an electrical tail wheel lock. You first had to be taxiing very straight. Then when flicking a switch at the rear of the console (trying not to look down and back at it), a red light illuminated and a solenoid dropped a pin into two aligned holes. With a 5 minute limit on its use, a strong wind and long taxi could exceed the limit. VH-ADL was nicknamed “Adolf” by its crews (official company name “Tasmanian Devil”) and with the sun behind you taxiing out, the shadow ahead of the aircraft always resembled a rather frightening monster with the brakes hissing and squealing away. I found the aircraft rather intimidating to begin with. Due to the automatic  mixture control, the throttle quadrant was marked with the ECB range ( Economic Cruise Boost). During take off, it was not permitted to pause at this setting and the throttles had to be pushed smoothly through to the take off setting. This sometimes resulted in an early swing developing and care had to be taken to keep it straight, especially when the tail came up. The noise on take off could only be described as painful. It did in fact physically hurt and communication was only possible through the intercom. Once airborne, the aircraft climbed with the strange sensation of a lift with the nose “nodding” in any turbulence. The controls were heavy compared with the light twins I had been flying.

Overall the aircraft was easy to fly but needed course control movements. The landing was another matter. With solid rubber blocks in the oleos, any back pressure on initial touchdown meant the aircraft bounced back into the air, and the subsequent skips took some forward stick to pin the aircraft down. I flew with several Captains who mastered the “three pointer” landings with great skill but sadly I have to record the only way I could land the thing was to wheel it on and apply forward pressure to keep it there. As the tail slowly came down the feet came into play to keep it straight. I must admit it took over a hundred hours before I really settled in, especially in cross winds. Towards the end of my time on the type, I realised that it was really just a giant Tiger moth but this bravado took some time to appear. The aircraft was fitted with an electrically operated auto-course system using a series of pitot-type probes on the wing leading edge - one each in the “free air” and one behind each prop disc. Any loss of power would be sensed immediately and the offending propellor automatically sent into course pitch.

With a payload of 4 tons, the aircraft carried one ton of freight more than a DC3, at only slightly slower speed. We carried cars and general  cargo to Launceston, Devonport, Smithton and King Island. The ever versatile co-pilot was responsible for opening the large nose door using a hand crank fitted to the right side of the fuselage. Loading a car onto the parallel ramps we used a notched broom handle to check the correct width of the car tyres to the ramp. The car was then driven on and chained to the floor. Flying at night during the  winter months, we often crossed the Bass Straight at low level to keep out of icing conditions. The aircraft had no de-icing or anti-icing devices and to be down to 1500’ the “lowest safe” was  not uncommon. I can still remember those heaving Bass Straight swells and white caps visible even at night and listening to the engines anxiously. Here again, the aircraft had a strange quirk, every now and then one engine would miss a beat, a very distinct  “thump”. We called this “the Bristol cough” and no explanation of this was ever given despite heavy discussions with ground engineers.  After a “cough” we would always just look at each other and smile but nevertheless it was disconcerting.

By June 1978, VH-SJA was grounded due to airframe hours and five pilots, myself included were laid off. After a stint with Connair in Darwin, I finally made it into Ansett. Looking back, I feel the Bristol was the end of an era and I now feel privileged to have been part of it.