A Mishap In a Mustang

 

By Bill Wilkinson

 

After going solo in the Mustang we soon discovered that there was no structured program in learning how to make ourselves a useful part of the defence system to the country.

 

The Mustang was a single seat fighter without any radio navigation equipment. There were no guiding hands or gentle words of advice as we had enjoyed when learning to fly Harvards at the Flying Training School. We were entirely on our own. New Zealand at that time had a "Do-it yourself' Air Force.

 

The senior members of the squadron, pilots who had acquitted themselves with distinction in the Pacific and Europe during the war, would offer words of advice when they saw some of the errors we were making. The first cautionary advice we were given was: "Don't do more than one and a half turns of a spin. After that it becomes a flat spin and the aircraft will not recover."

 

I set about doing my own thing as far as the Mustang was concerned. My "homemade" aerobatics programme included a lot of inverted flying and always started off with a routine of loops, rolls off the top, barrel rolls, slow rolls, four point rolls, eight point roll, stall turns and straight and level in the inverted position. While inverted, I tried extending the undercarriage, lowering the flaps and stalling the aircraft. Flying upside down I would turn on the gun sight and pick out imaginary targets and press the firing button, shouting, "Rata-tat-tat!" I was reliving my childhood games. After an hour of this I would be drenched in sweat and exhausted.

 

It was just as well I did not precipitate into an inverted spin during these exercises. We had no information on recovery for the Mustang from this problem.

 

I was going into my routine for the third time one weekend and rolled the aircraft inverted when there was a sudden "BANG!" and everything went black. It took a moment or two to orientate myself. I could not see out of the canopy. There had been an explosion in the engine and a curtain of oil had formed over the Perspex. The engine continued to run and the oil pressure was normal, but for how long? It was obviously essential to get onto the ground immediately. This was going to be very difficult, as I could not see where I was going. There were half a dozen Tiger Moths doing circuits around the field. I did not fancy a mid-air collision with one of them. The biplanes had no radios installed.

 

My friend, Ken Melvin, was flying nearby in a Mustang. I called him on the radio, explained what had happened and asked him to be my guide dog. Within a couple of minutes he was behind me and giving directions to avoid the other aircraft. Ken's voice came over the radio, "If you veer right, I will take you around the slow traffic." My eyes were fixed on all of the temperature and pressure gauges." How long will this engine last?" I thought.

 

We were descending down to circuit height. "If the donk stopped now would I have enough height to bail out?" We were down to 1,500 feet. It was going to be close. I still had my undercarriage up and would keep it up to the last moment in case this turned out to be a forced landing.

 

"Just go straight ahead. It is okay" Ken's voice was calm. My mind was racing. All of the gauges were on normal and the motor was still turning. It was crazy, an engine running without oil!? I was ready for the propeller to stop turning at any moment. I knew that Rolls Royce designed magical engines but this was something else.

 

The controller, who had listened to our radio conversation and had not said a word until now, spoke: "I have fired a red. I will try and get the little guys out of the way."

 

I glanced out of the side of the canopy; at least I had a little bit of lateral vision through the oil smears. The intensely bright flare was descending. "The whole world must have seen that," I thought. My eyes returned to the instruments. "If you turn ninety left you will have a clear run on final." I was extremely grateful to Ken,

 

" Come over the railway line and you can have the whole paddock to yourself," he added.

 

It was only on the final approach that I could wind the canopy back and pull my goggles on to see where I was going. I still got a face full of oil. I punched the undercarriage lever into the down position; the flaps were slammed into the fully lowered position. Ken followed me onto the ground and landed just behind me. He had probably saved not only my life, but possibly also the lives of other aviators in the air over Taieri. I was a very relieved pilot when shutting down my aircraft that day! We stood together, Ken and I, and looked at the plane. I had taken off in a sleek, shiny, swift, silver machine. It was now a sodden, dirty, black, dripping mess.

 

When the ground crew removed the covers we could see what had actually happened. The oil tank, located immediately in front of the canopy, had exploded and sent a shower of oil over the cockpit bubble. One of the apprentices had installed the pressure-relieving valve upside down in the tank. The moment I was inverted the tank ruptured. Sufficient oil had remained in the system, enough to get me safely on the ground, thank goodness.