Author: David Learmount

Leonard’s War, episode 5: Learmount takes command of No. 22 Squadron

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(For previous episodes, scroll down)

Learmount with one of No 22 Squadron’s FE2bs. It is not clear whether this photograph was taken at Bertangles, Chipilly, or Flez, but Bertangles seems unlikely because 22 was there in winter time.

In the middle of the snowy January of 1917, Leonard Learmount was promoted to Acting Major and given command of No 22 Squadron at Bertangles, about 5km north of Amiens. In his promotion from Lieutenant he had leapfrogged the substantive rank of Captain (he had been made an acting Captain during his immediately preceding command at 15 Reserve Squadron, Doncaster, a training unit, whence he travelled to France) and gone straight to Major. War seems to make military procedure much more flexible.

22 Sqn was equipped with FE.2b pusher biplanes – dubbed the “Fee” by its fliers and mechanics. The Squadron’s main roles when Learmount joined it were aerial photography over the German lines, and reconnaissance. In this vital role, which required steady, stable flying often at low level, it was vulnerable, so a pair of Sopwith Pup fighters were attached to the squadron to fly as escorts above the FE2b formations, able to intervene from above if German fighters attacked. At 27, Learmount was older than most of his fellow pilots, and equipped with all of 22 months’ experience of military aviation since his first flying lesson at Brooklands.

A farmer’s field near the River Somme, the former site of Chipilly aerodrome. The gentleness of the countryside and the beauty of the River Somme itself belies the horrors perpetrated here.

At the end of April 22 Sqn moved east about 20km from Bertangles to Chipilly, an aerodrome a few kilometres south of Albert and just to the north of the River Somme. During a few days sojourn there before moving further east to Flez, a new young American volunteer, AGJ (Archie) Whitehouse, who had just transferred from the army to 22 Squadron as an Air Gunner Second Class, brought to his first squadron a useful familiarity with firearms he had won both as a soldier and back at his childhood home in the USA. He was about to put that skill very successfully to use in the air, in charge of a Lewis light machine gun mounted above the front edge of his slipstream-blasted, canoe-like work-space in the nose of the Fee. His “foot-bath”, as he called it, was immediately forward of the pilot’s rather deeper cockpit.

About ten years later Whitehouse, who kept a diary at the front, was to publish a memoire of his time on No 22 Sqn called “Hell in the Heavens”. Some of the experiences recorded here are from Whitehouse’s book. While there is no reason to doubt his tales of squadron life, and the airborne experiences he describes, the precise chronology of events he records – including 22’s migration from one aerodrome to another from time to time – is not reliable.

The Fee itself was stable, reliable, could take a lot of damage and still fly, but rather slow. Its strong point was that the pilot and observer/gunner had a completely unobstructed view forward, laterally, above and below, which was excellent for 22 Sqn’s main roles – reconnaissance and aerial photography. In fact the Fee has – by a modern RFC historian – been dubbed the RFC’s MRCA (multi-role combat aircraft, the name given to the joint European strike aircraft project that ultimately became the Tornado). Also the field of fire from its two pivoted Lewis guns was excellent in all directions except in its blind spot directly behind and below the tail. The observer’s gun was on the forward lip of his “tub”. The other – on a higher mount just ahead of the pilot – could either be fired forward by the pilot, or used by the observer to fire backward over the upper wing. So the Fee, although not designed as a fighter, could defend itself.

The FE2b “Fee”. This is shown without the guns on their mounts, but it clearly shows the Observer/Gunner’s shallow forward cockpit and the pilot’s deeper aft cockpit. Two Lewis guns were mounted on raised pivots, one on the front lip of the Gunner’s cockpit, the other – behind him on the front lip of the pilot’s station – could be fired forward by the pilot or rearward over the top wing by the Gunner.

The day Whitehouse reported to Chipilly, he describes himself walking between the mess huts and canvas Bessonneau hangars when he heard a wailing sound, looked up and saw the silver fuselage and tailplane of a No. 2 Squadron Nieuport Scout diving toward the ground, its wings torn away and flailing separately to earth. Nieuports were fast, nimble French single-seaters, but if a pilot pulled too hard the wings would come off, and this time they did. 

Unfamiliar with what he was witnessing, it took Whitehouse a moment to realise the Nieuport was coming straight at him, and he began to run for cover between the hangars. The wingless hull smashed into the hardened area just in front of them.  He must have dashed over, because he found himself pulling frantically at the fur coat containing the mangled corpse of the pilot, before somebody swore loudly at him and pulled him away.

They said the pilot was the CO of No 2 Squadron, which was co-located with No 22 at Chipilly, and speculated that he was showing his aircrew what the Nieuport could do. Whitehouse watched while a crew grabbed the corners of the fur coat and pulled the human remains clear of the wreckage so the squadron would have something to bury. Whitehouse himself was told to clear off, so he continued to the orderly room to report for duty.

Whitehouse had received no training for the air. He reported to stores and was issued with his sheepskin flying kit and goggles. An attempt by the stores team to wash away the blood of a former owner had not completely succeeded.  

As soon as the new gunner had carried the kit to his Nissen hut quarters, one of the flight commanders, a Canadian called Capt Carl Clement who was C Flight Commander, put his head around the door and told him to get kitted up for a sortie that would be ideal for “getting his air legs in”.

Whitehouse’s first experience of leaving the earth’s surface was to be on a post-maintenance engine test flight. Once airborne, Clement shouted at him to tell him that, on the way back, they’d pass over the aircraft-shaped practice target on the ground near the aerodrome perimeter so Whitehouse could fire the Lewis gun at it.

To direct the gun properly Whitehouse had to get on his feet, blasted by the slipstream from his knees upward. No harness, no parachute. Standing would enable him to pivot the Lewis gun widely on its mounting. He was understandably reluctant, so Clement reached forward over his cockpit coaming and yanked him by the collar to persuade him to get up. When he finally did, the Lewis gun became both his weapon and his support – the only thing he had to hold on to. “I realised how it feels to be standing on the edge of … nothing.” But then, when Clement dived steeply at the practice target, Whitehouse filled it with lead. Clement was impressed and told him so.

Tomorrow’s episode 6: Whitehouse logs more spectacular airborne time

Leonard’s War episode 4: mission training at Doncaster, and air support for the Somme offensive

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(For previous episodes, scroll down)

On 8 May 1916 2nd Lieutenant Leonard Learmount was posted from No 7 Squadron at Baillieul, Northern France to No 15 (Reserve) Squadron at Doncaster, south Yorkshire, a training unit. At the same time he was promoted to Lieutenant, and on 17 May he was made a Flight Commander, rapidly followed on 15 July 1916 by being appointed Commanding Officer of the 15 (Reserve) depot.

As an illustration of how highly-prized even a small amount of operational flying experience was, this posting for Learmount took place less than a year since he had completed his basic flight training. He had flown just 11 months over the Western Front with No 7 Squadron, had survived the experience – which many hadn’t – and here he was, commanding a training unit himself.

In that role, his career path crossed that of one 2nd Lieutenant James Kerr, whose log book Learmount signed off on 22 July, the latter having trained on both the BE2c and the Armstrong Whitworth FK3 at the 15 (Reserve) Squadron training depot. Learmount’s rank, as signed in Kerr’s log book, was Captain (presumably acting or temporary), and a note accompanying Learmount’s signature stated that Kerr had been “posted overseas” on 24 July. That was, indeed, the date that Kerr arrived in France, at Saint-Omer, and by the end of that month he had been assigned to No 5 Squadron operating out of Droglandt, not far west of Ypres, flying the BE2c and d. So it is clear that No 15 (Reserve) Squadron was not a unit preparing pilots for 15 Squadron, it was just the 15th Reserve Squadron so far formed, and its task was to meet a need by any and all active units for improved flying skills in the new trainees arriving in France.

The task of No 15 (Reserve) Squadron seems to have been to take new pilots who had learned basic flying skills and prepare them for the tasks that they would face over the Western Front – mainly reconnaissance and navigation skills, but also surviving air-to-air combat. The last few entries in Kerr’s log book contained the information that he had looped the BE2c once and the FK3 twice, a marked contrast to Learmount’s experience level at the end of his training a year earlier. “Stunting”, however, was not a part of training, and it was generally frowned upon at that time.

Back in 1915, pilots had been given no preparation for the mission skills they would need on the front line until they arrived there. Indeed, in his log book on arrival on 7 Squadron in France, Learmount remarked – on one of five familiarisation sorties out of Saint-Omer – that he had navigated by compass for the first time, and flown above cloud also for the first time. These few trips were clearly his mission preparation, and the final (sixth) one recorded in his training log book was a 10min sortie over the aerodrome at 1,000ft flown “for the benefit of Indian cavalry”.

There was clearly a growing awareness in the RFC that the quality and and quantity of training provided to pilots was insufficient. Indeed, as related in Episode 1 of this series, in July 1916 Major Raymond Smith-Barry, who had noted the low quality of trainees arriving for duty, had begun the process of compiling the RFC’s first formal flying training syllabus, but it had not yet been published and would first see the light of day in December 1916. Smith-Barry believed in the need to train military pilots to fly their aircraft to their limits, and to recover successfully if they exceeded them, rather than simply to get airborne and fly cautiously. As air-to-air combat was becoming increasingly routine, timid flying was no longer an option.

Learmount’s arrival at Doncaster in early May 1916 preceded – by a few weeks – the beginning of the massive and deadly Somme offensive by the British army 4th Corps, allied with Canadian and Australian troops. The artillery fired up early on the morning of 1st July. So supporting this push by maintaining air superiority above it was to be the task of many of the brand new pilots and observers that Learmount was preparing at Doncaster.

A general view of the Western Front 1915-16, with battle locations indicated

The priority in advance of the Somme push, was to get photographs and intelligence about the enemy’s movements, supply routes and defensive lines (trenches). The BE2c two-seater “tractor” biplane – one of the types in use for instruction at No 15 (Reserve) Squadron at that time, was a machine well-suited to the reconnaissance task, but not much more than that.

BE2c (Imperial War Museum)

In June and July – operating out of airfields in the vicinity of Arras – the BE2c for was mostly used for reconnaissance and as a light bomber, although it could be fitted with underwing-mounted rockets for attacking balloons. And unlike its unarmed BE pure reconnaissance predecessors, the BE2c observer/gunner was given a pivot-mounted Lewis gun, but more for self-defence than attack. Some BE2cs were given two Lewis guns. Unfortunately, because the observer’s cockpit was forward of the pilot’s, he was positioned more or less in line with the leading edges of the wings, which limited his field of fire considerably, with the propeller just ahead and the struts either side. The trailing edge of the upper wing, however, was cut away at its centre, allowing fire upwards, which was useful for attacking balloons.

Part of the Allied strategy leading up to the Somme push was to make good use of the RFC’s sheer numbers – far in excess of the numbers of aircraft available to the Germans – so they could keep control of the air above the battlefield. The combined aircraft fleets of the Allies exceeded significantly the numbers of German aircraft, even if their effectiveness didn’t match that of the newer German machines like the Fokker Eindecker. Often the BE2s were protected by a pair of Bristol Scouts which could escort them in their reconnaissance role.

In the last days of the Somme offensive, a BE2c (from 15 Sqn as it happened), was hit in combat with five Albatros Ds. The pilot, 2nd Lt JC Lees and observer Lt TH Clarke, were both wounded. The pilot brought the stricken aircraft to a crash landing in enemy territory near Miraumont where the two were taken prisoners of war. The German troops who attended the downed aircraft expressed disbelief that the British were still using such an old-fashioned machine. In fact they referred disparagingly to the aircraft as “kaltes Fleische” (cold meat). Over the five-month offensive from July to November the RFC lost 600 aircraft and 252 crew.

Meanwhile propaganda, normally perceived as information disseminated by the enemy, is a two-way art. Of course the RFC had to generate its own. It seems Britain’s political leaders wanted the people at home to be told about “our boys defending our skies”, because Zeppelins were now succeeding in bombing civilian targets in British cities – a development that had deeply shocked the public.

At about this time – although it was probably somewhat earlier in 2016 – Learmount was clearly chosen as the “right stuff” to provide the British people with a word-picture of what it was like to be an RFC pilot. So he duly wrote a story, published in the Daily Mirror, headlined “Mr Learmount at the Front – Experiences in the Royal Flying Corps”, claiming to be “extracts from a letter received from Lieut LW Learmount of the Royal Flying Corps from ‘Somewhere in France’”. When interpreted in the light of history, this “letter” seems to contain a compendium of experiences over quite a wide period. The newspaper cutting kept by Learmount’s family is not marked with its date, so the period of operations described in the article cannot be precisely identified.

Press cutting from the Daily Mirror in Autumn 1916, from Learmount’s family records

This is what the “letter” says:

“We are having a very strenuous time here. I suppose I put in about 5 hours every day. Not all of it is over the enemy’s lines, of course. A new duty is patrolling the town where we are stationed, as some time ago a few Huns came over and dropped bombs on us and were off again before we could get up to them, so we go up every morning and cruise around at about 10,000ft so that should any more of them venture an attack we are prepared for them.

“I had a most exciting time the other day. I was going to Ostend and just after crossing the Lines a German machine came up and attacked us with a machine gun. We soon brought ours into play, but owing to his vastly superior speed we were not altogether having things all our own way, when a little British Scout which had been patrolling somewhere near us [probably a fighter escort for the reconnaissance type] dropped from the skies and opened fire and, between us, we downed the Hun pretty successfully.

“After this we went on with our reconnaissance and on the way back we met another Hun, but on this occasion we managed to do him in ourselves, and proceeded gaily on our way, somewhat badly damaged it is true, but still we got home all right.

“These air duels are very thrilling, the sky is thick with bursting shells [“Archie”- or anti-aircraft fire] and amidst the roar of our machine guns you can hear the zip of the Hun’s bullets when they get pretty close, and all the time the two machines are circling about, dropping and climbing, each trying to get the other at a disadvantage.

“Aerial warfare becomes more and more like a sea fight as machines are improved, but unfortunately the Huns have usually got better machines than we have. I have so far flown a rather an antiquated type, a French make, but am now the proud possessor of the very latest British machine, a real beauty [BE2c?]

“We have got a most splendid lot of fellows in the RFC, and I am serenely happy among them, although I get depressed at times the way one after another of them disappears. It is so rotten to see a vacant chair at the Mess table every now and then, and to have to go and pack up some unfortunate chap’s belongings is positively horrible. It make one sick at heart to witness the slaughter, for it amounts to nothing less, of all these fine men.”

Tomorrow, Episode 5: Learmount is promoted from Captain to Acting Major, and given command of No. 22 Squadron at Bertangles, near Amiens, equipped with FE2b two-seater pushers, and gets increasingly involved in aerial photography over the heavily fortified German Hindenberg Line.

Leonard’s War episode 3: Learning night bombing with the Armée de l’Air

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(for preceding episodes, scroll down)

In early March 1916, 2nd Lieutenant Leonard Learmount was seconded from his unit, No. 7 Squadron, to the French Bombardment Group at Malzeville, close to Nancy and not far from the France/Germany border in embattled Alsace-Lorraine. His task was to observe bombing techniques – particularly night bombing – and to write a report for the RFC.

http://www.greatwar.co.uk

Selection for this duty suggests he was being prepared for command despite the brevity of experience gained in the twelve months since he had enlisted.

Here are some extracts from Learmount’s Malzeville report:

“There are 5 squadrons stationed here, each containing 10 machines. Most of these are Voisins, and the rest double-engine Caudrons. The Voisins will shortly be entirely replaced by Caudrons. These squadrons do not work other than bomb dropping, and one of them is kept entirely for night flying, the pilots being trained exclusively for this purpose.

Caudron G4 near Verdun

“The Voisins carry 10 bombs of 10 kilos inside the nacelle. They are placed in an upright position, 5 on either side, and the opening of slides permits the bombs to fall. The Caudron carried five 20-kilo bombs under the nacelle with a release similar to our own.”

Night bombardment

Learmount’s report about night bombing operations reveals a tentative, experimental approach by the French Armée de l’Air to this new type of operation.

“The most elaborate arrangements are made for flying by night, each machine carrying a red and blue light on the wing tips., and three powerful electric lights under the nacelle which can be made to face in any direction. The lighting Is obtained from an accumulator which is charged by a small dynamo driven by a fan fitted to the lower plane.

“There are searchlights at intervals of about 20 yards trained onto the aerodrome, and 3 or 4 forming a crescent round the aerodrome, which point into the air and guide the machines back.

“Machines bombard at night time in groups of 4, and before leaving the aerodrome they signal by means of their electric lights that they are starting, or, if the engine is running badly, they signal that they are going to land. All signals are repeated from the ground by a searchlight to show the machines that their message had been received. When the lines are reached, all lights are extinguished.”

Night navigation was basic: “Machines always fly up the right-hand side of the river, returning on the opposite side.” The report does not name the river or rivers, but Nancy is near the confluence of the Moselle, Meurthe and Marne. “Only towns or points near a river are bombarded at night time, and the machines only fly when the night is clear. When the first man arrives at the objective, he drops incendiary bombs, so that, in the event of all lights being extinguished, the next three can see their objective. The first man in the second group drops incendiary bombs in the same manner.

“Machines fly at about 6,000ft and are never attacked by hostile machines, and have never been damaged by anti-aircraft fire. The French artillery and infantry in the area which the machines fly over are always warned that a raid is taking place, so that they do not put searchlights on their own machines.” Daytime bombing raids, the report says, aim for munitions factories, and railway stations or junctions, so at night the implication is that any of these close to the river they followed for navigation are fair game.

The night bombing tactics clearly left the Germans at a loss as to how to respond. It seems at night they could not identify the machines nor precisely where they came from. “German machines seldom visit the aerodrome and never drop bombs in this district in any quantity. The aerodrome is protected by anti-aircraft guns and patrolled by Nieuport machines. The Nieuport is kept entirely for fighting, and the squadrons composed of these are stationed at Bar-le-Duc.”

Learmount added a personal postscript to the report: “I was very struck by the cheerfulness and confidence of all the French Officers and troops with whom I came into contact. The utmost confidence prevails with regard to the result of the battle around Verdun.”

Verdun was not far north-west of Nancy, and the battle of that name turned out to be the longest and most bloody single campaign of the Great War. Between its inception on 21 February and end on 18 December 1916, the French lost 400,000 men and the Germans 350,000. By Christmas 1916 it was apparent that the dogged French defence had prevailed.

In the light of history, it is instructive to see Learmount’s observations on French army morale, recorded at Malzeville, during the first two weeks of the Battle of Verdun. Despite being a very junior allied officer, he clearly knew that repelling the German push at Verdun was vital, and was also aware that the conflict was quickly developing into a particularly nasty encounter. “I understand that up to the time I left, no general reserves had been called upon, and only the Reserves of the Divisions involved being in action. I saw many troops travelling up to the firing line, and it was remarkable the cheerful way in which the men sang and joked among themselves. One or two occasions when I was noticed the men all called out Anglais, Anglais and cheered, shewing the greatest friendliness.” Learmount was witnessing to the fact that, contrary to established British folklore, sang froid – and cheerfulness too – wasn’t a uniquely British reaction to wartime adversity.

He added: “In conclusion I should like to say how hospitably I was treated by the French Officers. A car was placed at my disposal, and each day I was invited to lunch or dine with either the Commandant or the Officers. When dining with the latter I thought it remarkable that every officer at table had one, and in many cases, two medals, and when I questioned them about this, I was told that the reason was these medals had been given to them previous to joining the Flying Corps, and it was largely owing to their meritorious service that they had been chosen.”

Learmount’s report was dated 11 March 1916.

Tomorrow’s episode 4: Learmount is given command of No. 15 (Reserve) Squadron, an aircrew training unit at Doncaster, south Yorkshire. Although he had only 11 months of operational flying himself, his task was to supplement the basic flying training of new pilots with some rudimentary mission skills before posting to France, where they would arrive just in time to provide air support for the massive Somme offensive. Meanwhile he’s ordered by the authorities to write an article for the Daily Mirror to provide the British public with a picture of what it’s like to be a military aviator.

Leonard’s War episode 2: Fight and flight over Flanders

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(If you missed the first episode, scroll down to find it before this one)

It was on 12 June 1915 – almost the height of summer – that 2nd Lieutenant Leonard Learmount joined his first operational unit – No 7 Squadron – at Saint-Omer aerodrome, north-eastern France. His flying log book records the weather as almost perfect for flying a wood-and-fabric aeroplane: clear with a 10mph easterly breeze.

Saint Omer aerodrome 12 June 2015, exactly a century after Learmount’s arrival there. Even the weather was identical, with an easterly breeze. It still operates as the home of the Aéro Club de Saint-Omer, and one of its aircraft is backtracking for take-off from the runway’s other end.

There is no evidence that Learmount was given an aeroplane to ferry across La Manche to Saint-Omer, so we must assume that – like most men posted to France – he caught the sea shuttle from Southampton to Le Havre and took a boat up the River Seine to Rouen, thence by road to his destination.

Learmount’s flying log book shows that four short trips out of Saint-Omer aerodrome on a new aircraft type were deemed sufficient for him to master its peculiarities and to complete local area familiarisation sorties. The machine he was learning to control was the French-built two-seater Voisin “pusher” biplane [engine and propeller behind the cockpit].

His first sortie consisted of 20min flying circuits, but the second trip was a brief affair lasting 10min. His log book explains: “During spirals, five ribs collapsed. Landed safely.” The instructor had taken control and put the aircraft down without delay.

The Voisin, a French two-seater pusher biplane also used by the RFC

“Spirals” were climbing or descending turns, and if the aircraft was not kept in balance by a careful combination of aileron, rudder and elevator, a spin could develop. The Voisin had a level airspeed of about 65mph, but that was only about 40mph above its stalling speed. The evidence suggests that, before the need for a formal flying training syllabus was recognised in 1916, military aviation was seen simply as a means of putting eyes in the sky for the army, and – especially at first – there was no preparation for air-to-air combat. The pilots were just seen as drivers, their task being to fly cautiously and avoid loss-of-control so as to bring their observers home safely to pass on their vital reconnaissance information.

After his final familiarisation sortie, Learmount wrote in his log book: “Above clouds, steered by compass.” He had clearly experienced neither of those things before, yet he was deemed ready for command of a two-seater aircraft operating in hostile skies above the battlefield.

The very first RFC air-to-air combat losses were reported in early June 1915. Indeed a 7 Sqn RE5 was “shot-up” and damaged at 7,000ft over Douai/Valenciennes on 6 June, and on 6 July 2nd Lieutenants LW Yule (pilot) and RH Peck (observer) in a Voisin were both wounded by “exploding cartridges” at 7,000ft near Armentiéres. Both crews successfully recovered to Saint-Omer. (Combat detail from Trevor Henshaw’s admirable “The Sky Their Battlefield”)

Air warfare tactics in that precise location not far east of Ypres were evolving, but were about to start developing at breakneck speed. Air-to-air combat was still very rare, many of the crews armed only with rifles and revolvers, and the primary mission was still reconnaissance and artillery spotting.

In Learmount’s early operational flying with 7 Sqn, he flew the painfully slow Voisin first out of Saint-Omer, and then from other aerodromes further east in the “Ypres Salient” region of Flanders, among them Droglandt. At first, he was purely carrying out reconnaissance and artillery-spotting for the army, but the Voisin was equipped with a Lewis light machine gun, so it was capable of defending itself.

Flying with Learmount on his first operational sortie in command – on 19 June 1915 – was his observer/gunner, the same 2nd Lieutenant Peck just mentioned earlier. Indeed Peck almost certainly directed his rookie commander’s sortie! His handwritten reconnaissance report (see below) records the aircraft’s take-off from Saint-Omer at dawn (04:30), and describes observed activity behind enemy lines between Courtrai and Ghent, Flanders. The pencilled words, inscribed carefully by cold hands, provide details of train and other surface transport movements, assemblies of troops and equipment and estimated numbers. The aircraft landed at 07:45am, so they had been airborne for 3h 15min.

Copy of the 19 June 1915 reconnaissance report, filed from Learmount’s first operational flight. (National Records Office)

On the ground, beneath 7 Sqn’s patrolling aircraft, a fierce German offensive was raging against the British forces holding Ypres. The airmen, pre-briefed on what the army wanted them to look out for, provided their recce reports direct to specific units on the ground. The German offensive was eventually stalled, but at huge cost to both sides.

In a 31 July 1915 combat report filed by Learmount’s observer/gunner describing an inconclusive encounter with an enemy biplane, the Voisin crew’s armament was recorded as: “Lewis gun, rifle and pistol”. The observer, 2nd Lieutenant HH Watkins, initiated the hostile exchange with his Lewis gun, but the German machine positioned itself behind the RFC aircraft. Watkins reports: “I fired over the top plane with the pistol, and the enemy immediately turned and disappeared to the east.” The German aircraft was not identified by type, but was described thus: “Tractor biplane with covered-in fuselage. Machine gun firing to rear. Speed about 85mph.” This kind of encounter was common at that stage of the war, but exchanges quickly became more dramatic as Germany started to field armed fighters.

(National Records Office)

Meanwhile 7 Sqn aircraft were increasingly often engaged in air-to-air exchanges and, with the arrival of August, the “Fokker scourge” began to take its toll of RFC aircraft and crews. The Fokker Eindecker was, as its name implies, a monoplane, and it was a “tractor” (engine and propeller at the front), not a “pusher”. It was the first aircraft on either side to be armed with a forward-firing machine gun equipped with interrupter gear to enable it to fire ahead through the propeller. This made it a game-changer, and accelerated the development of air combat tactics.

The Eindecker’s armament might have caused far more problems than it did, but fortunately for the RFC the aircraft had an unreliable engine, and was difficult to fly, causing many training crashes. Thus only a small number were effectively deployable on a daily basis at front-line units. In fact it was so difficult to manage that the Germans took the Eindecker out of service in early September, but such was its known effectiveness in capable hands that it was declared operational again a few weeks later.

And the RFC’s airborne operations were becoming more varied. By early autumn, bombing sorties were more regularly executed – including against German aerodromes. For example a handwritten, undated operation order held by the UK National Records Office tasked five 7 Sqn pilots – including Learmount – with carrying out two bombing raids on Gits aerodrome in Flanders, near the Gits railway station just east of the Torhout-Roulers road. The first was to be at 7am, the second at 2pm to disrupt attempts at repair. Each aircraft normally carried two or three 20-pound bombs.

http://www.greatwar.co.uk

There was a difference between the overall aviation strategies of the Allies and Germany. Germany frequently had technology and performance advantages, but they had a significantly smaller aircraft fleet and knew it. The RFC leadership, notably the general commander of the RFC in France Colonel Hugh Trenchard, wanted the RFC crews to fly aggressively – whether trained for combat manoeuvres or not – and venture every mission into airspace over the German lines to gain intelligence and disrupt operations. The Germans, on the other hand, would work to limit their own losses by staying defensively over their lines, except for making brief, organised formation attacks to the west of the Front.

When the Battle of Loos began on 25 September 1915, No. 7 Sqn was flying out of Droglandt, 20km west of Ypres in Flanders, heavily involved in providing air support, bombing and reconnaissance for the allied troops, operating a mix of BE2c and RE5 aircraft. The Battle of Loos was a British offensive on the Western Front close to Lille, not far north of Arras which included the first British use of chlorine gas on the ground. But by 8 October the push came to a standstill against staunch German defences.

The original site of Droglandt aerodrome is in the farmer’s field to the right of the telegraph poles

Learmount himself was now mostly flying the BE2c out of Droglandt. The BE2 series had originally been designed – in 1912 – as a very stable, unarmed reconnaissance machine, and that was fine until the Germans introduced well-armed aircraft like the Fokker Eindecker. The Allies didn’t have an answer to the latter’s capabilities until early 1916, so the BE2c’s previously desirable stability made it a sitting duck (more about this in future episodes). Many were shot down but – fortunately – because they were such stable machines to handle, the crews were often able to control the damaged machine to a forced landing.

Royal Aircraft Factory BE2c at the Imperial War Museum

So many BE2cs had been built, however, that they continued to be used for reconnaissance and bombing into 1917, and crews began to dread being assigned to them.  

Meanwhile Learmount was recommended for a Military Cross. The citation lauded his general performance since joining 7 Sqn in June, but it described a specific action on the second day of the Battle of Loos: “Consistent good work, done most gallantly and conscientiously from 13.6.15 to present time. This Officer bombed and hit one half of a train on 26.9.15, coming down to 500ft immediately after Lieut DAC Symington had bombed the other half.” The train was on the Lille-Valencienne line, and Symington had achieved a direct hit on it close to its front, bringing the whole train to a halt. Just after that, Learmount dropped a 100lb bomb that made a direct hit on one of the coaches in the train’s centre.

The point about coming down to 500ft or less is that it puts the aircraft within easy range of machine gun fire, and trains were almost always armed.

Tomorrow: Episode 3, Learmount is seconded to the French Armée de l’Air to report on their development of night bombing techniques

Leonard’s War episode 1: if you can walk away from it, you’re ready

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When the Great War began, a grammar school boy from Newcastle upon Tyne who had gone into business as a shipper and trader in the far reaches of the British Empire, found himself in the skies above Flanders. Aviation was in its infancy, and every flight had an element of the experimental about it.

When Britain declared war on a Germany whose troops were already marching through Belgium in early August 1914, one Leonard Learmount, aged 25, was employed in the Straits Settlements (Malaya and Singapore), working for London-headquartered shipping and trading company Paterson Simons.

Learmount (front centre) at his club in Singapore

Life in the British Empire’s warmer climes was good for a young single man then, expat clubs providing social connections and sport.

Learmount had also joined the Malay States Volunteer Rifles (MSVR), a British overseas military reserve unit, as a Private Soldier. Nevertheless, following the outbreak of a war predicted to be “over by Christmas”, that November he took a ship back home to join up.

The local army reserve unit taught him to maintain and ride a motorcycle

When he reported for military service he was chosen for training as a pilot in the Royal Flying Corps (RFC). It is not clear – historically at least – why the RFC decided he was suitable material, but given the indicators for other such personnel choices at the time, it’s probably because the MSVR had trained Learmount to ride and maintain a motorcycle. These skills, combined with his maths and physics education at the Royal Newcastle Grammar School, probably swung the decision.

Learmount reported to Brooklands aerodrome, Surrey, on 19 March 1915 for RFC flying training, and his flying log book says he got airborne the next day for his first lesson in a Maurice Farman “Longhorn” biplane, an ungainly French-designed machine.

A Maurice Farman Longhorn trainer

His instructor, Sgt Watts, hadn’t been trained as an instructor, he merely had flying experience. The RFC hadn’t developed a flying training syllabus until early 1917, and didn’t begin formally training instructors until late 1917.

On 1 April 1915, Learmount flew a sortie lasting 45min, by far the longest duration trip he had flown. In the remarks column of his flying log book he wrote: “First time controlled machine from pilot’s seat. Did several landings. No wind – no bumps.”

The next day, he took off for his first solo flight at 6:15am, exactly two weeks after his very first flight. By that point Learmount had flown ten trips, all within sight of the airfield, and logged a total of 3h 10min in the air. The solo flight lasted 10min and was flown at 1,000ft – probably one circuit of Brooklands aerodrome. At 10:30am the same day, he got airborne for his flying test, which took 1hr exactly, and it earned him his “ticket” – his Royal Aero Club Aviator’s Certificate (Number 1147).

By the time he was dispatched to France on 12 June, Learmount’s entire pilot training had lasted 12 weeks exactly, about half of it flown on the Farman Longhorn, the remainder on the excitingly named Vickers Fighter – the FB5 – also known as the Vickers Gunbus. It was a two-seater “pusher” biplane which, in operation (not in training), was fitted with a Lewis machine gun at the forward crew position. Learmount’s flying training time had been divided about equally between the aerodromes at Brooklands, Surrey and Joyce Green, Kent in the Dartford marshes.

The question is, how were these newly trained pilots performing operationally when they arrived on the front in France? Major Raymond Smith-Barry – a graduate of the very first course at the Central Flying School, Upavon in 1912, had been serving as an RFC pilot in France from August 1914, and by 1916 he realised that the standard of flying among the arriving aviators was simply appalling, and he decided something had to be done. By late 1916 he had compiled a formal training syllabus, which he first introduced at Grange airfield, Gosport, on the south coast near Portsmouth, where he was appointed Commanding Officer of No 1 (Reserve) Squadron – a training unit – and took up his appointment there in December 1916.

In the meantime, those aviators who – like Learmount – were a product of the system well ahead of this training upgrade, had to survive with what little skill they had! By the time Learmount was posted, as a 2nd Lieutenant, to No 7 Squadron at Saint-Omer, France, about 25km south-east of Calais, he’d accumulated exactly 24h airborne time. The entry in the “remarks” column of his log book for his 9 June 1915 final training sortie reveals how much the RFC was prepared to forgive to get pilots rapidly to the front line. It says: “Pancaked over sheds, smashed undercarriage and one wing landing.”

Learmount’s flying log book at the end of his training

Anyway, the crash-landing at the end of Learmount’s final training sortie was clearly good enough for the RFC, because the next inscription in his log book is: “Arrived in France 12 June 1915.”

Saint-Omer aerodrome, about 25km from the Channel coast and a similar distance from the Western Front battle lines, became the largest RFC base in France or the UK. http://www.greatwar.co.uk

Continued tomorrow, Episode 2: Learmount arrives at the RFC aerodrome at Saint-Omer, where he learns to fly a new type and to cope with operations in hostile airspace.

Leonard’s War

David Learmount Uncategorized , , , ,

Click the link below, and you’ll find the first episode of a series called “Leonard’s War”.

It’s a history of aviation in the Great War of 1914-1918 through the experiences of one man, a Royal Flying Corps pilot and squadron commander, who survived and didn’t think he’d done anything special. But just by surviving nearly three years in the skies over Flanders, he had.

Leonard Learmount with one of No 22 Squadron’s FE2bs

“Leonard” was Acting Major LW Learmount DSO MC RFC, my grandfather, who took command of No 22 Squadron RFC in France less than two years after his first RFC flying lesson. That, too was unremarkable at the time, but it wouldn’t happen today.

There is information here that has not seen the light of day, because it was routine stuff. But routine is what most aviators do most of the time, in peace and in war, so this is a story of military aviation in its experimental years, where more aircrew died during training than in action.

Post-script added 25 October 2024: If you have, over the last few years, read this story, it has since been extensively edited to add new detail as new facts and context are discovered. There have been many factual and historic corrections to the narrative, and there is more and deeper detail on the warfare context, illustrating the partnership between the aviators and the soldiers on the ground. This process continues. The story of “Leonard’s War” is, indeed, a work in progress!

Go to first episode!

Lufthansa’s longest legs

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Munich airport has just welcomed a Lufthansa Airbus A350-900 crew from the longest non-stop flight the airline has ever made. The trip also entailed the longest crew-duty period in living memory for the pilots and cabin crew.

On Sunday 31 January the crew of 16 – commanded by Captain Rolf Uzat – took off from Hamburg bound for the Mount Pleasant military airfield on the Falkland Islands. The A350-900 (D-AIXP) covered the 7,392nm (13,700km) distance in 15h 26min.

The 7,230nm return flight on 4 February took 14h 03min, an all-time long-distance record for an incoming flight to Munich airport.

Each of these airborne legs involves formidable crew duty periods, but because of Covid-19 the crew and passengers for this special flight also had to quarantine for two weeks in a Bremerhaven hotel before departure, making the total duty time for the return trip a full 20 days.

The 40 passengers flown from Mount Pleasant to Munich were the crew of the research vessel “Polarstern”, working for the Alfred Wegener Institute’s Helmholtz Centre for Polar and Marine Research (AWI) in Bremerhaven.

Munich welcomes the crew from their record-breaking flights

Flying cleaner skies

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Preparing pilots for eco-aware flying

Environmental awareness could be embedded in future airline pilot training if a new study by a European training think-tank is accepted at the European Union Aviation Safety Agency (EASA).

EASA’s Aircrew Training Policy Group (ATPG) has produced an advisory paper that takes – as its starting point – the fact that there is no mention anywhere in training syllabi of preparing pilots to operate in an environmentally friendly manner. Entitled “Environmental Awareness Training for Pilots”, the paper points out how incongruous this looks when trade bodies like the International Air Transport Association have, for several years, publicly acknowledged that the industry must strive toward environmental sustainability in the face of accelerating public concern about global warming, atmospheric pollution, noise, and species extinction.

The chief authors of the report – Marina Efthymiou, Assistant Professor in aviation management at Dublin City University, and ATPG chairman Captain Andy O’Shea – point out that, although pilots may be instructed in fuel-saving techniques on command courses, that is not the same as “embedding ecologically friendly flight operations in young pilots’ DNA from their early training.” If EASA were to accept the paper’s argument and develop appropriate changes, they argue that standardising this approach to pilot training – and air traffic management/ATCO training also – would have the potential to influence a way of thinking, and thus to benefit operational behaviour. Efthymiou points out that fuel management training at airline level is not standardised, neither are its results measured. “The purpose here,” she explains, “is sustainability, not saving fuel costs.”

The advisory paper points out: “Traditionally the management of these three decision-based functions (fuel, time, noise) has mostly been considered as solely within the remit of the pilot-in-command.” Now, says the study, the proposed incorporation of environmental awareness into all pilot training is intended to “encourage good behaviour through early, attitude-forming education thereby contributing to the improved environmental aware performance of all pilots.”

O’Shea believes that adopting this proposal need only entail a “re-balancing” of existing training programmes, not radical change, embedding objectives in already-adopted safety instruction concepts like threat and error management (TEM). He suggests that “by recording objective observable behaviour (OB), and TEM outcome data on how recurrent pilots manage environmental scenarios, powerful insights can be generated to help drive a feedback loop into initial type rating training.”

In the end, airlines would benefit financially from the care taken by pilots imbued with a culture of care for their aircraft and the environment, the study argues. Meanwhile, at a time when airlines are spending some of their public relations budget on campaigns to persuade travellers of how ecologically aware they are, and while movements like “Flygskam” (Flight Shaming) are competing for passengers’ attention, being able to claim – truthfully – that “your pilots” are trained to care about their skies might also prove a marketing advantage.

Europe adds to FAA’s Max advice

David Learmount Uncategorized , , ,

The European Union Aviation Safety Agency (EASA) has published a Proposed Airworthiness Directive (PAD) , signalling its intention to approve the Boeing 737 MAX’s return to Europe’s skies “within a matter of weeks” – probably about mid-January.

But Europe is specifying a few requirements that the US Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) has not demanded.

It was on 20 November that the FAA approved the aircraft’s return to America’s skies, but US carriers have many preparations to complete before resuming commercial services with the Max. American Airlines reckons it will be ready by the end of December.

EASA, however, wants to see the application of some operational measures that the FAA does not require. It insists, nevertheless, that the Max airframes in America and in Europe will be the same. The agency explains: “The [PAD] requires the same changes to the aircraft as the FAA, meaning that there will be no software or technical differences between the aircraft operated by the United States operators and by the EASA member states operators.”

The EASA PAD is a consultation document, and all responses have to be received by 22 December. EASA executive director Patrick Ky is at pains to point out that the agency, while cooperating with the FAA on correcting the anomalies in the Max’s manoeuvring characteristics augmentation system (MCAS) (see immediately preceding blog entry), insisted on looking independently at the whole issue.

Ky explained: “EASA’s review of the 737 MAX began with the MCAS but went far beyond. We took a decision early on to review the entire flight control system and gradually broadened our assessment to include all aspects of design which could influence how the flight controls operated. This led, for example, to a deeper study of the wiring installation, which resulted in a change that is now also mandated in the [PAD].” That, basically, is a requirement to bring the venerable 737’s design up to date, and is a signal that the days of “grandfather rights” – a dispensation to build the 737 Max as earlier versions of the 737 were constructed rather than as new aircraft have to be designed – are numbered.

The Max airframe design came through all the handling tests satisfactorily, as Ky explained: “We also pushed the aircraft to its limits during flight tests, assessed the behaviour of the aircraft in failure scenarios, and could confirm that the aircraft is stable and has no tendency to pitch-up even without the MCAS.”

Two principle differences between the FAA and EASA requirements are explained as follows: “EASA explicitly allows flight crews to intervene to stop a stick-shaker from continuing to vibrate once it has been erroneously activated by the system, to prevent this distracting the crew. EASA also, for the time being, mandates that the aircraft’s autopilot should not be used for certain types of high-precision landings [and approaches such as RNP-AR]. The latter is expected to be a short-term restriction.”

The crew intervention mentioned would allow the pilots to pull the stick-shaker circuit breaker. The stick-shaker – a system designed to alert pilots to an approaching stall – was one of the distractions that faced the Lion Air and Ethiopian Airlines crews before they lost control of their aircraft, despite the fact that the shaker was triggered by a false warning.

The FAA doesn’t see the need for this intervention, because the modifications have ensured that a single sensor failure will not trigger the stick-shaker any more.

Boeing and EASA say they have agreed to continue tests to see if they can further strengthen the aircraft’s systems’ resilience to angle of attack (AoA) sensor failures – the causal trigger for the two fatal Max accidents, and Boeing has also made this promise: “Boeing will also conduct a complementary Human Factor assessment of its crew alerting systems within the next 12 months, with the aim of potentially upgrading these to a more modern design approach.”

Max to the skies again

David Learmount Uncategorized , , , , , , , ,

After nearly two years of grounding, Boeing’s 737 Max series has been cleared by the US Federal Aviation Administration to carry fare-paying passengers once again.

This is the first step in a redemption process for one of the world’s truly great engineering companies. Like a boxer who dropped his guard for just a second, Boeing has taken a punch that has knocked it to the canvas, and the referee had started counting.

Now, air traveller reaction is nervously awaited. Will the public believe claims by the FAA and Boeing that, together, they have confined to history the flaws that caused the 737 Max fatal crashes in 2018 and 2019?

The FAA – blamed along with the manufacturer for the lapses in design oversight that led to the two accidents – has declared the aircraft safe to operate in America. One by one, other national aviation authorities (NAA) are expected to follow suit.

Oversight of the type’s rehabilitation continues to be the FAA’s responsibility, but decisions on the systems and software changes applied to the Max have been made by multinational teams. Bodies formed to decide what changes were needed – and then to see them implemented – included the Joint Authorities Technical Review (JATR) representing nine nations plus the European Union Aviation Safety Agency (EASA) – and the Joint Operations Evaluation Board.

The relationship between the FAA and Boeing was much criticised in the accident investigations and the JATR review process . For that reason, the reaction of EASA to the Max’s clearance to fly is seen as critical.

Not only is EASA the agency that oversees safety in the region containing the largest group of aerospace industries outside America, but its contribution to the JATR recommendations made clear EASA was not happy with the FAA’s former piecemeal approach to certifying critical changes applied to the 737 Max.

Its opprobrium was directed particularly at the FAA’s approval of the flawed Manoeuvring Characteristics Augmentation System (MCAS), unique to the Max, and not used in earlier marques of 737. It recommended “a comprehensive integrated system-level analysis” of the MCAS, and of its integration into the total system-of-systems that constitutes a modern aircraft (for more detail, see “The Failures and the Fixes” section following this article).

So it was with heartfelt relief that Boeing heard EASA’s executive director, Patrick Ky, report on Max progress to the European Parliament Transport Committee on 29 October. Ky told them: “We are fully confident that, given all the work that has been performed, and the assessments which have been done, the aircraft can be returned safely to service.” Ky’s statement suggests EASA will re-certificate the 737 Max in Europe soon after the FAA’s announcement.

Meanwhile, out in the real world, Covid-19’s near-immobilisation of commercial air transport worldwide has rendered the Max’s long grounding almost invisible to the media and the public. Because of the far lower level of air travel activity, the airlines have been able to live without the 387 Maxes already delivered to them, and also without the additional 450 that have rolled off Boeing’s Renton, Washington production line since then. The latter are all in storage, awaiting any updates not already incorporated, and ultimate delivery.

Although clearance to fly has now been delivered, even in the USA the airlines will not instantly be re-launching their already-owned 737 Max fleets. The status of all the proposed software and hardware modifications to the type will not have been confirmed until the moment the FAA signs it all off.

American Airlines has said it hopes to start getting its Max fleet airborne before the end of December.

REUTERS/Nick Oxford/File Photo

Once the FAA has done that, getting the Max fleet ready for the sky will be an aircraft-by-aircraft, crew-by-crew process. In many airframes, a knowledge of what changes were coming has enabled a great deal of the work to be done. But also, because of the hardware and software changes to the Max, the crews have to be trained to use the new systems.

Incidentally, while the Max series was grounded, the FAA decided to order some additional modifications – completely unrelated to the crashes – to bring the type fully in line with modern safety regulations. For example, one of these involves the re-routeing and separation of wiring looms that the 737 had previously been allowed to sidestep under “grandfather” rules.

The number of lessons for manufacturers and regulators to learn from this aerospace drama is legion.

The failures and the fixes

The failures

Just a reminder: the 737 Max series fleet was grounded in March last year as a result of findings from the investigations into to the Lion Air and Ethiopian Airlines fatal crashes, respectively in October 2018 and March 2019.

The primary causal factor of the Lion Air Max crash was erroneous triggering of its manoeuvring characteristics augmentation system (MCAS) by a faulty angle of attack (AoA) sensor, according to the Indonesian final accident report. It is at the MCAS that Boeing’s corrective efforts have mostly been directed.

In both the accidents, the aircraft’s AoA sensor that feeds data to the MCAS wrongly indicated a very high AoA soon after take-off. The system reacted by providing nose-down stabilizer rotation that took the pilots by surprise. They did not understand the reason it kicked in, and their efforts to reverse the strong nose-down pitch did not succeed. Both these events occurred soon after take-off, and because the MCAS kept repeating the nose-down stabilizer in response to the continued erroneous high AoA sensor signal, the loss of height quickly resulted in impact with the surface.

During the examination of all the issues arising from the accidents, the JOEB was aware there were solutions to the situation in which the crews found themselves. But the fact that two crews in different regions of the world were so confused by what the MCAS was doing that they lost control had totally eclipsed pilot failings as the main issue.

MCAS was designed to trigger only in a specific flight configuration that causes the Max’s centre of lift to move slightly further forward, delivering a slight nose-up moment that can be countered by flight controls. This configuration is a combination of relatively low airspeed, flaps up, with the aircraft being flown manually. In the case of the Lion Air and Ethiopian flights, the pilots decided to continue to fly the aircraft manually during the early climb, rather than engaging the autopilot, so this precise flight configuration was encountered as soon as the flaps were fully retracted.

With flaps up, and still at a fairly low airspeed, the aircraft would be at a high angle of attack, and not far above the stall. FAA regulations require that, in the proximity to the stall, one of the “feel” cues to the pilots is that there should be a linear increase in the required control column force versus elevator displacement response, but the Max’s aerodynamics in this configuration had negated this effect, and MCAS was designed to restore that pilot cue automatically.

The JATR decided that MCAS’ fatal design weakness, above all, was that it was triggered by a single AoA sensor with no backup in case the unit had a fault or suffered damage. It seems Boeing and the FAA had overlooked that possibility, and had not explored the potential effects of erroneous inputs. Their excuse at the time was that the system was not seen as a critical one, rather as a refinement.

The fixes

The 737 Max had always been fitted with two AoA vanes, but originally only one was wired up to MCAS, and there was no flight deck indication of a disparity between the two sensors if a difference developed, which could have warned the pilots of a potential vane fault.

The hardware fix agreed by the JATR was that both AoA sensors would now feed into the MCAS, there would be an automatic comparison between them, and if there was more than a small disparity the MCAS would be locked out completely, because the aircraft can be flown without it.

The software fix also ensures that – now – the MCAS only operates once per high AoA event, so the repeated nose-down pitch demand by the stabilizers that led to the two accidents would not occur. In addition, the two flight control computers (FCC) now continuously cross-monitor each other.

After the hardware and software changes, the final improvements – overseen by the multinational JOEB – are to pilot training and cockpit drills for the Max series.

Now, even if the pilots are coming to the Max from the very similar 737NG series, pilots must undergo a one-off training session in a Max full flight simulator. This involves recovery from a full stall, dealing with a runaway stabilizer,  practice manual trimming at high speeds (and therefore high trim loads), and crew cooperation on all these exercises.

Non-normal checklists have now been compeletely revised, and contain updated procedures that concentrate particularly on the operation of the horizontal stabilisers and trim controls, both in normal operation and in the case of all potential faults.  The drills deal with runaway stabilizer, speed-trim failure, stabilizer out of trim, stabilizer trim inoperative, airspeed unreliable, altitude disagree, and AoA disagree.

Computer based training (CBT), containing video of crew exercises using the real controls, teaches drills for the following: airspeed unreliable, runaway stabilizer, the speed trim system, trim controls, and differences between the autopilot flight director system (AFDS) in the NG series and the Max series.

Testing the changes

Boeing and the FAA say they have put in 391,000 engineering and test hours developing the solutions, which have then been tried for 1,847 hours in simulators and for 3,000 airborne hours in the real aircraft.