The period 1963 to 1965 might be termed the Lightning’s golden age as it saw a return to ever more elaborate squadron markings and dramatic colour schemes not seen since the 1930s. This trend was epitomised by 56 Squadron, which formed the Firebirds aerobatic team of nine Lightnings in 1963 and two years later introduced a scheme in which the entire fin and rudder were painted in red and white checks. Sadly this proved to be a step too far for some of those in the upper echelons of the Air Ministry who decreed that a return to more conservative markings be made. During this period the Lightning force was strengthened with the addition of two more squadrons. No.92 Squadron undertook its conversion to the F.2 during the first half of 1963 to join 19 Squadron at Leconfield, and the following year 23 Squadron swapped its Javelins for Lightning F.3s at Leuchars.
The first Lightning mishap of 1963 occurred at Binbrook and involved T.4 XM973 of AFDS. The crew comprised Les Hargreaves and John Mitchell, who were taxying out to the runway on 22 January when the starboard undercarriage leg collapsed in similar fashion to XM993 at Middleton St George the previous year. Thankfully on this occasion the failure occurred at low speed and the pilots were able to vacate their stricken aircraft safely. Once again the collapse was due to a faulty casting in the undercarriage leg. The damage was repaired by the end of May, when the aircraft was returned to service.
No.74 Squadron was still flying the Lightning F.1 from Coltishall and on 3 April one of its aircraft (XM140) suffered an engine fire shortly after take–off. The fire warning was for No.1 engine and was noticed as the aircraft was climbing through 1,400 feet, the pilot immediately throttled back but the warning light stayed on. He then descended below cloud and carried out his fire drill at the same time as turning onto the downwind leg. The ventral tank was jettisoned over a clear area so that the fuel (or vapour) did not catch fire and by the end of the downwind leg the fire warning light had gone out. A safe landing was made, at the end of which the pilot manoeuvred his aircraft onto the ORP before shutting down No.2 engine. The fire was found to have been caused by a fuel leak into the rear of the No.1 engine bay, where it had been ignited by heat from the exhaust unit. It was thought that the leak may have been caused by foreign matter trapped between a fuel pipe and its mating union, allowing fuel to seep through, even though the union was correctly tightened and locked.
Up to now 74 Squadron had not lost an aircraft but this all changed on 26 April when Flight Lieutenant Jim Burns was forced to eject from XM142. Burns, who was now known as ‘Finless Jim’ after his previous incident on the Lightning, was carrying out an air test after an engine and tailplane change but No.2 re-heat failed to light at an altitude of 36,000 feet despite four attempts. He therefore decided not to attempt the acceleration and zoom climb tests but continued with the other elements of the air test, which included ten seconds of inverted flight that was carried out at 10,000 feet. As he rolled out and turned to starboard, however, the No.2 hydraulic light illuminated, the IAS at this point being 400 knots with 90 per cent RPM set on both engines. The turn was continued towards base and as Burns was about to inform Air Traffic Control of the failure, the Standard Warning Panel operated. The aircraft was brought to wings level and the audio warning cancelled. The hydraulic warning light remained on and although the services pressure was normal, as were the controls, Burns decided to eject. He did so safely and was soon picked up by a rescue helicopter, his aircraft crashing into the sea off Cromer.
By early June the Firebirds aerobatic team from 56 Squadron had already performed two displays at Waterbeach and North Weald and were preparing for participation in the Paris Air Show. However on 6 June two aircraft collided whilst the team were performing a practice display over Wattisham. The aircraft flown by Flight Lieutenant Mike Cooke (XM179) came into contact with the underside of XM181 piloted by Flight Lieutenant Malcolm Moore. Although Moore’s aircraft only received minor damage, XM179 lost its wing tip and Cooke ejected at a height of 800 feet. Although he survived, Cooke suffered severe injuries as a result of the ejection and was to be wheelchair-bound for the rest of his life. Although previous accounts have stated that the collision happened during a horizontal bomb burst manoeuvre, Tom Taylor, who was an armourer on 56 Squadron and witness to the crash, has since stated that the accident took place during the final pass along the runway in a vic of five as the aircraft broke for landing. The aircraft were supposed to have turned onto the downwind leg in sequence but it appears that Moore and Cooke broke almost at the same time, which positioned Cooke’s aircraft behind and slightly below that flown by Moore. Cooke realised his error and attempted to turn away but before he could do so Moore straightened up, making a collision inevitable.
There was to be further drama at Wattisham later the same day when XM190 of 111 Squadron was involved in an accident during a night landing. Having taken off to carry out practice interceptions with another Lightning, concern over the prospect of fog forming in the area around the airfield led to an early return and a ground–controlled approach. As the aircraft was still relatively heavy with fuel (2,200lb per side), the pilot decided to touch–down at 160 knots IAS. The landing was firm, although not considered to be heavy, and the braking parachute was streamed but no deceleration was felt. The landing was completed under normal braking but after taxying back to dispersal it was discovered that the rear of the fuselage had come into contact with the runway. As a result the brake parachute doors had been damaged, thus preventing deployment of the parachute. The level of damage was sufficient for XM190 to spend the next two months in the hangar under repair. A similar accident occurred on 28 June involving XN730 of 19 Squadron, although in this case the tail hit the runway during take off resulting in the severing of the brake parachute cables.
The Lightning force suffered its first fatal accident on 18 July 1963 when Flying Officer Alan Garside of 111 Squadron was killed during an aerobatic display at Wittering. A former Hunter pilot with 66 Squadron, Garside was authorised for a low level display down to a minimum height of 500 feet above ground level, but the weather conditions at the time included variable amounts of cloud from 900 feet up to the main cloud base of 4,500 feet and because of this it was decided to do a flat display. As Flying Officer Garside was waiting for his take–off clearance a weak cold front was passing over the airfield and the clouds at the end of the runway appeared to be clearing. After take–off he pulled into a steep climb, rolling to the inverted position below the cloud base at 4,500 feet. This was the normal routine for a fair weather display, though various witnesses considered that the half roll was made at an altitude of between 3,500 and 4,000 feet which was a little lower than normal. Even at this slightly reduced height it was considered that Garside had sufficient height to execute a pull-through manoeuvre.
The Lightning was seen descending vertically before it entered cloud at between 1,600 and 2,000 feet. It eventually emerged from cloud at around 900 feet in a horizontal attitude, but still descending, before entering a spin in which it completed two complete turns prior to hitting the ground a mile north of the airfield. Garside ejected at a height estimated at 150-200 feet but there was insufficient time for his parachute to deploy and he was killed instantly when his seat impacted the ground. The most likely cause of the accident was that a ‘g’ stall occurred during the attempted recovery to level flight.
Another engine fire occurred at Leconfield on 14 August, although on this occasion it followed an inspection and servicing error. XN778 of 19 Squadron was being taxied from dispersal when the attention-getter flashed and audio warning sounded. The standard warning panel indicated a fire in the No.2 engine and the pilot informed Air Traffic before switching off the HP and LP cocks and the fuel pump. As the fire indication persisted, the fire extinguishers were activated. The pilot then switched off the electrics before abandoning the aircraft as the crash crews arrived. It was later discovered that the fire was caused by fuel that had been spilled when an unserviceable float switch had been replaced in the port main-plane inboard fuel tank. Although most of the fuel had been mopped up by the tradesmen, some fuel had found its way into the No.2 engine bay in the region of frames 43 and 44. When the engine was started the fuel had been ignited by the hot starter exhaust pipe which passed through the engine bay at this point.
On 19 August there was another Lightning barrier engagement, this time at Coltishall. After carrying out a training detail, Flight Lieutenant P. Stanning of 74 Squadron was landing in XM145 when the braking parachute collapsed immediately after deployment. He decided to jettison the failed ’chute and took off again before making a precautionary landing with a threshold speed of 165 knots IAS. Weather conditions were good with a wind of 14 knots in line with the runway which was dry (fuel state was 600/700lb). Although the brakes appeared to work normally at first, there appeared to be little deceleration in the last 1,000 yards of the landing run and the aircraft went into the barrier. Once again the top cable cut into the fuselage spine and a fire broke out in the region of the AVPIN tank which severely damaged electrical equipment. Examination of the brake parachute showed that twelve of the rigging lines had been severed resulting in collapse of the canopy. No fault could be found with the brakes, although excessive brake-pad wear was noted which was indicative of a previous ‘hot stop’ landing. Repairs were carried out on site but XM145 was not returned to service until the end of January the following year.
Although most undercarriage problems thus far had affected the main gear, it was also possible for the nose-wheel leg to remain up when the undercarriage was selected down before landing. In such a situation, assuming that the main gear had lowered satisfactorily, it was possible to attempt a landing, albeit with great care. Flight Lieutenant Dave Jones of 19 Squadron was faced with such a situation on 15 October 1963 when flying XN774 from Leconfield. He recalls the sequence of events:
I was briefed and authorised for a routine radar training sortie and took off as No.2 thirty seconds after my leader. The take–off was normal, however at 200 feet the main wheels locked up but the nose–wheel remained red. I climbed at 200 knots to 3,000 feet and selected undercarriage down, obtaining two mainwheel greens and a nose–wheel red. I then turned downwind, called for a GCA as the cloud base was about 900 feet and flew past the tower. They informed me that the nose–wheel was up but that the doors appeared to be open.
I then climbed back up to 3,000 feet and selected undercarriage up, the main wheels retracted normally, but again the nose–wheel remained red. During and after all the selections the services HYD pressure remained normal and the situation did not change even after the application of positive and negative ‘g’. When the fuel was 1800/1800 lbs I selected emergency undercarriage down with negative ‘g’ and then maintained positive ‘g’ (3½) at 320 knots without effect. I continued to pull and push ‘g’ at speeds between 180 and 320 knots and carried out a roller landing, but still there was no change.
I flew out to sea and jettisoned the ventral tank at 3,500 feet – this left the aircraft cleanly at 250 knots with little change of trim. I then returned to the airfield and jettisoned the canopy at 220 knots at 200 feet with flaps up. It appeared to leave the aircraft very cleanly with a loud pop, and I was later told that the canopy missed the fin by about 6 feet. There was little disturbance in the cockpit without the hood and it was very similar to driving an open-top sports car. I was able to raise the seat for landing without any problems. The landing was carried out with 600lbs fuel and I held the nose in the air and lowered it gently onto the runway at about 75 knots. Pitch control was positive down to this speed. The aircraft came to rest in the middle of the pre-prepared foam strip and stopped in about 1,200 yards.
Flight Lieutenant Jones was commended for his calm and professional handling of this particular emergency and was recommended for a Green Endorsement for his logbook (an accolade given for having shown exceptional flying skill). The accident was caused by the starboard pippin that retained the nose-wheel rear door strut becoming detached. The strut then penetrated the inner surface of the rear door and formed a lock across the shimmy damper. which prevented either an up or down selection being carried out. It was noted that there had been one case earlier in the year of this particular pin becoming detached, but on this occasion the nose-wheel leg had not jammed. A snap check on all Lightnings in Fighter Command found a total of four aircraft with the pin partially removed.
The month of November proved to be a difficult one for 111 Squadron. On the 8th, Flying Officer Jack O’Dowd, a New Zealander who had previously flown Javelin night-fighters, was flying the squadron’s T.4 XM992 when he received a No.1 engine fire warning having just carried out a practice overshoot at Honington. He jettisoned the ventral tank and landed safely although the warning proved to be spurious, which had become a regular and somewhat unfortunate feature of Lightning operations. Much worse was to follow and on the 19th XM187 was seriously damaged in a landing accident at night. After completing a practice night interception, the pilot (Flight Lieutenant M. R. Smith) returned to Wattisham and made a radar approach. The wind was virtually straight down the runway at 20 knots (with occasional gusts to 30 knots) and the main cloud base was 3,500 feet with 4/8 cloud at 1,400 feet. Visibility was 6 miles with light rain. Although the aircraft touched down at the correct GCA position, it landed heavily and bounced. About 460 feet from the initial touch-down point, the aircraft left the runway again, rising to a height of 15-20 feet. Unfortunately Flight Lieutenant Smith did not realise that the aircraft had taken off again and proceeded to lower the nose and stream the braking parachute. This led to the Lightning striking the runway in a nose-down attitude and the nose-wheel broke off and both main tyres burst. The port wheel assembly then broke away and the aircraft slid off the runway, breaking the starboard undercarriage before coming to rest. On hitting the ground the aircraft was subject to a positive ‘g’ loading in excess of +10, which resulted in Flight Lieutenant Smith suffering a compression fracture to his spine. Although initially assessed as Cat.4, XM187 was eventually written off as Cat.5 and delivered to No.9 School of Technical Training at RAF Newton as a ground instructional airframe.
Six days later Flight Lieutenant Brian Mason was airborne on a training flight in XM215 when an instrument failure prompted him to cut the sortie short and return to base. To use up fuel he elected to make a GCA-monitored TACAN-ILS approach (an instrument landing system approach also using the aircraft’s TACAN navigation system), and this was followed by another ILS and two practice GCAs, all of which were flown in clear conditions. He decided to land after the second GCA and touched down normally at 160 knots IAS. The brake parachute was released but Mason suspected that it had failed to deploy and this was confirmed by Air Traffic. He elected to stay down and having already shut down No.1 engine, he then reduced power on No.2 engine to idle and requested that the barrier be raised. Although at first he was confident that he would be able to stop before the end of the runway, braking action in the final quarter of the landing run was less than expected and the aircraft entered the barrier at a speed of around 15 knots. As he began to unstrap the Tower informed him that his aircraft was on fire and a few seconds later the No.1 engine fire warning light illuminated. He immediately activated the fire extinguisher before making good his escape. Although the barrier engagement had been at a relatively slow speed, the top cable had still caused severe damage to the Lightning’s spine and the fire had been the result of a ruptured AVPIN tank. XM215 was to be out of action for just over four months and was finally returned to 111 Squadron on 30 March 1964.
Sadly, another Lightning pilot lost his life on 27 April 1964 when XN785 flown by Flying Officer George Davie of 92 Squadron crashed on returning to Leconfield. Davie had been carrying out an in-flight re–fuelling exercise with a Valiant tanker but towards the end of the sortie he had experienced difficulty taking on any more fuel. He then reported that the engines were not giving full power and, on descending to 10,000 feet, his cockpit also misted up, prompting him to request a ‘quickie GCA’. Whilst in a left-hand turn to come onto the extended runway centreline at 1,200 feet he informed Air Traffic that he had an AC failure. Almost immediately he called again to say that he was unable to retain control of his aircraft and that he was ejecting, but there was insufficient time for the firing sequence to be completed before the aircraft hit the ground in a dive of around 35 to 45 degrees. The crash site was at the former airfield of Hutton Cranswick, which was approximately 5 miles north of Leconfield.
Although the subsequent investigation was of the opinion that there was little fuel remaining in the aircraft at the time of impact, others were not so sure. At no time did Davie give any concern over his fuel state and it was felt that certain other factors were ignored by the Inquiry. Chief among these was the AC failure that Davie had experienced as fuel transfer would then have been taken over by DC-powered pumps in the wing tanks. These were prone to icing, especially if subjected to a prolonged cold-soak at altitude, and by the time of the crash Davie had been airborne in excess of ninety minutes. In such a situation the engines would have been starved of fuel and would have flamed out. Flying Officer Davie had been with 92 Squadron for almost exactly a year having joined from 85 Squadron in April 1963. In fact this was the second fatality of the month for 92 Squadron as Flight Lieutenant C. M. Cameron was killed on 16 April during a practice aerobatic display in Hunter T.7 XL594, which dived into the ground near Carnaby.
Unfortunately for 111 Squadron, the unit lost another aircraft on 9 June when Flight Lieutenant Mike Smith was flying XM191. Having departed Wattisham for a practice diversion sortie, he was in a climbing turn after take off when the rpm on No.1 engine dropped to 85 per cent. Flight Lieutenant Smith was instructed to burn off fuel in the local area before landing back at base and as his aircraft appeared to be handling normally, he decided to carry out an ILS approach. Half a mile from the runway he began an overshoot and applied 90 per cent power to both engines, but there was a surge-like noise from No.1 and it rapidly wound down. In response to this the HP cock was closed, but shortly afterwards the No.1 engine fire warning light came on. Standard procedure was followed, i.e. activation of the fire extinguisher and jettisoning of the ventral fuel tank, and Smith positioned his aircraft on the downwind leg of the circuit. The fire warning light went out after some thirty seconds but came on again as the Lightning was turning onto finals. A safe landing was made, Smith turning onto the ORP at the end of the runway before making a hasty exit from the cockpit. It was later discovered that No.1 engine had suffered a compressor blade failure, probably as a result of ingesting some foreign object during taxying prior to take off. There was extensive fire damage to the No.1 engine hatch and rear fuselage structure, together with extensive damage to the wiring in the fuselage and the port mainplane. Overall, the level of damage was sufficient as to cause a Cat.5 write off.
Although the Lightning was occasionally prone to losing its canopy on take off, one departed in rather unusual circumstances at Wattisham on 23 June. A number of Lightnings from 56 and 111 Squadrons were taking part in an exercise and were required to scramble from the ORP. Unfortunately the pilot of 111 Squadron’s T.4 (XM992) had difficulty starting his No.2 engine and was forced to make a second attempt. By this time the other aircraft were all on the move and some were taking off in close proximity. As a result of its delayed start the T.4 still had its canopy open and this was ripped off by jet blast from one or more of the other Lightnings. The canopy could not be repaired and the fuselage structure was damaged at the starboard hinge point. The canopy jack was also strained and the release unit damaged. As the aircraft was needed back in service as quickly as possible it was decided to fly it without a canopy to 60 Maintenance Unit (MU) at Leconfield. This task was undertaken by 111 Squadron’s C.O. Squadron Leader George Black who flew the aircraft there at low level and with a speed restriction of 300 knots.
During the service life of the Lightning there were a number of in-flight rudder failures and one of the first instances of this particular problem occurred on 25 July. A pair of Lightnings, flown by Squadron Leader Paddy Hine and Flying Officer Jeff Denny of 92 Squadron, flew to Culdrose for an aerobatic display. On arrival they carried out a high-speed pass along the runway before breaking into the circuit, but after landing it was noticed that the aircraft of Flying Officer Denny (XN789) had nearly all of its rudder missing. A lack of balance at high speed and low level had resulted in excessive vibration, which was sufficient to cause the rudder to fail. Of the three control surfaces, the rudder was the least used so although it looked dramatic, the effect on aircraft handling was not as great as might be imagined.
Another Lightning was lost during an aerobatic routine on 28 August and once again it proved to be fatal for the pilot. The accident took place at Leuchars and involved F.3 XP704 of 74 Squadron flown by thirty-one-year-old Flight Lieutenant Glyn Owen who had been cleared for a practice display ahead of the station’s Battle of Britain Open Day in September. The clearance allowed for the sequence to be flown in two parts, the first with a minimum height of 1,500 feet and the second down to 500 feet. The cloud base was estimated to be 4,500 feet and the first part of the display was carried out satisfactorily, although the loop was omitted as Flight Lieutenant Owen was unsure as to whether the manoeuvre could be completed without entering cloud. The second part of the sequence was then flown and this included a loop that was carried out successfully. After his final manoeuvre Flight Lieutenant Owen informed the Tower that he would like to do another loop, but his aircraft was seen to stall at the top and enter a spin. He attempted to eject but did so at too low a height and was killed when his aircraft struck the ground. Early in his RAF career Glyn Owen had twice ejected safely from F-86 Sabre aircraft. He was buried in St Michael’s Cemetery in Leuchars.
The hazards that Lightning pilots had to contend with were many and varied. Not long after take-off on 9 September the pilot of XM175 from 56 Squadron was flying straight and level at 15,000 feet when his senses were assailed by various klaxons, attention-getters and warning lights in the cockpit. The first indication of trouble was when the AC warning light came on and this was quickly followed by the turbine and generator lights. The pilot immediately switched off all non-essential electrics and AC instruments and made a rapid return to Wattisham using his stand-by radio. After landing an investigation revealed major internal damage to air supply trunking and air cooling pipes that had been caused by vibration as a result of overspeeding of both the alternator and generator.
Two days later undercarriage problems reappeared when XM134 of 226 OCU was being flown on an air test by Flight Lieutenant Terry Bond (226 OCU had been formed from LCS on 1 June 1963 and had moved to Coltishall in April 1964). On its previous sortie the pilot had reported a malfunction of the undercarriage indicator lights and rectification work had comprised replacement of the undercarriage micro-switches. Having reached a safe altitude, Flight Lieutenant Bond cycled the undercarriage successfully three times but on the fourth selection the starboard leg jammed in a half-extended position. Not long afterwards the HYD 1 warning light came on, which indicated that one of the hydraulic systems powering the flying controls had failed. This system also provided power to lower the undercarriage in an emergency. Bond manoeuvred his aircraft to set up positive ‘g’ and also worked the rudder to apply yaw in an attempt to lower the leg, but it was all to no avail and a visual check confirmed that the starboard leg had not moved. As his fuel was beginning to run low he climbed to 10,000 feet before ejecting over the coast and was picked up by a rescue helicopter, his aircraft crashing in the sea 30 miles east of Happisburgh. As the wreckage was never recovered the precise cause of the accident remained a mystery.
On 24 September there was a further case of finger trouble when another canopy departed on take off. The offender this time was Pilot Officer Doug Aylward of 92 Squadron who was on his first solo flight in an F.2. Before take off in XN793 he had experienced radio problems and it was postulated that he may have been distracted by this and failed to lock the canopy properly. By now the sequence of events was becoming depressingly familiar as the top rear fuselage behind the cockpit was damaged, as was the fin when it was hit by the canopy. The aircraft became airborne but was landed safely despite having sustained Cat.3 damage, which was enough to keep it in the hangar for the next seven weeks. This incident did not cause too much harm to Doug Aylward’s RAF career as by 1979 he had attained the rank of Wing Commander.
Another Lightning ended up on its nose on 29 September when the nose-wheel leg failed to extend on XM144. The unfortunate pilot on this occasion was Flying Officer Ian Macfadyen who was one of six pilots taking No.15 Lightning Conversion Course with 226 OCU at Coltishall. The incident was similar to that of Flight Lieutenant Dave Jones the previous year as Macfadyen was confronted with two mainwheel greens and a nose-wheel red. Repeated undercarriage selections made no difference and the Tower confirmed that the nose-wheel was up, but that the doors were open. Having jettisoned his canopy and ventral tank over the sea, Macfadyen made a perfect landing and gently lowered the nose onto the runway at a speed of around 80 knots so that damage to his aircraft was minimal. The failure was put down to a broken grub screw, which allowed the shock absorber to extend and foul the nose leg axle nut in the nose-wheel bay, thus preventing extension.
If there had been a competition to find the unluckiest Lightning, XM183 of 56 Squadron would have been a strong candidate. Having ended up in the barrier on two occasions, it suffered major damage once again on 14 October when fire broke out during an engine run at Wattisham. As a result of its previous mishaps it had spent a total of twelve months under repair and the damage on this occasion (initially Cat.4 but subsequently re-assessed as Cat.3) took just over seven months to put right.
By now the Lightning had been in service for four-and-a-half years and its accident record for 1964 had shown a significant improvement over previous years. In the first year of Lightning operations (1960) there were two major accidents and as total flying time was 727 hours, this represented an accident rate of 27.5 per 10,000 hours. The following year flying time had risen to 5,346 hours, so with five major accidents the rate per 10,000 hours was 9.4. The figures for 1962 and 1963 were broadly similar at 10.4 and 9.9 (5,750 hours – six majors and 13,110 hours – thirteen majors respectively); however, the accident rate per 10,000 hours fell to 4.9 in 1964 when 16,319 hours were flown with a total of eight major accidents. By contrast, accident rates for the Javelin had shown a steady increase over the same period. In 1960 the Javelin force had flown a total of 54,054 hours with twenty-two major accidents resulting in a rate of 4.1 per 10,000 hours. By 1964, however, although total hours had been reduced to 22,037, there were still fourteen majors resulting in an increased rate of 6.4. As a further comparison, rates for the Hunter, which by now was being used mainly for ground attack, varied from 6.6 to a high of 11.3 during the period 1960–64.
Although it appeared as though the Lightning’s safety record was improving, another was lost on 11 January 1965 when Squadron Leader Andy Whittaker ejected from XG335. This was one of the development batch aircraft and was being used by A&AEE for trials with the Red Top missile programme. On the day of the accident the Lightning was to have fired a Red Top against a Jindivik drone over the Aberporth range but failure to acquire the target led to the sortie being aborted. On returning to base there was another case of undercarriage malfunction as the starboard leg did not fully extend. The usual manoeuvres were flown in an attempt to persuade the recalcitrant leg to come down, but these were unsuccessful and Whittaker was eventually forced to eject over the Larkhill ranges. It was later concluded that the starboard undercarriage leg had not extended fully due to failure of the side-stay bracket; this was an identical failure to one that had occurred on XG311, which crashed on 31 July 1963 during trials conducted by the manufacturers. Don Knight, one of the company’s test pilots, ejected safely.
The first Lightning incident to affect 23 Squadron took place on 16 February and involved XP760, which was being flown by Commanding Officer Squadron Leader John McLeod. Once again the snag was to do with the undercarriage, although in this case it was caused by failure of the hydraulic system. The emergency lowering system was operated but still the undercarriage refused to come down fully. McLeod went through the regular repertoire of high ‘g’ turns and eventually, after about fifteen minutes, the gear reluctantly swung into position and locked, after which a safe landing was made. It appeared that the emergency system had not worked due to insufficient travel of the selector and as a result the system had not been activated.
Over the next two months it was the turn of 56 Squadron to be in the spotlight as far as Lightning incidents were concerned. On 5 March Flight Lieutenant Mike Wraight had warning of a fire in No.2 engine when flying XM171, although this was successfully extinguished and a safe landing was made. The following month there were two separate incidents where pilots had to contend with control restrictions, the first occurring on 23 April when Flight Lieutenant P. Wild was flying XR719. Despite limited lateral control he was able to return to Wattisham where a successful landing was carried out. When the aircraft was examined a loose bolt was found in the wing, which had fouled the aileron control rod resulting in limited travel. Five days later Flight Lieutenant Pete Clee had a similar problem in the unit’s T.4 XM989. On return to Wattisham it was found that a spanner had been left in the wing during servicing and this had eventually jammed the ailerons to the extent that Clee was unable to turn to port.
At Coltishall 226 OCU lost one of its F.1As for a considerable period when it was badly damaged in an explosion on start-up on 26 April. The pilot of XM216 was able to start both engines but before the ground electrical supplies could be removed an explosion was heard and a cloud of smoke emerged from the No.2 engine jet pipe. Despite prompt action in shutting the engines down and switching off all the electrics, the aircraft had already suffered serious internal damage that took over a year to rectify. The explosion was caused by a defective starter exhaust pipe that had allowed flames or hot gases to ignite residual vapours in the engine bay.
By June 1964 the air display season was in full swing with Flight Lieutenant Tony Doyle of 111 Squadron a regular participant. On the 26th, Flight Lieutenant Doyle flew to St Mawgan in XR712 as this was to be his base prior to being one of the highlights of the Exeter Air Show. As was now customary, the completion of his display was a high-speed run in reheat, but as this was being completed spectators were horrified to see black smoke and flames emerge from the back of the Lightning. As he put his aircraft into a climb Doyle was aware of a number of loud bangs from the rear end and at the same time there was also considerable airframe buffeting. As the jet pipe temperature for No.1 engine had gone off the scale, he shut down this engine and was just completing this particular task when the Fire 1 warning light came on. As No.2 engine was still giving 94 per cent power, however, he decided to head back towards St Mawgan. Although his attempt to transfer fuel from the port wing tank to that in the starboard wing was unsuccessful, there was sufficient fuel for a straight-in approach.
Prior to landing the undercarriage was lowered, but when it was selected down Doyle noticed that there was a control restriction and he could not move the stick further aft than the central position. Also when the flaps were lowered it became apparent that the nose tended to drop uncontrollably below speeds of about 230 knots IAS. Despite his best attempts to free the control column, it refused to move so he was left with no alternative but to head out to sea and eject. This was accomplished safely once the coast had been crossed and a favourable on-shore breeze drifted his parachute back towards the land where he eventually came down.
Tony Doyle gave a personal view of this accident in his autobiography Flying at the Edge (Pen and Sword 2010):
As the nose came up above the horizon I felt a dull tremor shake the airframe. Because of my tight-fitting bone-dome, with its sealed earpieces, I didn’t hear anything, but it was obvious that something had just happened at the back. There were no other signs of trouble. No warning lights or bells. As I came back out of reheat I glanced down at the engine instruments. It took several staring seconds to absorb the full impact of their message. The jet pipe temperature of the top engine was over 800 degrees, well above its limit. The lower engine appeared to have gone out, as the temperature was on zero. Something was happening and I hadn’t yet worked out what. I pulled both throttle levers back to the idle position, trying to decide what to do next. If the No.1 was out, was it damaged? Should I try to relight it or rely on the No.2, even though it had gone way over the temperature limit? I was saved the trouble of making up my mind when the emergency warning bell suddenly filled my earphones with its clangor. The reheat and engine fire warning lights were on, and to my astonishment the needle on the No.1 temperature gauge was slowly moving anti-clockwise back down towards the upper limit. It had been so far round the dial that I had misread it as zero. In view of this, the No.2 would have to take its chances, and I wasted no time shutting down the No.1.
At the time the procedure was to get rid of the ventral tank if there was a persistent fire in the lower engine. It was thought that the tank, lying along the bottom of the fuselage, would prevent the skin cooling, and being full of fuel vapour it might even explode. Having throttled back I had to check the rocket climb and level out much lower than I had originally planned. I took a look over the side and saw that my trajectory had taken me right over the northern environs of Exeter. Eventually, after what seemed an age, I reckoned I was clear of the built-up area and pulled the jettison handle, causing the aircraft to take a terrible lurch. The ventral was gone, but the No.1 fire lights had not gone out so it was time to jump for it. I levelled the wings and prepared to eject. It seemed unreal, even ludicrous, for the only proof that I had of a serious malfunction were those silly little lights. No smoke. No flames. Not even odd noises. Nothing to urge me to leave the familiar comfort of the cockpit. I was reaching for the handle when, at last, the fire lights went out.
The Lightning fuselage is a dense structure, and the rear ends of the engines are a long way behind you, so there could be a roaring inferno down at the back and you would never realise it. If the fire lights go out it means either that the fire has gone out or that the wiring has burnt through. However, I had a bit of height in hand and we still seemed to be flying so I busied myself about getting back to St Mawgan, which was still ten minutes flying time away. As I climbed gently to the west over Dartmoor I realised that I had another big problem on my hands – fuel. The explosion must have damaged the transfer system because I could not get any of the fuel from the No.1 engine across to the live engine. As I crossed Dartmoor I found that the No.2 engine was running rather more economically than the book suggested and by the time St Mawgan was in sight some 10 miles away, I had just about enough to make a second attempt at landing should it become necessary. The fuel situation was tight, but not the worst I had experienced.
My main worry was that the remaining engine might also have been damaged and would fail somewhere near the ground during the approach to land. I kept remembering the jet pipe temperature sitting up there, well above the limit. And then there was the explosion. What else had it damaged apart from the fuel transfer system? As if in reply, the aircraft suddenly slewed sideways, staggered for a second and then resumed normal flight. What the heck was THAT? Everything seemed to have gone back to where it was before, and the aircraft was flying normally again, but my mind pondered darkly on what might be going on down at the back to cause that lurch. Bodmin Moor passed by to the north. Luckily there was a strong wind blowing from the sea, which would enable me to make a straight-in approach to St Mawgan’s north-westerly runway. If it had been blowing the other way I would have been faced with the decision of whether to land downwind or going right round to the far side and risk running out of fuel.
With 4 miles to go and plenty of height in hand, I reduced speed and selected the wheels down. As they came out into the airstream the nose dipped gently and I checked back on the stick. It moved a fraction of an inch and then came up against a solid restriction. The nose continued to drop. I grasped the stick with both hands and tried to smash it through the blockage, but it would not budge. As I dropped the flap the nose rose gently, and slowly we resumed level flight. Normally under these circumstances one would climb to a safe height and check out the handling at landing speed, but I did not have the fuel for that. Gently I reduced the speed, but immediately the nose began to drop again uncontrollably. The shoulder wing position on the Lightning, together with the exaggerated sweep back, made a belly-landing a very dangerous prospect, and the procedure in the event of no wheels was to bale out. Anyway, it was not just that I couldn’t fly any slower than 230 knots, but with the stick stuck I had no way of checking the descent for the touch-down.
By this time I had got too close to the airfield for a straight-in approach. I looked with misgivings at my dwindling fuel supply, called the tower to let them know what had happened and began a turn into the circuit, hoping against hope that the restriction would free itself. It didn’t, and every time I turned I couldn’t prevent the aircraft from losing height. I tried every combination of autopilot, artificial feel and autostabilisers I could think of, but it made no difference. I raised the undercarriage and flaps, increased the speed and climbed towards the sea, telling the Tower that I intended to eject. I had decided long ago that if I had to eject, and I had time, I would get rid of the hood first. On some aircraft you can eject through the hood if it fails to go, indeed on some that is the normal way.
The Lightning hood was so massive that there was no question of going through it, so there was a device that prevented the seat from firing if the hood was still in place. Pulling either ejector-seat handle fired the hood off first, and then, as it went, it automatically unlocked the seat-firing sequence, which paused a moment to allow the hood to get clear and then fired. There had been a number of incidents where debris had jammed the hood-release mechanism, trapping the pilot in the cockpit at the end of a sortie. I knew because it had happened to me. If, for some reason, the hood failed to fire after the handle had been pulled, then there were a couple of other things you could do to get rid of it. I did not like the idea of having to do this with the seat all primed and ready to fire pretty well as soon as the hood had gone, because you needed to be in a really exact posture to take the force of the seat gun. I had also decided that in a deliberate ejection at moderate speed I would use the bottom handle rather than the face-blind, because experience had shown that you could adopt a much better posture with the former and so reduce the likelihood of spinal damage. I pulled the jettison lever, and away went the hood in fine style. I suppose I must have been at about 5,000 feet and a mile from the shore when I drew my shoulders back against the seat and pulled the firing-handle.
Many people who have ejected have described remembering seeing the seat lift up out of the aircraft, but I have absolutely no recollection of the first few seconds. I remember everything as going black and thinking that it felt as though I had been put into a large tin and shaken violently. Later the medics worked out that my chin strap had failed, allowing the airstream to wrench off my helmet. As it went it stretched the oxygen pipe till the fastenings holding the mask to the helmet parted and the mask came rushing back and hit me in the face. The fibreglass frame of the mask was quite hefty, and presumably the blow knocked me momentarily unconscious. I recovered full consciousness in time to see the seat falling away towards the sea. I couldn’t see the aircraft anywhere, but a few moments later I heard the engine stop, and then quite a bit later there was a dull thump and looking down between my feet I saw a great circular patch of foam spreading on the surface of the sea.
Now that there was nothing for me to do, I felt much more frightened than before. I remembered a friend who had also baled out, telling me that he had been afraid of falling out of the parachute harness and had come down all the way with his fingers hooked into the two metal rings at the top of his straps. As soon as I thought of this my own hands flew up to the rings above my head. The ’chute began to swing sickeningly and I had an irrational fear that I was in danger of falling down into the canopy. I could see that the wind was so strong that it was beginning to blow me back towards the shore. However the fear of drowning out at sea was replaced with a new threat; my trajectory was taking me along a line of hideously high cliffs and sea stacks, against which the great Atlantic rollers were hurling themselves. Looking straight down between my feet I could see the faces of people on the cliff path staring up at me. In agonising slow motion I gradually drifted clear of the cliffs, only to see a whole mass of power cables approaching. I pulled down vigorously on one side of the shroud lines to increase my rate of descent in an attempt to land before I reached them.
As I fell towards the fields, the last few hundred feet rushed by in a flash. My ’chute was swinging so far over that the last thing I saw before hitting the ground was the lip of the ’chute hitting the ground while I was still in the air. Then down I came onto my back with a crash. I can remember thinking that this must be what it is like to fall off the roof of a two-storey building and, appreciating the sudden calm, I lay there for a while to get my breath back. When I sat up I saw that my flying boots were actually touching the lowest strands of a barbed wire fence that ran across the field in which I had landed. A few feet either side of where I lay were the sharp angle-iron posts that held it up. Drowning or falling down a cliff had not been the only dangers I had escaped. At the top of the field I found a man feeding his pigs. I stood there, an incongruous figure in my flying-suit with my parachute draped over my arm, but the farmer did no more than glance in my direction. ‘I saw yer come down,’ he said in a conversational tone, ‘I’ll give yer a lift to the village when I’ve finished feeding these y’ere pigs.’ And so he did.
After he had ejected Tony Doyle’s aircraft had continued to fly for a short time before coming down in the sea approximately three miles from the coast. Despite an extensive search, however, no wreckage was ever found. The Board of Inquiry that was set up to investigate the accident could only state that it had probably been caused by an uncontained explosion in No.1 engine, which had led to an intense in-flight fire. Some items of engine debris from the explosion during the high-speed run were found on the airfield at Exeter.
Having had its canopy torn off by jet blast the previous year, T.4 XM992 of 111 Squadron was involved in another unfortunate incident on 14 July, although this time it was all of its own making. On completion of an instrument flying sortie XM992 returned to Wattisham and was being taxied back to dispersal when the brakes failed due to a hydraulic failure. Unfortunately this occurred as the Lightning was being turned towards other aircraft and it was impossible to prevent it hitting one of the squadron’s single-seaters and also coming into contact with another. The T.4 received Cat.3 damage in the collision and the two other Lightnings were assessed as Cat.2.
The next Lightning barrier engagement took place at Leconfield on 3 August when XN786 of 92 Squadron was returning from a high-level interception sortie. On landing the pilot had to contend with a crosswind and had difficulty keeping straight on the runway with the braking parachute streamed as his aircraft tried to weathercock into wind. The use of differential brake had little to no effect so to prevent his aircraft going onto the grass the pilot jettisoned the parachute. He continued braking but the level of deceleration was not enough to stop the Lightning going into the barrier. As with previous barrier engagements the level of damage was considerable and XN786 did not return to service for almost five months.
By now Lightning incidents were beginning to follow a regular pattern and on 6 August there was another open cockpit flight. Before take-off from Akrotiri the pilot of XN776 of 19 Squadron opened his canopy for ventilation but had to close it again due to fumes from the aircraft ahead. In the event he decided to leave the canopy slightly open but when it was his turn to line up with the runway he forgot to lock it shut and did not notice the canopy unlocked warning light. The canopy was ripped off at about 140 knots and, as was now customary, it hit the tail on its way. The pilot continued the take off and landed safely after burning off fuel.
At Wattisham 111 Squadron lost one of its F.3s in September when Flight Lieutenant Hedley Molland was returning after a high-altitude interception exercise. The following is his account of what happened as given to the Board of Inquiry:
On 29 September I was briefed by Squadron Leader J. Mitchell and authorised myself to fly Lightning Mk.3 aircraft XP739 on an exercise of simulated high flying attacks against a Canberra target aircraft. The weather was checked and conditions were cloud base 4,000 feet minimum and visibility over 10 miles. I taxied out, took off and climbed to Flight Level 360. Just before levelling off the cabin pressure warning came on and the cabin altimeter showed 22,000 feet at Flight Level 360 instead of about 18,000 feet. Use of the de-mist lever rectified the malfunction.
I carried out three radar attacks using reheat on all attacks. My fuel state at the beginning of the last was 1,800lbs on each side. I started the recovery with a fuel state of 1,200lbs per side about fifteen miles north of the dive point. I requested a straight letdown to Point Alpha for a visual re-join and started to descend 30 miles from Point Alpha on a heading of 240 degrees Magnetic. I selected airbrakes out, throttled back to idle/fast idle and descended at 0.90 Mach converting to 375 knots. Between 15,000 and 20,000 feet I selected airbrakes in and continued descending at 375 knots. I passed Point Alpha, 18 miles on the runway extended centre line at about 8,000 feet. At some time before this I was told to change UHF frequency to Stud 6 for Wattisham radar surveillance. At the same time I selected low sensitivity on the IFF.
At about 5,000 feet I selected airbrakes out and steepened the descent to maintain 375 knots. At this stage I was in visual contact with the ground. I was cleared to descend to 1,500 feet so I did not level at 3,000 feet but started easing out of the descent in order to level off at 1,500 feet. As I reached the level position I increased power to about 80 per cent rpm on both engines. As rpm neared 80 per cent a light flashed on the Auxiliary Warning Panel (AWP). I looked down but the light had gone out. As I was looking at the AWP, the FUEL 1 warning light came on. I checked that No.1 engine rpm were below 85 per cent. At the same time I transmitted an R/T call and I think I said that I would be doing a straight-in approach instead of a circuit. I then looked back at the AWP and noticed that the FUEL 2 warning light was also on. On looking back at the No.1 engine rpm I noticed that it was dropping below 50 per cent. I opened up the No.1 throttle and when the engine did not respond I informed base that my No.1 engine had flamed out.
I then noticed that I had all the indications of an AC failure and checked No.2 engine rpm, which were dropping. I opened No.2 throttle and when the engine did not respond I transmitted that I had a double flame-out. While making this call I pressed the relight buttons. My fuel state at this time was 900lbs per side and I prepared for a possible ejection. I lowered the seat and checked the aircraft trim by letting go of the stick. The nose of the aircraft dropped so I trimmed back to what I thought was a level attitude. At about this time I became conscious that the attention-getters were flashing and the audio warning was operating. I cancelled these and noticed that a generator failure was indicated on the Standard Warning Panel (SWP). Simultaneously I noticed Needham Market dead ahead so I turned the aircraft five to ten degrees to starboard. I heard base asking if I was still with them and informed them that both re-lights had been unsuccessful and that I was ejecting.
I checked my height and speed from standby instruments and found I was between 1,000 and 2,000 feet at about 250 knots. Without adjusting the straps or moving my feet from the rudder pedals, I pulled the seat pan handle. The hood left the aircraft immediately. During the one-second, delay which seemed a very long time, I became aware of the audio warning. I did not see if there was anything more indicated on the SWP. I heard a bang, felt the acceleration, and the seat tumbling. Almost immediately I felt the jerk of the main parachute deploying. I noticed the aircraft approximately 200 yards ahead. It was in a slight descent with the nose up and the wings gently rocking. It appeared to be intact and I was struck by the absolute silence. I landed in a field near a road and was driven to a nearby farm where I telephoned Wattisham, informed them of my position and requested an ambulance as my back and neck were rather stiff. The ambulance took me to Ipswich hospital for an X-ray.
After Flight Lieutenant Molland ejected, his aircraft continued in a gentle descent for another 3 miles before striking the ground in a gliding attitude. Upon impact it disintegrated and caught fire. At the time of the accident there was still ample fuel on board (800lbs per side) but despite this both engines had flamed out. The Accident Investigation Branch concluded that the fuel starvation was most likely caused by the DC fuel transfer pumps not transferring fuel to the collector tank to supply to the fuel-draulic booster pumps. The precise reason for the fuel not being transferred, however, could not be established. From what remained of the fuel system no definite fault could be found and although the switches operating the DC fuel pumps were suspected, it was not proven that they had been faulty. At the time of the accident XP739 was less than a year old and had flown only 180 hours.
Although Flight Lieutenant Molland was not blamed in any way for the accident by the Board of Inquiry – indeed he was commended for his coolness when confronted with a difficult situation – it did consider that the flight profile used in the descent may have contributed to the fuel starvation. It was noted that XP739 had already flown three sorties on the day of the accident and in each of these the descent was quite different to that flown by Flight Lieutenant Molland. In one case the aircraft had been descended in a nose-up attitude and in the other two the aircraft had been flown level for a time before the throttles were opened. In all of these cases the fuel collector boxes would have been filled under the influence of gravity so that when the throttles were opened there was sufficient fuel available. In Flight Lieutenant Molland’s case he had carried out a nose-down descent and immediately after levelling out had made a demand for more fuel by advancing the throttles. The combination of insufficient fuel in the collector boxes and an inefficient DC fuel system meant that not enough fuel was available to supply the demand of the engines and so they both flamed out.
No more Lightnings were lost during the remainder of 1965 although there were several incidents. On 21 October Lightning T.4 XM994 of 226 OCU took off with the starboard fuse panel unfastened, which promptly tore off causing Cat.3 damage. A week later F.3 XP762 of 111 Squadron suffered a seized port brake and ended up on the grass at the side of Wattisham’s runway, although damage was relatively minor (Cat.2). On 16 November there was another case of a stuck nose-wheel that affected XN783 of 92 Squadron, which was being flown by Flying Officer John Rooum on a radar exercise. The sequence of events was virtually identical to the previous cases and the accident was once again caused by a small screw in the nose-wheel shock absorber assembly, which had worked loose allowing the ring nut to unscrew and extend the nose oleo. As a result the leg could not be moved to the down position.
The final Lightning mishap of the year affected T.5 XS419 of 226 OCU which suffered a landing accident on 16 December. This was caused primarily by the braking parachute, which candled shortly after being deployed. As it appeared that the aircraft was heading for the barrier, the captain (Flight Lieutenant Ed Durham) applied port brake to steer the aircraft onto the grass but it unfortunately hit a number of obstacles before coming to a halt. The result was Cat.3 damage and four months in the repair hangar.
By the end of 1965 there were six squadrons fully operational on the Lightning plus 226 OCU. The increased number of aircraft in service was reflected in a 35 per cent increase in the number of flying hours by Lightnings compared with the previous year. Total flying hours for 1965 were 22,130 and there were nine major accidents resulting in an overall accident rate per 10,000 flying hours of 4.1. This represented a slight improvement on the previous year and compared favourably with other RAF fast jets. Indeed the statistics for the Javelin showed a further worsening of its accident rate, which continued the trend of the previous five years. Total flying hours for the Javelin were 19,187 but there were twenty majors during 1965 so that the rate per 10,000 hours was 10.4. To some extent this trend can be explained by the fact that the Javelin’s role had expanded, as it was now in use in the Far East in connection with the Indonesia/Malaysia confrontation where it was often flown at low level. However, as the Lightning was a much newer aircraft, such a low accident rate for what was also an extremely complex machine was highly commendable; the Hunter’s accident rate for 1965 was 4.2.