A TRIBUTE TO ROBBIE –
SQUADRON LEADER J C ‘ROBBIE’ CAMERON
BY AIR COMMODORE T C DAVIES CENG FIET FRAES
I was always intrigued by his smoker’s pipe. Clearly it was an engineering officer’s pipe: well-made, well-worn and held together with araldite glue and electrical insulation tape. He was forever tamping it down or digging into it with a screwdriver or feeler gauge or one of those multi-purpose tools that all pipe smokers seem to play with. This time he took a long puff and said with a smile: “I have come to a momentous decision young Terence.” I awaited the response with interest. Throughout the two years I had been his deputy, I had learned to respect the views, advice and counsel of this hands-on, experienced and knowledgeable senior engineering officer who sat opposite me in the cramped and shabby office we shared. “I could never work for a company that made the Lightning,” he said. I smiled and nodded; I knew exactly what he meant. Every day, like all Lightning SEngOs, he shouldered the not inconsiderable responsibility of ensuring that there were enough serviceable aircraft to meet the squadron commander’s operational and training requirements. Being a Lightning engineer was tough! He had already decided to leave the RAF at a career break point that would enable him to offer a civilian employer another 20 years or so of productive work. But enough was enough; the daily battle of trying to keep Lightning Mark 3 fighters serviceable had left its mark. The manufacturer of the RAF’s foremost fighter aircraft would not figure in the future work plans of my boss and mentor.
RAF Nicosia, October 1968. Terry Davies is far right.
The fundamental problem was that the Lightning had never been designed to enter squadron service and thus presented a considerable challenge to even the most accomplished maintenance engineer. The Lightning was essentially the result of a research project conceived in 1948 which had spawned an aircraft with unique design and phenomenal performance. But no matter how the designers tinkered with the shape and layout, the basic problem from a maintainer’s point of view was that the airframe was wrapped around two powerful engines one mounted above the other. As a consequence, system components had to be stuffed into whatever space was available. More significantly, the hydraulic and fuel plumbing ran alongside the engines and jet pipes. This resulted in a number of serious problems. Firstly and most significantly, a fluid leak from any of the various joints, unions and connections usually meant a fire in a confined area packed with flight critical components – including the rods which connected the pilot’s controls to the flying surfaces. Secondly, to get at many of the components for repair, replacement or modification invariably meant the time-consuming removal of major items such as external fuel tanks, engine hatches, engines, jet pipes, and weapon packs. This led directly to two other problems. Every disconnection and reconnection of a major item for access increased the risk of introducing other potentially more serious faults. In turn, this work resulted in a large number of inspections and examinations, including independent checks of safety critical items and full functional tests of every system disturbed to gain access to the faulty equipment. Thus the repair of a small component, which would take only a few hours to rectify on a workbench, often took days to fix, including the not inconsiderable cost of many extra hours of inspection.
Lightning maintenance costs, like all fighter aircraft before or since, were notoriously difficult to calculate because of the many variables involved (eg modification states, manpower levels and the age of the aircraft) and most engineers had their own figures. I used to reckon that around 500 manhours per flying hour was a pretty reasonable estimate for a Lightning F Mk 3 squadron. Some experts refer to the poor reliability of the earlier marks of Lightning and in the early days of its operations there was considerable concern over the support costs of the aircraft. Over the years, though, a large number of reliability modifications improved the situation significantly. For example, the introduction of the brushless AC electrical system resulted in the dramatic improvement of AC system failures. It is quite likely that for the very early marks of Lightning the maintenance hours could well have been much greater than 500 per flying hour.
Possible improvements to the Lightning’s problem of fuel shortage were investigated. For instance, some Lightning books refer to a proposal to fit the flaps with integral fuel tanks. The proposal was evidently linked to a possible requirement to fit a rocket booster pack in place of the ventral tank to give an added boost to aircraft performance at high altitudes; fuel in the flaps would compensate for the deletion of the ventral tank. The rocket booster pack, however, did not get the go-ahead and so, to the best of my knowledge, the flaps were never used to carry fuel. Another possibility might have been to place fuel in the wing leading edges but as far as I know this idea was not progressed. Amongst other matters, such a plan would have been a major technical headache if implemented because the leading edges contained a number of key items, including the control runs to the ailerons. Some books refer to a possible navy variant of the Lightning, but this would have necessitated a completely redesigned wing for carrier operations. If it had happened, such a variant would have contained more fuel than the RAF version.
The designers did what they could to ease the maintainer’s task. The aircraft was pock-marked with access panels and every squadron had its own contortionist who could insert his arms up to his armpits in the bowels of the aircraft with tools tied to his wrists and somehow disconnect, remove, replace, reconnect and often wire-lock a component by feel only. The RAF also did their bit to help. A maintenance policy was evolved to take advantage of the many opportunities when major items such as engines were removed solely for access to enable routine servicing to be done. This was called opportunity servicing, not to be confused with out-of-phase maintenance which covered many items such as ejection seat cartridges and aircraft batteries which had to be replaced on a calendar rather than a flying hour basis.
To compound the engineering problems, 29 (Fighter) Squadron – the last Lightning squadron to be formed (in 1967) – was provided not with new aircraft but with F Mk 3 aircraft handed over from squadrons converting to the newest variant straight from the factory, the F Mk 6. This resulted in more problems: the higher defect rate of older aircraft and engines which had already been in service for many years; the deeper and longer scheduled servicing task of aircraft and engines which had already flown many hours; and last but not least, a very heavy modification workload not faced by the F Mk 6 squadrons with their new aircraft built to the latest modification standard. We had one brand new aircraft, the two-seat XV 328 ‘Zulu’, christened Zebedee by the groundcrew, which had only two hours on the clock when it was delivered to 29 Squadron. Zulu went through its scheduled servicing cycle like a well mannered lady with very few minor defects.
The maintenance problems were compounded by other issues. A chronic spares shortage meant that ‘cannibalisation’ was widespread. Every squadron had its own ‘hangar queen’, an aircraft usually on long term repair which was robbed – often to a ridiculous extent. Whilst disguising spares shortages, robbing also meant that the task took twice as long because two components had to be removed and refitted: the unserviceable item and the cannibalised replacement. Again, extra valuable manhours had to be spent on system integrity tests, inspections and independent checks of the two disturbed systems.
29 (F) Squadron Libghtning T5 ‘Zulu’ at RAF Wattisham, October 1967.
Then there were the fuel leaks. The Lightning’s thin, aerodynamically efficient wing meant that fuel bags took up too much space so fuel was able to leak, seep and drip from any joint in the wing structure which was inadequately sealed – and there were many. Even copious amounts of a sealant called PRC could not stop all the leaks. Also, there were a large number of vents which were designed to dump fuel overboard as it heated and expanded. As a result, the hangar floor and the concrete area opposite the squadron hangar, known as the pan from which the aircraft were operated, became slippery and treacherous. In their wisdom, the RAF provided the groundcrew with shoes with directly moulded rubber soles which acted like ice skates when in contact with fuel. One night I was stepping off the wing on to the cockpit access ladder when I slipped and fell over the leading edge head down towards the concrete pan. Fortunately I was able to grab the air-to-air refuelling probe which protruded from beneath the port wing.
Unlike the newer Mark 6 aircraft equipped with the much larger ventral fuel pack, the Mark 3 aircraft of 29 Squadron were fitted with the smaller ventral tank which meant a very short sortie, especially if a lot of reheat was used for the attack profile. It always seemed to me that as soon as the aircraft was launched it was back again! The typical sortie rate for a Mk 3 Lightning was about 45 minutes, which is why the pilots often wanted tanker sorties. During one night shift I calculated that every landing resulted in an average of 2.4 defects – which is why the engineers also liked tanker sorties! In 1968, we lost the Dacre trophy (awarded to the most efficient squadron) because although we had the highest number of sorties in 11 (Fighter) Group that year, we didn’t generate the most flying hours which was one of the criteria used to assess performance for the trophy.
Manpower, or rather the lack of it, was always a headache. Lightning squadrons were provided with manpower for ‘an extended flying day’ which was usually interpreted differently by individual squadron commanders. On 29 Squadron the day started at 0700 hours when, after the previous night’s flying programme, the line crew would tow whatever serviceable aircraft were available from the hangar to the pan, then prepare them for flight. The working day ended after night flying, usually at 0200 hours when the night shift had recovered sufficient serviceable aircraft for the following day’s flying; ideally a minimum of four aircraft. The day and night shift patterns were regularly disrupted by the many short-notice exercises which meant that the groundcrew often went straight to a 12 hours ‘on’ and ‘off’ shift arrangement with the unlucky ones often working 20 or more hours at a stretch.
As if we didn’t have enough on our hands, every Lightning squadron seemed to be deluged on a weekly basis with instructions, directives, orders, missives and requests from higher authorities and formations. The most pressing of these were the preliminary warning instructions which usually gave notice of considerable work to follow. They were often triggered by a serious defect signal from one of the Lightning units where a dangerous fault had been discovered. These instructions, which usually arrived on a Friday morning and often meant unplanned overtime during the weekend, regularly threw the maintenance plan into disarray.
The engineering management team comprised just two commissioned engineering officers: a senior engineering officer and his junior – often a first tourist like me straight out of Cranwell. We were supported by one warrant officer and two flight sergeants to cover day and night shifts, leave, sickness and courses. In those days, because of manpower shortages, a squadron never had its full complement of tradesmen and, like all RAF units, also had to bear the many and often lengthy absences for training. The situation was alleviated only by having more SNCOs in lieu of the junior ranks to which we were ordinarily entitled. This was because of the then-policy of promotion to the producer/supervisor ranks of corporal, sergeant and chief technician by time as well as capability. The NCOs were the backbone of the squadron and without their training, professionalism and good humour the engineering task would have been impossible.
56(F) Squadron night-time operational turn round in Cyprus.
In addition to the high standard of NCOs, each Lightning squadron was well served by some outstanding young technicians and mechanics who regularly performed miracles, often under very difficult conditions and in all weathers. The propulsion mechanics who carried out after-flight inspections of the engines deserve a special mention. On a daily basis they had to squeeze past the radar ‘bullet’ into the aircraft intake, crawl under the bulge of the cockpit floor and climb up over the bifurcated duct to inspect the turbine blades of the top (No 2) engine located half way along the fuselage deep in the bowels of the aircraft – a gloomy, eerie and claustrophobic experience, especially at night. They then had to exercise their engineering judgement and decide if any turbine blade damage was within or outside the technical limits of acceptability. The task was made even more unpleasant if the aircraft had flown through a flock of birds and the smell of burnt carcasses had begun to drift forward into the intake from the heat-soaked engines.
As the closest Lightning unit to the Ministry of Defence in London as well as Command and Group Headquarters, members of 29 Squadron, based at Wattisham in Suffolk, had more than their fair share of important visitors. In addition to being a diversion from routine work, the visits gave us an opportunity to show how good we were at operational turn rounds (OTRs). As part of our operational task we had to demonstrate our proficiency at refuelling and re-arming aircraft straight after a combat sortie so that the pilot could return to the fight, usually within five to seven minutes. As soon as the aircraft taxied in and the engines were shut down, the OTR team would swarm over the aircraft and simultaneously carry out a number of tasks. These included: connecting the telebrief cable to the aircraft so that the pilot could receive his scramble instructions straight from the fighter controller; fitting two Red Top or Firestreak missiles; refilling the engine starter tank with isopropyl nitrate fuel known as Avpinn; fitting a replacement brake parachute and refuelling the aircraft which was the longest task. Meanwhile, the pilot would remain in the cockpit and be debriefed on the previous sortie by the intelligence officer and briefed on the next mission. As soon as the area around the aircraft was safe, the aircraft marshaller would give a thumbs-up to the pilot to signify that the OTR was completed and he was clear to start engines. Our record time for an OTR from engine shut down to engine start was 4.5 minutes.
The quick reaction alert (QRA) requirement meant added pressure on aircraft and manpower resources. Every time we held the southern QRA duty, two armed aircraft together with a full engineering support team and two pilots were detached day and night to the QRA hangar positioned near the end of the runway. When scrambled, the aircraft could get airborne within two minutes. As soon as one Lightning had departed, the standby aircraft had to be made immediately available just in case the on-task machine returned unserviceable. My SEngO would often put aircraft on QRA duties despite only a few minutes remaining before a ‘mandatory service’ was due. He followed the principle that the Lightning could be legally airborne on a tanker-supported mission of a couple of hours, giving us enough time to prepare a replacement in addition to counting the hours towards the training task.
As well as not being designed with maintenance in mind, the Lightning was initially meant to be operated from a main operating base in the UK which provided all the technical support facilities necessary to keep the aircraft serviceable and ready to counter the bomber threat. Nevertheless, every operational Lightning squadron was required to demonstrate that it could deploy to, and operate from, NATO bases overseas when required, often at short notice. This presented problems. Although the aircraft did have NATO standard fuel and electrical power connectors, most of the ground-support equipment was not designed for mobility. The staff solution was to provide drawings for various equipment couplings and adaptors to enable our equipment to interface with that of our NATO allies. Needless to say, very little did and thus every time we deployed overseas we were faced with squeezing-in a quart’s worth of Lightning kit and spares into a pint-sized transport aircraft. In lighter moments we would wait until the loadmaster of the Hercules transport aircraft was congratulating himself that he had got all the equipment on board and was preparing his trim sheet, then we would tow out a ventral tank on its enormous trolley saying that it had to be loaded! Deployments to warmer climates such as Italy, Malta and Cyprus were always popular with the groundcrew, and even the aircraft showed improved serviceability: hydraulic seals expanded in the heat thereby reducing many oil leaks, furthermore electronic systems performed better as the equipment bays dried out.
Every Lightning squadron was regularly subjected to a lengthy, no-notice tactical evaluation by an experienced team of specialists from Command Headquarters. The taceval team, which often arrived late at night by road so as not to alert the unit, used a series of realistic scenarios to test every aspect of the flying and engineering operations of the squadron to make sure that our procedures were safe and correct. The effectiveness of our call-out plan was usually the first aspect to be put under the taceval microscope. Because there were only a few married quarters at Wattisham, many of the NCOs and technicians lived off base. We had to rely upon a complex ‘cascade’ notification process to call personnel in and thereby demonstrate that sufficient were available to meet the next phase of the evaluation: aircraft generation. Naturally enough, the initial workload always fell upon the shoulders of those who lived on base and reported in first. Generating sufficient aircraft meant a rapid review of the engineering state board with the servicing team leaders. We had to determine which aircraft could be quickly and safely recovered from scheduled maintenance and defect rectification.
Every step of the generation process was scrutinised by the taceval team who would periodically feed in difficulties to see how we responded. Arming the aircraft with live missiles was always a tense time as it gave the evaluators plenty of opportunities to cause mischief and mayhem as well as making sure that our handling and loading procedures were top notch. This phase enabled the squadron armourers to show how good they were, and fortunately on 29 Squadron we had the best. Evaluating the scramble and flying phases came next, with the pilots being tested on a number of different and demanding attack profiles which involved other Command assets such as bomber targets, fighter escorts and tankers. The engineering task was to carry out operational turn rounds and quickly return the aircraft to the battle and keep it serviceable. This phase was usually interrupted by the taceval team injecting simulated incidents such as aircraft fires, battle damage and weapon problems. The final part of the evaluation was often a survival scramble of all available aircraft to alternative airfields which usually preceded a simulated nuclear attack on Wattisham. Once the last aircraft had roared off into the night sky, I would be struck by the sobering realisation that the engineers, technicians and mechanics were expendable. The important assets were the pilots and the aircraft.
We had lighter moments, too. There was the time that an over-anxious engineering officer, during a night scramble of four aircraft, stumbled into the AC and DC power cables of a Lightning. The cables were pulled out thus preventing the pilot from starting his engines just as he received the order to scramble from the fighter controller. The pilot, flight commander and squadron boss were not amused. I remember watching a young technician on starter crew duties who, as he lay beside his aircraft on a hot and tiring afternoon in Cyprus, promptly jumped to his feet on hearing a starter motor fire up. Then, to the bewilderment of his pilot, he went through the complete starting sequence on his aircraft even though it was the adjacent aircraft that had started up. One of my favourite memories was a hangar incident witnessed by the SEngO and myself. A newly arrived mechanic straight from training saw a Lightning being manoeuvred in the hangar without engines, jet pipes or radar bullet. Suddenly and slowly the aircraft started to tip up on its trolley. Wanting to save the country a few quid, the ten stone airman immediately grabbed the end of the Lightning’s pitot tube as ten tons of shiny aircraft continued to rise majestically into the air. When the aircraft finally came to rest on its tail, the young man, his feet now dangling and kicking high in the air, continued to hang on grimly.
The complications of an aircraft design which gave only a passing nod to the maintenance task, coupled with the juggling act of managing spares and manpower shortages, and the relentless pressure of the day and night flying programme, plus exercises, QRA, overseas deployments and tactical evaluations meant that the mechanics, technicians and managers on a Lightning squadron were stretched, if not over-stretched. There seemed to be no pattern to the aircraft defects and every day was different. After only a few sorties an impressive line-up of serviceable aircraft in the morning would often be reduced to none at the end of the day. The night shift would then have to scratch around to generate the minimum number of aircraft required for the next morning’s flying programme. Equally, despite an aircraft state board covered in technical graffiti, the technicians and mechanics would work their magic and suddenly, as if from nowhere, serviceable aircraft would appear. No matter how we analysed it, we never fully understood how. Later in my career I went on an air warfare course visit to a United States Air Force fighter base in the UK where we were briefed by the chief of maintenance. Even with his experience he couldn’t explain how the serviceability picture could change so quickly either, but he shared a few thoughts which I have always remembered. He said: “Beware the light at the end of the tunnel – it could be the headlights of an oncoming train,” and: “If things are going well, find out why.” These comments seemed appropriate to my nearly three years as a Lightning squadron engineer.
Despite the problems and difficulties, the engineering task was immensely enjoyable and rewarding. The satisfaction of seeing a line-up of aircraft at the start of a day’s flying and watching them depart, usually in fighter pairs, was matched by the run-in and break over the airfield as they returned from a successful training sortie. The best moment for me, however, was to watch the pilot in the line hut after a mission, often hot and fatigued from a demanding sortie, when he wrote the word ‘satisfactory’ in the aircraft’s Form 700 log book, meaning that the aircraft was available for another flight.
And what became of my boss, mentor and life-long friend the SEngO? After he retired from the Royal Air Force, and despite his earlier misgivings, he joined the aerospace company which had produced the Lightning aircraft. He worked in the company’s new projects department where, to help design future generations of fighter aircraft, he used lessons hard learned from his Lightning squadron experience. He didn’t, however, buy a new smoker’s pipe.