On the OCU course ahead of mine was a pilot who went on to fly only one Harrier squadron tour, but whose name became legendary, and who contributed to Harrier development right up to the GR9 and T10. In between, he did lots of exciting stuff, including ejecting from a GR3 and setting world time-to-height records in a GR5. His witticisms also live in my memory. During a boring period of an exercise at Wittering, several of us junior pilots sat in our simulated NBC shelter. Having worn respirators for a long time, due to the simulated contamination, we had taken advantage of the absence of observers to take a rubber-free breather. As the first to see the approaching senior officer, Bernie quickly donned his S6 respirator, replacing the traditional ‘gas, gas, gas’ call with one of ‘boss, boss, boss’.
BERNIE SCOTT
To get through training was something of a miracle, but then to find myself on 1(F) Squadron flying the Harrier was a dream come true. Not naturally gifted, I often struggled both on the ground and in the air but thanks to incredible dedication, determination and a willingness never to give up on a lost cause, I made it. Those were all shown by my brilliant flying instructors, not me.
RAF Wittering was a very busy place when I arrived in September 1973 to fly Hunters on 58 Squadron, with the possibility of a posting to Jaguars. BAe Warton planned a production rate of twelve per month and a pool of pilots would be needed to meet the demand. After my thirteen months flying the immaculate Hunters of the sister squadrons 45 and 58, Lossiemouth was the proud operator of just two Jaguars. Out of the blue, I was posted to 233 OCU to train on the Harrier. I was over the moon.
My time at Wittering prior to the course meant that I already knew a number of the personalities in the Harrier world and I shared a house in Stamford with Paul Hopkins, who was on 1 Squadron and was not only a great friend but a hugely talented pilot. The OCU was amazing for its quality of instruction, especially so after my experiences at Chivenor where I had trained with 79 Squadron, a unit geared to re-training experienced Hunter pilots rather than first-tourists. That said, I did get to fly Rod Dean’s spare display aircraft and enjoy some summer weekends at places such as Manston and Thorney Island; the latter allowing me to pop over to see my parents on the Isle of Wight.
Despite the tension inherent in training, there was a huge amount of laughter and banter throughout the course. It is bizarre the things that I remember though, for example, the food. The flying rate determined the amount and quality of aircrew rations that were available in the crew room and the OCU did a lot of flying. Culinary highlights included ‘Donkey Knob’, pork luncheon meat not from a standard tin but rather a 4-inch-diameter tube at least a foot long. Such delights in a sandwich could be enhanced by additions such as crushed crisps, all cemented with gobs of tomato ketchup. So healthy when accompanied by a cup of NAAFI Nescafé and a fag.
It was all a whirlwind of activity and it seemed that no time had passed before, in May 1975, I was having my introductory chat with Pete Taylor, the boss of 1 Squadron. Because of a string of aircraft losses and tragedies in RAFG, the UK and Cyprus, he was, like all Harrier squadron commanders at the time, under enormous pressure from above. I know that I added my fair share for him to worry about during my pre-operational work up and for some time after.
I had only been out of the country once to the winter survival course, so going to 1 Squadron was an amazing eye-opener with frequent detachments to Norway, Denmark and Sardinia plus two deployments to Belize. It was there, during the first deployment in December 1975, that I managed to get home for Christmas by ejecting after an engine failure.
F95 shot of Bernie’s ejection by ‘Bomber’ Harris. (Bernie Scott)
Pete Harris was leading me on an FAC sortie with Dougie Gibbons as the controller. Luckily I was going like the clappers trying to restore some semblance of a position in battle formation abeam Pete when the engine quit with an almighty bang. It relit three times but into surge. Pete gave me a timely reminder that coincided with my decision to get out. I made a quick call to Pete, did all the visor lowering and posture stuff then pulled the handle. It was an amazing transition from short-lived explosive noise and power to the silence of hanging in the parachute with the seat going down and the aeroplane hitting the sea. I lowered my dinghy just before hitting the water. So warm and so full of sharks and barracuda. The dinghy inflation handle wouldn’t pull so I had to dismantle the packing and flick the lever on the gas bottle. I was sure that the sharks were closing in. Once in the dinghy, I was able to wave to Pete and very soon after a customs boat came to offer me help. I stayed in the dinghy rather than complicate things for the Puma rescue helicopter which arrived with Stan Smith at the controls. They did a great job but the winch on the Puma was very harsh and I swear that the entire combined, saturated weight of the crewman and me was supported by my left testicle as we rose into the helicopter. The boss, Pete Taylor, was smiling but a very worried man when he met me from the Puma. I think that he was much happier when he heard my account of how dramatic and obvious the engine failure was.
I was checked over by the RAF doctor and taken to Belize Hospital for x-rays, with plates provided by the military, then back to the bar. As dusk approached news came that an army Sioux helicopter was heading for the airfield but was in danger of running out of fuel before making the field. Just as everyone was wondering what to do, the suspension in drinking was brought to an end by the news that the helicopter had landed very heavily and with much damage, but that everyone was ok and on their way to the bar. The final twist came when we heard that the RAF doctor and the RN doctor had driven off at speed towards the helicopter pad and had both been injured in a head-on crash with a lorry. They were the only casualties of that day and were flown to the US hospital in Panama the next day. Funnily enough, I found my flight reference cards from the ejection in with some old memorabilia and it was open at the engine malfunction page, so I must have checked my actions whilst sitting in the dinghy.
Bernie returns. (Bernie Scott)
Detachments were an excuse for serious undertakings such as moustache-growing competitions and seeing how long people could go without washing their flying suits. There was also a concert night where any act or turn was welcomed as long as it wasn’t too serious. Back at Wittering, we staged a version of the Deci concerts for the families. This was, of course, a hugely distilled version of what would have been seen in Sardinia where much of the inspiration and talent was enhanced by the consumption of duty-free liquids.
Pete Day instructed me in post-maintenance air tests, which provided a great source of extra flying. This also brought me into regular contact with people like John Farley, Dunsfold’s chief test pilot. Without his detailed explanation, I don’t think anyone would have understood how to conduct the ritual of the pressure ratio limiter that had the potential to take up the majority of an air test sortie.
Dudley Carvell joined the Red Arrows from No 1 and I remember him coming back in the Gnat for his dining-out and leaving a smoke trail at ground level past the squadron. What is the chance of ever doing that? Well, thanks to him, my application, late, due to my being away in Belize, was not only allowed but accepted. I was offered to join the team in September 1977. So, off to the Red Arrows and, incredibly, another dream come true. Two years on the Gnat and the first year of the Hawk in the 1980 display season were packed with terrific flying and a chance to represent the RAF and the UK all over Europe. It really was an honour and a privilege. I often see the Red Arrows and can’t believe that I was once allowed legitimately to tear around the sky like that; absolutely brilliant.
Bernie flew the Gnat with the Red Arrows. (Bernie Scott)
From the Red Arrows, I was posted to fly the Starfighter with the Royal Netherlands Air Force at Volkel. Knowing that the F-16 was being introduced into service with the RNLAF it was a sensible choice to take a gamble. Three months of intensive language training which involved a leisurely train ride into London and a couple of hours tuition, each day, near Piccadilly, set me up to speak only in Dutch at work during the entire tour. It certainly helped gain the Dutch pilots’ respect not least because they all spoke perfect English and most were amazed at my command of their language, so was I. Dutch lager served in the squadron bar always helped though. I was just at the end of the Starfighter ground school when my request to convert to F-16s was granted. This meant a move to Leeuwarden in Friesland but it was well worth it.
The tour, which was essentially re-establishing an exchange post at Leeuwarden that had not been filled for decades, was hard work both domestically and professionally. The aircraft were all brand new and maintained in immaculate condition. The operational attitude of the RNLAF was excellent and they always worked hard and effectively to procure the best available weapons and equipment within their budgets.
The F-16 was brilliant with a design that set out from the beginning to allow growth; so it was fitted for, but not with, systems and equipment under development and planned for fitment in the future. It had tremendous performance and such a high power-to-weight ratio that it could be loaded up with a serious fuel, bomb and defensive-aids load.
From the Netherlands, I returned to the UK in February 1984, in order to learn French during a few months ahead of training at EPNER, the French Test Pilots’ School. This was tantamount to torture in that the whole course was in the French language and it took place at Istres in Provence. So, whilst the family was enjoying the amazing lifestyle, culture and climate, my head was in the books.
August 1985 saw me back at Boscombe Down, on A Squadron. I was lucky enough to enjoy a four-year tour during which new aircraft were being introduced in the form of the F2 and F3 Tornado, Harrier II, FA2 Sea Harrier, the Tucano trainer and even a new motor-glider for the air cadets. Additionally, the TriStar was going through its conversion and testing as a tanker. New guided weapons and fuses were under development together with electro-optic systems under test in prototype form on development aircraft and being quickly integrated into every type of front-line aircraft.
It was a brilliant but sometimes frustrating job in many respects as virtually all the problems cited in reports as needing to be addressed were often ignored on the grounds of cost rather than risk. Without going into details, failure to address some problems found during testing led to the loss of at least one Tornado, a Tucano and a Harrier II in service.
The Harrier II was a great leap forward in capability, with increased internal fuel capacity and external stations that allowed, for an aeroplane of its size, remarkable combinations of fuel, weapons and pod-mounted systems. I loved flying it more than any other aeroplane. The cockpit design was influenced by a large population of experienced pilots and would have been familiar territory to any F-18 pilot. The early testing was progressing well until the tragic loss of Taylor Scott on a production flight test due, for whatever reason, to an ejection problem.
The ejection seat was introduced as a UK fit, along with many other items such as the inertial navigation set, radios and the gun. It was frustrating, in the early days, to be testing substitute equipment that was often less capable than the original AV-8B fit. This was going on whilst the USMC were already well advanced in planning and forging ahead with their future enhancements and capability growth.
I left the RAF at the end of 1989, having accepted a post test flying the Harriers at Dunsfold. Absolute heaven with GR5s, GR7s, RN and Indian navy Sea Harriers, T10s, Hawks and Tornados at Warton. Some epic deliveries to India in the FRS51 Sea Harrier and Hawks to South Korea, Malaysia and Indonesia. Hawk demonstrations in Brunei, Australia, Malaysia and India and a month developing Hawk weapons in South Africa provided hugely enjoyable flying. All this in addition to the development testing and production testing that was the bread and butter of the job.
The only fly in the ointment was ever-increasing problems with my back and especially my neck when at about 4 to 5 G I would find my chin on my chest and no apparent way of raising my head. In mid-1998, I flew my last Harrier trip having lost my medical category to fly on ejection seats. I remained at Dunsfold until its closure in 2000 when I had the chance to fly Airbus A320, A321 and A330s with Airtours. There was a good smattering of ex-Harrier and ex-RAF people with Airtours which was great for breaking the ice. I was really impressed with the initial and ongoing training and the competence of the training captains was remarkable. A very different world from the RAF and BAe though.
In mid-2003, I accepted the offer to rejoin BAE Systems at Farnborough to help with the development of the GR9 with its new mission computer and the start of a whole new chapter in the life of this amazing aeroplane. Even though it was a ‘ground tour’ it was terrific to be so involved in aircraft and systems development again.
Test pilots – TriStar ‘plugged in’ to Buccaneer tanker. (Bernie Scott)
After eighteen months at Farnborough the opportunity to test-fly on the Nimrod MRA4 came up and I spent five professionally satisfying years at Warton helping to get this aircraft into service. At the stage it was cancelled it had surpassed any other new aircraft on which I’d worked in that it had a useful, and immediately employable, operational capability. The 2010 SDSR cancelled and destroyed not only an aeroplane but an incredibly powerful, long-range weapons system and lost the expertise of some highly skilled operators. To compound this decision by taking out the only other strategic, worldwide capability in the form of the Harrier and Ark Royal was beyond common sense.
I remain immensely proud of my time on the Harrier and feel incredibly privileged to have worked at all levels with some wonderful people. I miss the power and awe that I sensed when watching the ‘Jet’ come to the hover and dip its nose to the crowds at an air show; I always felt compelled to say to someone close-by, “I used to fly those”.