From an early age I had always wanted to become a fighter pilot. My dream was subsequently refined when I decided that the most exciting way to accomplish the aim would be to join the Fleet Air Arm flying from our (then) fleet of aircraft carriers. Sadly, politics hindered my plans; in the late 1960s, the future of FAA fixed-wing aviation looked bleak when the proposed new aircraft carrier, CVA-01, was cancelled by the Labour government of the day and RN flying training became rotary wing only. Not wishing to become a helicopter pilot, I decided to join the RAF, and assumed that my ambition of becoming a carrier pilot would have to remain a childhood dream.
Having joined the RAF in April 1968 with the hope of flying the TSR2, the politicians once more upset my plans as this too was cancelled, and so I set my sights on its replacement, the F-111k. This was also axed, but this time the political cloud had a silver lining – the RAF was to receive the Buccaneer Mark 2, already much loved by FAA crews who flew it. I reset my sights, and was fortunate to be posted to the Buccaneer, serving in its early Cold War days in RAF Germany. During this tour on XV Squadron, our existing aircraft carriers received an extension of service and the FAA needed more fixed-wing aircrew to man their Phantoms, Buccaneers and Gannets. I volunteered for secondment at the earliest opportunity. After some pre-carrier familiarisation training, I joined 809 NAS, the FAA’s last Buccaneer squadron, in May 1977.
After a very exciting eighteen months afloat, I returned to the RAF and a tour with 12 Squadron, initially at Honington until we ‘disbanded’ for a few weeks in November 1980, and then reformed again at Lossiemouth, which could have been purpose built for the Buccaneer. Flying on a front-line maritime squadron from such a magnificent location could not be bettered in my opinion. I therefore had mixed feelings when my appointer suddenly announced out of the blue that I was posted to fly the F-111, as I feared such a move could signal the end of my Buccaneer flying, a hard decision for sure. He was shocked when I replied that I would have to think abut it, such was the professional pleasure of being on ‘Shiny 12’, a really great team who certainly led the field. There then followed a very happy tour in the USA before returning in mid-1986 to be a flight commander on 208 Squadron back at Lossiemouth.
In recent years, tactics had been based on the anti-radar and TV versions of the Martel anti-shipping missile, which provided a stand-off capability. However both missiles had their limitations and were coming to the end of their operational life, particularly the TV version.
Another significant limitation in developing more effective tactics was the antiquated nav/attack system that the navigators had to handle. Over the years, it had become increasingly obvious that it was the weak link in the otherwise outstanding capability of the aircraft. All this changed in the mid-1980s when MOD finally found enough money to modify the fleet with a new nav/attack system based around an inertial navigation platform. With the impending introduction of a new stand-off anti-shipping missile, the Sea Eagle, such an update to the navigator’s kit was essential.
This new capability sent the back-seat QWIs into ecstasy and they beavered away at how best to optimise their new toys as the rest of us started devising co-ordinated attack tactics. These were based on the requirement to destroy the Soviet navy’s Kirov class battle-cruiser, the largest (non-aircraft carrier) warship afloat. The probability of kill (PK) derived by the Air Warfare Centre staffs dictated that a total of twenty-four Sea Eagle missiles were required to ensure penetration of the defence systems and to destroy the high-value target. Thereafter we embarked upon a period of work-up training with Sea Eagle, culminating in declaring each squadron operational by day with two six-ship teams.
Soon after this declaration, I was tasked with putting together, training and leading a constituted six-ship team to carry out deep-water attacks at night. Initially, I had a great deal of trouble finding willing volunteers for this task, not surprising really, when you consider that each sortie was to be two hours plus of close formation in the dark at 300 feet, with night tanking thrown in to spice things up. Mike Scarffe was my trusted navigator for this period, and together we worked up a sound team, with Tony Lunnon-Wood and Pete Binham as our deputy lead. Some of the debriefs were almost as tiring as the sorties themselves, but the ‘youngsters’ finally appreciated the professional satisfaction of success in September 1988 when, on Exercise Teamwork, the culmination of our efforts was a copybook night attack which we finished by flying through on the missile profile onto the target. We were totally undetected until a visual sighting by the target ship. The whole sortie had been ZIPLIP (radio silence) until that point, including the air refuelling with the Victor tankers. It felt good to have done it and I doubt this was ever repeated. Tony Lunnon-Wood summed it up when he commented, “the age of the silent ship killer had well and truly arrived. We had the ability to project our personality over vast distances in total silence and deliver weapons with devastating accuracy.” I could not sum it up any better.
Pavespike laser-designator pod and Paveway bomb.
Over the next few months we perfected our techniques at very low level over the sea and were confident that we could do serious damage to an enemy surface action group. Then, one night in a bar whilst on detachment in Gibraltar, we witnessed on TV the start of the first Gulf War. I well recall the swift walk back to the officers’ mess at North Front, where we had received the signal ‘White Cliffs’, our coded instruction to return immediately to Lossiemouth.
Just a few weeks earlier, the AOC had told us it was unlikely that we would be needed. Now we had got the call to fly out to the Gulf and operate at medium level and overland. This, surely, must be one of the most classic examples of the old adage of ‘the flexibility of air power’.
I had often said that if I ever had to go to war, then the Buccaneer would be my first choice aircraft. I was not wrong. I had total faith in our magnificent aeroplane. One particularly satisfying sortie for me and my navigator Harry Hyslop, was the demolition of a primary target which had been missed by one of our Tornados. (They seemed to have trouble at times getting their LGBs into the laser ‘basket’ and their bombs often fell short.) The night before this particular attack, being very conscious of the criticality of this forty-five degree basket (an imaginary inverted cone into which the bomb had to be released in order for it to reach the target before it ran out of energy), Harry and I invited our staff QWI advisor, Terry Yarrow, to our hotel room for a wee dram. We then asked him to do some ‘back of a fag packet’ calculations, to see if we could go for a steeper dive angle, nearer sixty degrees, in order to guarantee getting our own bombs in the basket. This of course was outside the aircraft’s Release to Service limits, but we were not going to get that changed overnight. We concluded over the next dram that the reason could only be due to the test pilots at Boscombe down not having trialled it. After a third dram, Terry assured us that the bomb would release with no problems, so we carried out our own ‘trial’ the next day. It was a resounding success, which we subsequently went on to repeat every sortie thereafter. One undesirable aspect of the steep dive was seeing the flak from below as well as from above. After that, I realised that dropping a 28lb practice bomb at Tain would never be quite the same.
One very ‘unreal’ aspect of this war was that at Bahrain, where all Buccaneers were based together with Jaguars and some Tornados, we were accommodated in luxury hotels, with the diplomat hotel used exclusively for Buccaneer and Jaguar aircrew. This bizarre arrangement created a magnificent camaraderie between us; a distinct internal ‘attitude switch’ within the brain had to be thrown each time we left the hotel in casual planters attire for the short transit to the airfield where we would don our operational desert flying gear. At that time there were no government issue hot-weather flying suits, so we had all trooped off to a bespoke tailor on arrival in theatre to have the best of flying suits tailor made for us overnight. Many of us had a couple of civilian suits tailored to Saville Row standard and fitted in our spare time too.
Going back to the hotel after a successful bombing sortie over Iraq seemed almost improper, especially having witnessed from above the spectacle of swathes of our British armour advancing towards Kuwait City, trailing plumes of dust clearly visible from above, a sight I shall never forget and which stirred deep patriotic pride. However, being Buccaneer aircrew, each night we drank to our valiant ‘pongos’ with a few drams after dinner in our rooms. I had taken the wise precaution to put three cases of malt whisky up the back hatch of my aircraft when stowing our kit at Lossiemouth, such was the excellent luggage-carrying capability of our mighty steed (I even included water bottled from my own spring on the hill at home!). The Air Staff certainly got the basing option for Buccaneers and Jaguars correct; Saudi Arabia being ‘dry’ would have been totally unsuitable.
Of interest, the medics had prescribed sleeping pills to assist us, with express instructions NOT to take with alcohol owing to the danger of not waking up. I am pleased to report they were wrong – the mixture worked admirably on all occasions, and we always flew afterwards with great success.
Throughout the period that is now referred to as Gulf War 1 the risks were very real, as we were forcibly reminded by the tragic losses of some of our fellow Tornado crews. It was a pleasure to join them in their hotel after flying, especially I recall on a Tuesday night when a seafood special in the Sheraton surpassed our own excellent cuisine. However, that all changed once Saddam Hussein opened the oil wells at Basra directly into the Gulf. Local seafood was ‘off’ for the rest of the war, but soon returned a year later despite the pessimistic forecasts of the environmental marine biologists.
I was so proud of the service and reliability of the Buccaneer whilst in the Gulf, that I decided to write a letter between sorties to Roy Boot, the designer of the aircraft and who, over a very long period of time, had shown the greatest interest in the aircrew and how we operated the aircraft. I wanted to thank him most sincerely on behalf of all of us for his sterling design efforts, and to make sure he was in no doubt whatsoever as to our profound love of the aeroplane we flew and of its success. For some reason, perhaps political, we were rarely mentioned on the press releases on TV at the time, as the Tornado had to have the limelight, on occasion by using our video films without mention of the origin. By complete coincidence, my letter was delivered to his home before breakfast on his seventy-fifth birthday; he would later tell me over a glass of beer with a tear in his eye that my letter was the finest birthday present he had ever received.
Having returned from the Gulf another exciting challenge came my way when I was tasked to lead the Buccaneer contingent in the 1993 Queens’ Birthday Flypast over London. This would also coincide with the Buccaneer’s last major appearance on the public stage before the draw down of the force.
Initially I was surprised that the choice of lead pilot had fallen to me; I had assumed that it would be ‘grabbed’ by someone of greater seniority with career enhancement prospects. However, having led flypasts at a number of recent major anniversaries I suppose the choice should not have been totally unexpected. I had always taken such leadership tasks very seriously, but I am compelled to record that the burden was always a professional pleasure. With such a great team of aircrew behind me I could always rely on them to get it right. Thankfully, the Buccaneer force had always been totally ruthless during the selection and training of aircrew and those unable to meet our exacting standards were weeded out at the earliest opportunity. We never accepted ‘training risk candidates’, unlike some other aircraft types in later years, where some aircrew were ‘carried’ in the hope they might improve – a huge distraction for those in the other cockpit as well as the leaders and supervisors.
The first major hurdle was the briefing I was tasked to give to the AOC. This had to be a maximum length of twenty minutes including question time. My first attempt was interrupted by the AOC after just twenty seconds when he said: “Rick, you are going to brief me on the ENTIRE flypast, and not just the Buccaneer element, aren’t you?” This I was not prepared for. I was then given just four hours at Northwood to prepare another brief, this time with me as the overall leader of the entire formation including the Victors and the ‘75’ Hawk formation bringing up the rear. I soon realised why my navigator (Nigel Maddox) had declined to attend this initial brief with me.
Fortunately, my ‘old’ nav from the Gulf, Harry Hyslop, was on the staff at group HQ and we spent the remaining time drawing up holding patterns, timing legs and, of course, new slides to suit the revised brief. (No computers or Power Point in those days!) The other element leaders were all unavailable on the phone for advice, save one Victor navigator, who we located on a golf course in Lincolnshire and he alone gave us the essentials of the Victor holding speeds etc. The brief went well and there were no questions from the AOC. There was one however from his chief of staff, which was slightly complex. I was putting the relevant slide up when, to my surprise, the AOC stood up and answered the question perfectly on my behalf. He had clearly not only listened but more importantly, had fully understood my brief. He was to supervise my performance from the roof of Admiralty Arch, so no additional pressure.
Veteran Buccaneer observer, Steve Park, retires from the Royal Navy.
L-R: Nigel Yeldham, Steve Park, Bill Cope, Rick Phillips.
I decided to mount the Buccaneer formation from RAF manston, to give us the close proximity to the city and cut transits to a minimum for the practices. One essential event for me was a helicopter trip down the route a week before the flypast. This was invaluable, and to this day all the key checkpoints I selected are glued into the brain. Thereafter, all the practices went well, including an exercise to replace one of the aircraft in the formation, chosen by me at random, with one of the airborne spares to make sure the plan worked. It was a wonderful sight to see all twenty Buccaneers (we flew four airborne spares) with wings folded plus a Hunter as ‘whipper in’ as they followed me off the ramp at manston.
Come the great day, before the briefing, which would be attended by some of the media, I wanted to be sure of the weather. I had been the victim of other people’s decisions on these big flypasts before. I had written into the operation order that the lead crew was to do this check, consequently when I briefed, I had only just left the route and had a firm feel for the situation. We checked in and taxied out on time with all aircraft serviceable. A huge crowd of well-wishers waved us off as we taxied to the runway, and we gave them a flypast in diamond sixteen before departing.
Thereafter it was on track and on time the whole way, with Nigel Maddox doing an outstanding job whilst I concentrated on smooth flying and, most importantly, the lookout for ‘puddle jumpers’. Sure enough, one pitched up right on the nose some twenty miles out from the palace, with a cameraman filming us out of the side door as we flew straight at him – just what you do not need when leading a large unwieldy formation. The palace was overflown on time, and the formation (call-sign Blackburn) turned for Coningsby, where a station open day was being held. Unfortunately, a combination of bad weather and air traffic control meant that we had to turn away and recover to Lossiemouth for a final sixteen-ship flypast. Only then did I realise what an enormous strain I had been under; to have made any errors at all on such a sortie was unthinkable. I was relieved that it had all gone so well, which was the result of sound planning, training, excellent aircrew and of course a fantastic aeroplane.
Rick Phillips completes 6,000 hours ‘fast-jet’ time. L-R: Mike Scarffe, Harry Hyslop, Rick Phillips, Ed Golden (acting OC Ops), Tim Courton.
Soon after this memorable event, I was again fortunate and was tasked to deliver a Buccaneer to British Aerospace’s airfield at Brough, the birthplace of our aircraft. Previously Buccaneers had only flown out of nearby Holme-on-Spalding-Moor after major parts of the aircraft had been moved by road before re-assembly at Holme. Again, Nigel Maddox accompanied me on this rewarding and significant task. There was intense opposition to the flight on safety grounds (the runway is extremely short with an office block at the far end) so I was pleased to deliver an example of their finest product for display and dedicated as a memorial to those who had sadly lost their lives in the early development years – we owed them so much for our years of professional pleasure and satisfaction. By now the end of the Buccaneer in RAF service was in sight and preparations were made for the final ‘Buccaneer Bash’. I had personally decided to leave the squadron just before the very end. I had flown a few dignitaries in the back seat already (it was no surprise at all to see so many wanting to experience such a unique aircraft as we prepared to disband) but I found a perfect way to have my last flight and so bring to an end my long association with an aircraft of such fine qualities. I was determined to finish with a fitting sortie that would be fun, memorable, but more importantly benefit our heritage and style.
The FAA museum had asked me to ferry a Buccaneer to RNAS Yeovilton. I was only too pleased to help out with such a worthy cause until I discovered that the airframe they had already ‘bought’ was not only in storage at Shawbury, but it had a maintenance serial number. Despite being flyable, it could not be flown as a military aircraft. I did some rapid talking with some faceless wonders in the disposals Branch of MOD, and was fortunate enough to ‘acquire’ a current flying airframe chosen from the list of those soon to be scrapped.
Thus it was that I flew XV333 on a most memorable last sortie with my navigator Phil Walters from Lossiemouth to Yeovilton on a clear day in March 1994. I doubt much of the two-hour sortie was spent above fifty feet, apart from a selection of our old air display sequence for the (traditional for us!) benefit of the lightship keeper and crew of the inner dowsing, and a visit to a farm airstrip in Norfolk just for old times sake. A subsequent (wrongly filed) air miss by a cross-Channel hovercraft out of Ramsgate and a close encounter with some huge seagulls under the cliffs at Beachy Head completed the scene, prior to our customary low-level flypast, break and landing at Yeovilton.
As I write these closing words I realise that this magnificent aircraft has become a huge part of my life. That said, I am of course no different from all those other Buccaneer aircrew who have been equally fortunate to have had this unique aircraft create a bond between us and an enduring friendship that remains to this day and will continue. I know of no other aircraft that has formed such a band of brothers who are always ready to recall with such lively passion the joy of having been incredibly privileged to fly the Buccaneer.