Pips

Flying The Old Planes - Part 7: Fokker D.VII Extract from "Flying The Old Planes" by Frank Tallman. Our original Fokker D.VII had stayed in storage following the movie 'Hell’s Angels', and was located at the same time as our original SPAD VII – and both were found in nearly flyable condition! “What a sweetheart”: This is my Number one thought every time the candy-stripped Fokker breaks ground. By any pilot’s standards it is a delightful, exciting aeroplane to fly. Although I often do not have a chance to fly it, there is always a brand new excitement each time I get airborne in it. The D.VII is the greatest of Fokker’s WWI designs, and for reliability, strength and smooth, easy flight characteristics, it was arguably equalled by no other aircraft in either the Imperial German Air Service or the combined Allied air forces. It is without doubt the easiest World War One aircraft I have ever flown. It fills one with immediate confidence, and has no vices worth mentioning. The D.VII was one of some twenty odd Fokker designs made in Germany and under licence in Austria and Hungary in WWI. But because of his financially large aircraft and gun contracts and his Dutch nationality, Fokker was looked upon with ill-disguised jealousy by other German aircraft manufacturers. Background machinations and politics, the failure of the DR.1 to win large production contracts as well as the growth of such firms as Roland, Pfalz, Albatross and others had reduced Fokker by 1918 almost to the role of a subcontractor. When the Johannisthal fighter trials came up in January 1918 the D.VII, which was in its early developmental stage, was flown to the base by Fokker himself. On the trip to Johannisthal he found directional control poor, and against every military and trial regulation he hired outside welders and spliced in several more feet of fuselage the night before the trials began. The D.VII was an instant success. It led every flight category and was put immediately into quantity production. Now the German firms that had given Fokker such a hard time suddenly found the roles reversed, with their factories being pushed into producing the D.VII instead of their own aircraft. Unfortunately, in our D.VII we had a 180-hp Hispano Suiza for power instead of the regulation Mercedes. The change goes back many years to “Men with Wings”; a picture Paul Mantz did using the Fokker D.VII. By that year (1937) the WWI Mercedes was beginning to show definite signs of age, and because Hisso’s were readily available, one was used with no basic structural changes to the aircraft. As you walk out to the D,VII it impresses you as being larger than it actually is. Possibly that’s due to it’s coffin like nose and because of the thick high-lift wings. The pre-flight inspection is simpler by far with the D.VII than with any other Allied or German aircraft because of the lack of bracing wires. Both wings are fully cantilevered, and the outer N struts were added only as a sop to the German pilots, for these struts serve no structural purpose. Apart from the engine, the gear will stand a look. Tightness of the streamlined landing gear is important, as is the condition of the shock cord. The trailing edges of the wings, because they are of wire, sometimes work through the fabric. This must be checked, as well as the integrity of tail bolts and the structure of the tail. Like all German aircraft the first step up is along one. Once settled in the cockpit with a couple of Spandaus six inches from your moustache, you realise this is a war plane, and in case of accident and no shoulder straps, you might very easily, and permanently, shift your appearance. In taking off, the tail comes up immediately, with complete rudder control. We were airborne in 383 feet. What a completely responsive aeroplane! The ailerons are sheer delight, and the climb is a revelation after flying other Allied and German aircraft of WWI vintage. Levelling out at 3,000 feet, the D.VII indicates 110 mph, and trues out at 118mph. Stalls are straightforward and hang on until 49 mph on the clock and then fall straight ahead. Loops cover about 800 feet of sky, and when started at 120 mph carry through beautifully, with no tendency to fall out at the top. Strangely, to the vertical point, the ailerons of the D.VII are all anyone could ask for. Following through the inverted phase, the roll slows down. A full slow roll is on the order of nine seconds. But make no mistake; this aircraft is not a slouch. If you want to hustle through rolls it will whip from side to side faster than almost any other WWI aircraft. Changes of direction, either vertically or horizontally, as performed with ease. Spins of one turn are smooth and precise in either direction. And yes, the Fokker will hang vertically on its prop for several seconds before a gentle tail slide initiates. Once that occurs a light tap of rudder and the Fokker flips over to direction you want without the slightest hiccup. Wingovers are a real joy, as are vertical banks. This aircraft is solid as a rock in all manoeuvres. Landings with the D.VII as with many other aircraft of that period, are much different than with their WWII counterparts. As you come in on your grass or dirt strip, you’ll find the D.VII moving quite a bit faster than you anticipated and touching three points hot and skittish at about 55 mph. The only directional control is throttle, and a real blast over the rudder is necessary to stop any turning on landing. It’s said that the Fokker D.VII can make the most mediocre pilot look good, and a good pilot great. Given it is such a vice-free aeroplane to fly it’s easily understandable why it was so well thought of by the Germans, and feared so much by the Allies. =========================================================================== STATS: From "German Aircraft Of The First World War" by Peter Gray and Owen Thetford; and "Fighter Aircraft Of The 1914 - 1918 War" by W.M. Lamberton and E.F. Cheesman. Engine: 180 hp Mercedes D III Empty Weight: 700kg (1,540 lb) Loaded Weight: kg (1,936 lb) Max Speed: 186 km/h (116 mph) @ 1,000m (3,280 feet) 182 km/h (114 mph) @ 2,000m (6,560 Feet) 175 km/h (109 mph) @ 3,000m (9,843 feet) 165 km/h (103 mph) @ 4,000m (13,124 feet) 152 km/h (95 mph) @ 5,000m (16,405 feet) Climb: 3.30 minutes to 1,000m (3,280 feet) 6.48 minutes to 2,000m (6,560 Feet) 12.0 minutes to 3,000m (9,843 feet) 18.30 minutes to 4,000m (13,124 feet) 31.30 minutes to 5,000m (16,405 feet) Ceiling: 5,974m (19,600 feet) Endurance: 2 hours Armament: Two 7.92mm Spandau LMG 08/15 No’s Built: Approximately 1,700 Engine: 185 hp B.M.W. III Empty Weight: 700kg (1,540 lb) Loaded Weight: kg (1,993 lb) Max Speed: 193 km/h (120 mph) @ 1,000m (3,280 feet) 188 km/h (117 mph) @ 2,000m (6,560 Feet) 183 km/h (114 mph) @ 3,000m (9,843 feet) 175 km/h (109 mph) @ 4,000m (13,124 feet) 168km/h (105 mph) @ 5,000m (16,405 feet) Climb: 2.50 minutes to 1,000m (3,280 Feet) 8.30 minutes to 3,000m (9,843 feet) 11.40 minutes to 4,000m (13,124 feet) 16.0 minutes to 5,000m (16,405 feet) 21.15 minutes to 6,000m (19,685 feet) Ceiling: 6,979m (22,900 feet) Endurance: 2 hours Armament: Two 7.92mm Spandau LMG 08/15 No’s Built: Approximately 1,700 Speed wise the BMW powered DVII has a slight advantage at all altitudes. But the big difference is in climb rate. Here the BMW engine has a significant advantage over the Mercedes.

In his book "In The Teeth Of The Wind", C.P.O. Bartlett mentions that they never flew if it was raining. Missions were always scrubbed. However there are several missions he flew when they ran into inclement weather, and had to suffer through misery and pain to their target and back. In all Bartlett flew 101 missions over the Western Front. First with 5 Wing RNAS (joining on 28 September 1916), then with 5 Squadron RNAS on it's formation on 31 December, 1916 and finally with 205 Squadron RAF - being sent home just after the RAF formation in late April 1918. Aircraft types he flew on ops were the twin-engined Caudron, the Sopwith 1 1/2 Strutter and the D.H.4. It's a wondeful book, beautifully descriptive and from the very interesting, and rare, angle of a two-seater day bomber pilot. One of the really fascinating aspects of the book (in diary format) is that each day's description includes detailed notes on the weather for that day (other than when on leave). It's the only book I've come across that does this. It provides an excellent snapshot of weather over the front for almost eighteen months.

Flying The Old Planes - Part 6: Fokker DR.1 Triplane Extract from the book "Flying The Old Planes" by Frank Tallman. Because of its step-on-step appearance, the Fokker DR1 Triplane at first glance has all the grace of a blacksmith lifting an anvil. But in its short-lived time of combat over the Western front, its awkward appearance belied flight characteristics as nimble as a nervous hummingbird. A unique machine from Sopwith’s house of wonders provided the inspiration for Mr. Fokker’s flying Venetian blind. The inability of the Albatross and Pfalz fighters to dogfight with this startling innovation forced the German High Command into a reappraisal of it’s own fighter aircraft. The Flugzengmeisterei sent a letter to the German manufacturers on the 27th July 1917 requesting that they submit bid for a triplane, and AEG, Brandenberg Pfalz, Roland and others built prototypes. Yet months before the competition and bids at Adlershof, Fokker had in his usual tour of the front visited Jasta 11 to find only one thing on their minds: the sparkling performance and outstanding fighting characteristics of the Sopwith Triplane. In one instance an extremely courageous and foolhardy pilot of the RNAS Naval 8 (the great Australian ace Robert Little) had attacked eleven Albatross D.III’s and had outmanoeuvred the entire German Group. NB: The battle is described in the Sopwith Triplane thread. Because of Fokker’s Dutch nationality and enviable business success, he was resented by the German manufacturers and got little support from them. He waged a constant war of supply and demand, and from necessity developed material sources that were undesirable or unavailable to the other German firms. With the full production of the reliable Mercedes and BMW water-cooled engines swallowed up by the manufacturers Albatross, Roland etc, Fokker had to look elsewhere for a power plant. Fokker located seven hundred superb Swedish Thulin copies of the French 110-hp Le Rhone stored at Adlershof, where they had been written off by the Germans as out of date. With the rotary engine as the base, Fokker quickly came out with a triplane design that in no way resembled the Sopwith craft, other than for it’s three wings. All three wings were full cantilever, with the lower two bolted directly to the fuselage, while the upper stood on two vees and was wire-braced. At a time when most spars were routed sections, Platz came out with a built-up box spar joined to another box spar with a top and bottom plywood web. The double spar thus joined is light, but large enough in appearance and strength to be the ridgepole in a Jacobean manor house. The fuselage was typical Fokker, with light welded tubing, wire-braced. The gear was streamlined tubing, with ball sockets pinned for security (like the fittings on the Pfalz D.XII) and with the small wing airfoil between the gear, which created enough lift in itself to carry more than the weight of the gear and wheels. Fokker flew the first triplane and promptly sent it back for Platz to balance the tail surfaces and ailerons. After the Adlershof trials, where the test pilots rejected the safe but birdlike flexing of the wings, Fokker wisely added an outboard jury strut that attached to the wings rather than go through them as in the Sopwith Triplane. Ordered into production the first two triplanes in August 1917 became the pet loves of Werner Voss and Manfred von Richthofen. Voss was to achieve immortal fame in the Triplane in his epic battle with some of the best pilots of 56 Squadron RFC, including James McCudden. Shortly, two accidents put an instant hold on production. Heinrich Gontermann, the renowned ‘sausage busting’ leader of Jasta 15 and victor over seventeen balloons and twenty-two aircraft, was killed in full view of his Jasta when the top wing of the DR1 came off in aerobatics directly over his airfield. Two days later a pilot in Jasta 11 dies in the same way. Richthofen grounded his airplanes before the investigating committee arrived, and on opening the wing structure they were appalled to find workmanship on the spars so slipshod as to be almost sabotage, and other spars so badly affected by moisture as to have the strength of a wet cigarette. Months were to go by before the modifications had been completed and the DR1 was again in full production. Although several DR1’s were captured and tested at Farnborough, no truly accurate plans or figures have been discovered. And none of the captured DR1’s survived long after war’s end. With Hitler’s rise to power the Richthofen squadron was reactivated in the mid 1930’s. With the commissioning ceremony just days away, a real Fokker DR1 was found languishing in a barn, and another shortly after. The experts who saw it felt both aircraft were genuine Fokker built triplanes. To inspire the revived Luftwaffe, Hitler commissioned a motion picture on World War One, unblushingly filled with propaganda about a German squadron flying triplanes. There are some lovely flying shots of the Triplanes that can be seen in this film. They are in death-defying combat, with modern Bucker Jungmans thinly disguised as Allied SE5’s. Sadly both resurrected triplanes were destroyed in the bombing of Germany in World War Two. Although there are no genuine DR1’s left, there are at this time at least five replica’s flying, one even with a rotary engine. I have seen most of them, but so far have only flown ours. Reports vary considerably on their characteristics, and at least one owner admitted to me that he enjoyed flying it about as much as if he had climbed into a hive of bees in a bathing suit. Two gentlemen with the dreams of Richthofen and the patience and dedication of Christian martyrs, Tony Bright and Dutch Durringer, were responsible for the original construction of the DR1 now in our Movie of the Air Museum at Orange County in Santa Ana, California. The construction took several years. Facing all builders of replica aeroplanes of this period is the inescapable fact that original engines for WWI are very scarce. Even if you find a modern engine that can be squeezed into the traditional cowling and that has the same rated power, you still do not have the necessary slow-turning propeller with the horsepower developed at 1200 – 1400 rpm (instead of 2500 – 3500rpm), which give all WWI aircraft their unique characteristics. The only American engine that has a rotary facial area and sufficient horsepower was the 165-hp Warner engine, and they are getting exceedingly scarce, but we found one. Basic construction of our DR1 followed closely the original in all detail, with welded steel tubing, wire bracing and box spars. Before I bought the DR1 from Tony and Dutch I had occasion to rent it for a major air show we were doing. We wanted a World War 1 combat act. Arriving to pick it up I found it painted a dull barn door red, with the wrong type of crosses for Richthofen’s aircraft. Otherwise, it looked every inch like the original. I was eager to fly it, and began my pre-flight checks. Because of the cantilever construction, the most important points to check are the centre section struts, the gear shock cord, and the bracing struts on the underside of the tail. Swinging into the cockpit past the cut out in the middle plane, one wonders what happened to the world ahead, for you can only see to the sides and rear. Controls are straightforward. The Warner is a lovely engine, and it started on the first pull, but because of the limited visibility taxiing was a chore. Checking controls for freedom of movement and checking mags, I turned onto the runway. My rudder became effective in about fifty feet of take-off roll and the elevators brought the nose onto the horizon, so that I could see ahead for a change. The Triplane is airborne in about three hundred feet (with a true rotary it would do that in half the distance). The climb out was at 55 mph, and as I begin a climbing turn I felt ailerons as stiff as a boiled shirt. You very nearly need both hands for the ailerons. Climbing up to altitude and settling down for an hour cross-country, I was struck again by the in-flight appearance of the upper wing so far above and so lightly hung on. I was cruising at a pleasant 98 mph. Getting used to everything except the Mach truck-like ailerons, I stalled the plane, and it fell through at about 50 mph, usually dropping the right wing. Recovery was easy and loss of height slight. Putting the bird in a Lufberry circle, I could see how you could cut the circle small enough to nearly chew your own tail off. The ailerons may be stiff to use, but they do bite the air, and the rudder virtually whips the aeroplane around. In a climbing vertical reverse, the three-wing concept worked well. In a fit of daring equal to grabbing a leopard by the tail, I decided to try a loop. Picking up to 120 mph, I pulled up, but because of the placement of the wings it was hard to orient with the horizon. It was a most uncomfortable feeling. Unfortunately I was a little slow and did not pull tight enough at the top, and barely managed to get over. As the Triplane fell through, I wondered whether the whole stack of wings might not collapse like a club sandwich being sat on by a fat lady. My nerves took longer than the DR1 to recover, but vowed to try again once I had gained my breath. Second time I was more forceful, again entering at 120 mph but this time really hauling on the stick. Almost before I knew it the DR1 had whipped up and over in a very tight loop, with almost no rudder required. This is an airplane that needs to be flown forcefully, no tiptoeing around. Having had enough for one day I let down into the traffic pattern for landing. Choosing to land on a dirt strip, I glided in, and nose down had good enough visibility so that I didn’t feel I was conning a nuclear sub. Flaring out, the DR1 loses speed fast, levelling down at about 45 mph with a rather wobbly feel, and blanking out almost completely of the tail surfaces, so much so that as you are rolling along you might as well have a broomstick for company in the cockpit. Several years went by before I climbed into its cockpit again, now as its owner. The DR1 has gone through a painstaking development process equal to the Saturn rocket and looks infinitely better in correctness of colour and markings. Moreover it now has infinitely better aileron control than it had originally, due to replacing the wrongly routed control cable and the aileron hinges. It’s now a fun aircraft to fly, with beautifully light ailerons that are so positive that to change direction one simply has to look in that direction for the DR1 to go. The rudder is as powerful as ever, and in even gentle turns you can feel the planes gripping the air and wanting to turn more steeply. The roll rate is good, but the fun thing to do is the flat turn just using full rudder. Loops, Cuban 8’s, Lufberry’s, wingovers all are easily performed. Flying the DR1 for any length of time though can get tiring, as there is no tail fin. A large powerful rudder on the end of a short fuselage makes for continual concentration to keep the aircraft from yawing one way or the other. Even so if it wasn’t for the poor(ish) visibility it would be as good as the Sopwith Triplane, although that aircraft is just that much easier to fly, especially in landing. But one adapts. I now make all DR1 landing wheels first, dropping the tail only late in the landing run, with a prayer each time to Icarus or other flying gods to keep me straight. ========================================================================== STATS: From "German Aircraft Of The First World War" by Peter Gray and Owen Thetford; and "Fighter Aircraft Of The 1914 - 1918 War" by W.M. Lamberton and E.F. Cheesman. Empty Weight: 406kg (893 lb) Loaded Weight: 586kg (1,289 lb) Engine: 110-hp Swedish Thulin (Le Rhone copy) Max Speed: 185 km/h (115 mph) @ 1,000m (3,280 feet) 165 km/h (103 mph) @ 4,000m (13,120 feet) 128 km/h (80 mph) @ 5,000m (16,404 feet) Climb: 2.9 minutes to 1,000m (3,280 feet) 5.5 minutes to 2,000m (6,561 feet) 9.3 minutes to 3,000m (9,842 feet) 13.9 minutes to 4,000m (13,121 feet) 21.9 minutes to 5,000m (16,404 feet) Ceiling: 6,100m (20,013 feet) Endurance: 1 hour 30 minutes Armament: Two 7.92mm Spandau LMG 08/15 No’s Built: 320

Extract from "Flying The Old Planes" by Frank Tallman. Our original Fokker D.VII had stayed in storage following the movie 'Hell’s Angels', and was located at the same time as our original SPAD VII – and both were found in nearly flyable condition! “What a sweetheart”: This is my Number one thought every time the candy-stripped Fokker breaks ground. By any pilot’s standards it is a delightful, exciting aeroplane to fly. Although I often do not have a chance to fly it, there is always a brand new excitement each time I get airborne in it. The D.VII is the greatest of Fokker’s WWI designs, and for reliability, strength and smooth, easy flight characteristics, it was arguably equalled by no other aircraft in either the Imperial German Air Service or the combined Allied air forces. It is without doubt the easiest World War One aircraft I have ever flown. It fills one with immediate confidence, and has no vices worth mentioning. The D.VII was one of some twenty odd Fokker designs made in Germany and under licence in Austria and Hungary in WWI. But because of his financially large aircraft and gun contracts and his Dutch nationality, Fokker was looked upon with ill-disguised jealousy by other German aircraft manufacturers. Background machinations and politics, the failure of the DR.1 to win large production contracts as well as the growth of such firms as Roland, Pfalz, Albatross and others had reduced Fokker by 1918 almost to the role of a subcontractor. When the Johannisthal fighter trials came up in January 1918 the D.VII, which was in its early developmental stage, was flown to the base by Fokker himself. On the trip to Johannisthal he found directional control poor, and against every military and trial regulation he hired outside welders and spliced in several more feet of fuselage the night before the trials began. The D.VII was an instant success. It led every flight category and was put immediately into quantity production. Now the German firms that had given Fokker such a hard time suddenly found the roles reversed, with their factories being pushed into producing the D.VII instead of their own aircraft. Unfortunately, in our D.VII we had a 180-hp Hispano Suiza for power instead of the regulation Mercedes. The change goes back many years to “Men with Wings”; a picture Paul Mantz did using the Fokker D.VII. By that year (1937) the WWI Mercedes was beginning to show definite signs of age, and because Hisso’s were readily available, one was used with no basic structural changes to the aircraft. As you walk out to the D,VII it impresses you as being larger than it actually is. Possibly that’s due to it’s coffin like nose and because of the thick high-lift wings. The pre-flight inspection is simpler by far with the D.VII than with any other Allied or German aircraft because of the lack of bracing wires. Both wings are fully cantilevered, and the outer N struts were added only as a sop to the German pilots, for these struts serve no structural purpose. Apart from the engine, the gear will stand a look. Tightness of the streamlined landing gear is important, as is the condition of the shock cord. The trailing edges of the wings, because they are of wire, sometimes work through the fabric. This must be checked, as well as the integrity of tail bolts and the structure of the tail. Like all German aircraft the first step up is along one. Once settled in the cockpit with a couple of Spandaus six inches from your moustache, you realise this is a war plane, and in case of accident and no shoulder straps, you might very easily, and permanently, shift your appearance. In taking off, the tail comes up immediately, with complete rudder control. We were airborne in 383 feet. What a completely responsive aeroplane! The ailerons are sheer delight, and the climb is a revelation after flying other Allied and German aircraft of WWI vintage. Levelling out at 3,000 feet, the D.VII indicates 110 mph, and trues out at 118mph. Stalls are straightforward and hang on until 49 mph on the clock and then fall straight ahead. Loops cover about 800 feet of sky, and when started at 120 mph carry through beautifully, with no tendency to fall out at the top. Strangely, to the vertical point, the ailerons of the D.VII are all anyone could ask for. Following through the inverted phase, the roll slows down. A full slow roll is on the order of nine seconds. But make no mistake; this aircraft is not a slouch. If you want to hustle through rolls it will whip from side to side faster than almost any other WWI aircraft. Changes of direction, either vertically or horizontally, as performed with ease. Spins of one turn are smooth and precise in either direction. And yes, the Fokker will hang vertically on its prop for several seconds before a gentle tail slide initiates. Once that occurs a light tap of rudder and the Fokker flips over to direction you want without the slightest hiccup. Wingovers are a real joy, as are vertical banks. This aircraft is solid as a rock in all manoeuvres. Landings with the D.VII as with many other aircraft of that period, are much different than with their WWII counterparts. As you come in on your grass or dirt strip, you’ll find the D.VII moving quite a bit faster than you anticipated and touching three points hot and skittish at about 55 mph. The only directional control is throttle, and a real blast over the rudder is necessary to stop any turning on landing. It’s said that the Fokker D.VII can make the most mediocre pilot look good, and a good pilot great. Given it is such a vice-free aeroplane to fly it’s easily understandable why it was so well thought of by the Germans, and feared so much by the Allies. =========================================================================== STATS: From "German Aircraft Of The First World War" by Peter Gray and Owen Thetford; and "Fighter Aircraft Of The 1914 - 1918 War" by W.M. Lamberton and E.F. Cheesman. Engine: 180 hp Mercedes D III Empty Weight: 700kg (1,540 lb) Loaded Weight: kg (1,936 lb) Max Speed: 186 km/h (116 mph) @ 1,000m (3,280 feet) 182 km/h (114 mph) @ 2,000m (6,560 Feet) 175 km/h (109 mph) @ 3,000m (9,843 feet) 165 km/h (103 mph) @ 4,000m (13,124 feet) 152 km/h (95 mph) @ 5,000m (16,405 feet) Climb: 3.30 minutes to 1,000m (3,280 feet) 6.48 minutes to 2,000m (6,560 Feet) 12.0 minutes to 3,000m (9,843 feet) 18.30 minutes to 4,000m (13,124 feet) 31.30 minutes to 5,000m (16,405 feet) Ceiling: 5,974m (19,600 feet) Endurance: 2 hours Armament: Two 7.92mm Spandau LMG 08/15 No’s Built: Approximately 1,700 Engine: 185 hp B.M.W. III Empty Weight: 700kg (1,540 lb) Loaded Weight: kg (1,993 lb) Max Speed: 193 km/h (120 mph) @ 1,000m (3,280 feet) 188 km/h (117 mph) @ 2,000m (6,560 Feet) 183 km/h (114 mph) @ 3,000m (9,843 feet) 175 km/h (109 mph) @ 4,000m (13,124 feet) 168km/h (105 mph) @ 5,000m (16,405 feet) Climb: 2.50 minutes to 1,000m (3,280 Feet) 8.30 minutes to 3,000m (9,843 feet) 11.40 minutes to 4,000m (13,124 feet) 16.0 minutes to 5,000m (16,405 feet) 21.15 minutes to 6,000m (19,685 feet) Ceiling: 6,979m (22,900 feet) Endurance: 2 hours Armament: Two 7.92mm Spandau LMG 08/15 No’s Built: Approximately 1,700 Speed wise the BMW powered DVII has a slight advantage at all altitudes. But the big difference is in climb rate. Here the BMW engine has a significant advantage over the Mercedes.

I would luv to join in guys, but being on dial-up makes for lously connections and lag online. Still, once I get around to broadband I'll be there with bells and whistles.

Beautiful work Mike, as always.

Flying The Old Planes - Part 6: Sopwith Camel Extract from the book "Flying The Old Planes" by Frank Tallman, 1973. My Sopwith Camel is, as far as I’m aware, the only original World War 1 Camel ever brought back to flying condition. It was originally owned by Colonel Jarrett of the Jarrett War Museum located on the old Steel Pier in Atlantic City; who in the 1930’s had the best museum of WWI equipment ever assembled, including the Belgian War Museum in Brussels. The Jarrett Museum fell on hard times following WWII and, with time and money on my side after my service period, and a lifelong ambition of owning a WWI aircraft, I purchased for a small sum (by today’s standards) several antique aircraft including the Camel, a Nieuport 28, a Pfalz D.XII, a Fokker D.VII and a SPAD VII. The Camel was the first WWI aircraft I brought back to flying condition and required some major rebuilding, which took several years, many thousands of dollars and a whole host of experts including Paul Poberzney of the Experimental Aircraft Association, the gifted master craftsman Ned Kensinger, the Hawker Siddeley Group and a number of very dedicated volunteer’s. (NB: There is quite a bit on the rebuilding process in the Chapter but I have left it out of this extract for the sake of space). When the day finally came to fly the air was filled with great anticipation. On arrival at the airport though I was dismayed to hear from my team that they had been trying to get the temperamental 110 h.p. Le Rhone started since 8.00am that morning, without success. The lack of knowledge amongst us regarding the Le Rhone was appalling. Did we have spark? Yes. Was the mag set? Yes. Had the commutator ring been wiped off? Yes. Had we primed it? Only every other cylinder. With only a vague notion of what I was doing I clambered into the cockpit (a very tight fit) and reviewed the cord-wrapped Spade stick, the Block tube, carburettors next to one’s knees, the flexible air intake to the outside air scoops, the wood wire brace longerons, the instrument panel with it’s clutter and the duel control cables to the wooden rudder bar. At my request, the crew forced open the intake valves as the engine was pushed through (switch off) and shot a charge of fuel in each cylinder, as the cylinder came in front of the hole in the cowling. By accident, rather than by knowledge, I advanced the long lever controlling the air, and in pushing the manet (a small wheel knob on the miniature control quadrant) forward and then returning it, I had hit on the correct starting procedure. Wonder of wonders, as I flipped the porcelain-mounted switch up and called for contact, the Le Rhone started with a full-throated bellow, scaring both me and the crew! By shoving the fuel-controlling lever forward and using the coupe (cut-out) button on the stick, I was able to keep the engine running. Soon the never-to-be-forgotten smell of castor oil infused our area, and the sight of oil splattering the leading edge of the low wings indicated that the engine was lubricating properly. Taxiing practice ended ignominiously a hundred feet from the starting point, when my newfound knowledge wasn’t equal to the delicate adjustment of fuel and air, and the Le Rhone quit. The revitalised ground crew hauled the 900 pound airplane over the grass and faced me into the wind. For safety sake we changed the plugs, and the Le Rhone started first try. I headed down the field with the throttle wide open. The tail came up almost instantly, and visibility was good, except for the Aldis sight and the twin Vickers. Not having planned on flight it came as something of a shock to find the Camel airborne at about 35 mph after a ground run of just 150 feet. Being afraid of jockeying with my ticklish fuel and air controls I stayed low and just got used to the Camel’s sensitive ailerons, elevators and rudder. I circled the field once, got into position for landing, shut fuel air and switch off, and made a light forward slip, touching down gently on three points. Total landing couldn’t have been much longer than the initial take-off run. So much for my first (unintentional) flight in the Camel. Since then I’ve spent more time flying the Camel than any of the other historical aircraft in our collection. I’ve also had more forced landings in it than all the rest of the WWI aircraft combined. It’s that temperamental Le Rhone. Cylinders have blown, magneto’s have failed, even fouled spark plugs have brought me down unceremoniously, with sweating hands and my heart in my mouth, desperately seeking a patch of open ground on which to land. Yet for all that it’s the one I turn to first for any show or exhibition, as the Camel gets my blood going like no other. This is an aircraft that is a joy to fly. With the Le Rhone 9J, you cannot adjust either the fuel or air intake without running the risk of a dead-stick landing. You must leave them alone and use you Coupe (cut-out) button for all fight handling. The take-off run is easy. In a wind of 10 to 15 knots you are airborne in a couple of plane lengths at 35 mph and climbing out at 60 mph, with a rate of climb of almost 1,000 feet a minute. The elevators are sensitive, as is the rudder. Consequently, when fling for any distance I often put the heels of my shoes on the floor tie wires, because the vibration of the Le Rhone through the rudder bar exaggerates the rudder movements. In level flight at 100 mph indicated, the Camel is delightful, with just a hint of rudder being required for straight flight. The structure is rugged enough to feel comfortable in loops, and being slightly tail-heavy it goes up and over in an incredibly small circle in the sky, and faster than any other WWI aircraft I have flown. Sneeze and your halfway through a loop before your aware of what’s happened. 110 mph is enough to carry you through, and as you slow down over the top you must feed in rudder against the torque. In military shows I have ground strafed, and as soon as the airspeed reaches 130 to 140 mph the nose begins to hunt up and down, and the elevator becomes extremely sensitive. I feel this action is due largely to the square windshield between the two Vickers guns, causing a substantial burble over the tail surfaces. Turns are what the Camel is all about. Turning to the right with the torque requires the top rudder to hold the nose up, and the speed with which you can complete a 360-degree turn is breathtaking. Left turns are slower, with the nose wanting to rise during the turn. But small rudder input easily keeps the nose level with the horizon. In stalls at 35 to 40 mph the nose drops frighteningly fast and hard to the right, but you also get control back quickly, although a surprising amount of altitude has been lost. I have had the pleasure of limited dog fighting with other WWI fighters, and there are none that can stay with a Camel in a turn. With the Le Rhone being temperamental as it is, flying the Camel is best done at times when there are few other aircraft in the sky, leaving easy access to the airport in cases of emergency. The Camel touches down easily but runs out of rudder control almost instantly, and if you bounce your landing at all, you are likely to find yourself in a hairy ground loop looking at a rapidly bending aileron dragging in the grass. For a wide variety of reasons, the Camel is a fascinating airplane, flight-wise as well as historically. But don’t think I ever got out of the Camel after being airborne even in the coldest weather without buckets of perspiration and considerable gratitude that I had gotten the little girl home again without breaking her into splinters! ======================================================================= STATS: From “British Aeroplanes 1914 - 18” by J. M. Bruce. 130 hp Clerget Empty Weight: 929 lb (421 kg) Loaded Weight: 1,453 lb (659 kg) Max Speed: 115 mph (185 km/h) @ 6,500 feet (1981m); 113 mph (181 km/h) @ 10,000 feet (3352m); 106 mph (170 km/h) @ 15,000 feet (4572m). Climb: 6 minutes 0 seconds to 6,500 feet (1981m) 13 minutes 35 seconds to 10,000 feet (3048m) 20 minutes 40 seconds to 15,000 feet (4572m) Ceiling: 19,000 feet (5791m) Endurance: 2 hours 30 minutes Armament: Two fixed .303 Vickers mg No’s Built: 5,490; of which 1,325 were built in 1917 and 4,165 in 1918. Of the 4,188 machines distributed to the RFC/RAF, 2,116 went to Squadrons with the B.E.F. in France 150 hp B.R.1, standard induction, compression 5.5 to 1 Empty Weight: 931lb (422 kg) Loaded Weight: 1,471 lb (667 kg) Max Speed: 121 mph (195 km/h) @ 6,500 feet (1981m); 117.5 mph (189 km/h) @ 10,000 feet (3352m); 111.5 mph (179 km/h) @ 15,000 feet (4572m). Climb: 5 minutes 05 seconds to 6,500 feet (1981m) 8 minutes 50 seconds to 10,000 feet (3048m) 16 minutes 30 seconds to 15,000 feet (4572m) Ceiling: 22,000 feet (6705m) Endurance: 2 hours 30 minutes Armament: Two fixed .303 Vickers mg No’s Built: 5,490; of which 1,325 were built in 1917 and 4,165 in 1918. Of the 4,188 machines distributed to the RFC/RAF, 2,116 went to Squadrons with the B.E.F. in France

Extract from the book "Flying The Old Planes" by Frank Tallman. Because of its step-on-step appearance, the Fokker DR1 Triplane at first glance has all the grace of a blacksmith lifting an anvil. But in its short-lived time of combat over the Western front, its awkward appearance belied flight characteristics as nimble as a nervous hummingbird. A unique machine from Sopwith’s house of wonders provided the inspiration for Mr. Fokker’s flying Venetian blind. The inability of the Albatross and Pfalz fighters to dogfight with this startling innovation forced the German High Command into a reappraisal of it’s own fighter aircraft. The Flugzengmeisterei sent a letter to the German manufacturers on the 27th July 1917 requesting that they submit bid for a triplane, and AEG, Brandenberg Pfalz, Roland and others built prototypes. Yet months before the competition and bids at Adlershof, Fokker had in his usual tour of the front visited Jasta 11 to find only one thing on their minds: the sparkling performance and outstanding fighting characteristics of the Sopwith Triplane. In one instance an extremely courageous and foolhardy pilot of the RNAS Naval 8 (the great Australian ace Robert Little) had attacked eleven Albatross D.III’s and had outmanoeuvred the entire German Group. NB: The battle is described in the Sopwith Triplane thread. Because of Fokker’s Dutch nationality and enviable business success, he was resented by the German manufacturers and got little support from them. He waged a constant war of supply and demand, and from necessity developed material sources that were undesirable or unavailable to the other German firms. With the full production of the reliable Mercedes and BMW water-cooled engines swallowed up by the manufacturers Albatross, Roland etc, Fokker had to look elsewhere for a power plant. Fokker located seven hundred superb Swedish Thulin copies of the French 110-hp Le Rhone stored at Adlershof, where they had been written off by the Germans as out of date. With the rotary engine as the base, Fokker quickly came out with a triplane design that in no way resembled the Sopwith craft, other than for it’s three wings. All three wings were full cantilever, with the lower two bolted directly to the fuselage, while the upper stood on two vees and was wire-braced. At a time when most spars were routed sections, Platz came out with a built-up box spar joined to another box spar with a top and bottom plywood web. The double spar thus joined is light, but large enough in appearance and strength to be the ridgepole in a Jacobean manor house. The fuselage was typical Fokker, with light welded tubing, wire-braced. The gear was streamlined tubing, with ball sockets pinned for security (like the fittings on the Pfalz D.XII) and with the small wing airfoil between the gear, which created enough lift in itself to carry more than the weight of the gear and wheels. Fokker flew the first triplane and promptly sent it back for Platz to balance the tail surfaces and ailerons. After the Adlershof trials, where the test pilots rejected the safe but birdlike flexing of the wings, Fokker wisely added an outboard jury strut that attached to the wings rather than go through them as in the Sopwith Triplane. Ordered into production the first two triplanes in August 1917 became the pet loves of Werner Voss and Manfred von Richthofen. Voss was to achieve immortal fame in the Triplane in his epic battle with some of the best pilots of 56 Squadron RFC, including James McCudden. Shortly, two accidents put an instant hold on production. Heinrich Gontermann, the renowned ‘sausage busting’ leader of Jasta 15 and victor over seventeen balloons and twenty-two aircraft, was killed in full view of his Jasta when the top wing of the DR1 came off in aerobatics directly over his airfield. Two days later a pilot in Jasta 11 dies in the same way. Richthofen grounded his airplanes before the investigating committee arrived, and on opening the wing structure they were appalled to find workmanship on the spars so slipshod as to be almost sabotage, and other spars so badly affected by moisture as to have the strength of a wet cigarette. Months were to go by before the modifications had been completed and the DR1 was again in full production. Although several DR1’s were captured and tested at Farnborough, no truly accurate plans or figures have been discovered. And none of the captured DR1’s survived long after war’s end. With Hitler’s rise to power the Richthofen squadron was reactivated in the mid 1930’s. With the commissioning ceremony just days away, a real Fokker DR1 was found languishing in a barn, and another shortly after. The experts who saw it felt both aircraft were genuine Fokker built triplanes. To inspire the revived Luftwaffe, Hitler commissioned a motion picture on World War One, unblushingly filled with propaganda about a German squadron flying triplanes. There are some lovely flying shots of the Triplanes that can be seen in this film. They are in death-defying combat, with modern Bucker Jungmans thinly disguised as Allied SE5’s. Sadly both resurrected triplanes were destroyed in the bombing of Germany in World War Two. Although there are no genuine DR1’s left, there are at this time at least five replica’s flying, one even with a rotary engine. I have seen most of them, but so far have only flown ours. Reports vary considerably on their characteristics, and at least one owner admitted to me that he enjoyed flying it about as much as if he had climbed into a hive of bees in a bathing suit. Two gentlemen with the dreams of Richthofen and the patience and dedication of Christian martyrs, Tony Bright and Dutch Durringer, were responsible for the original construction of the DR1 now in our Movie of the Air Museum at Orange County in Santa Ana, California. The construction took several years. Facing all builders of replica aeroplanes of this period is the inescapable fact that original engines for WWI are very scarce. Even if you find a modern engine that can be squeezed into the traditional cowling and that has the same rated power, you still do not have the necessary slow-turning propeller with the horsepower developed at 1200 – 1400 rpm (instead of 2500 – 3500rpm), which give all WWI aircraft their unique characteristics. The only American engine that has a rotary facial area and sufficient horsepower was the 165-hp Warner engine, and they are getting exceedingly scarce, but we found one. Basic construction of our DR1 followed closely the original in all detail, with welded steel tubing, wire bracing and box spars. Before I bought the DR1 from Tony and Dutch I had occasion to rent it for a major air show we were doing. We wanted a World War 1 combat act. Arriving to pick it up I found it painted a dull barn door red, with the wrong type of crosses for Richthofen’s aircraft. Otherwise, it looked every inch like the original. I was eager to fly it, and began my pre-flight checks. Because of the cantilever construction, the most important points to check are the centre section struts, the gear shock cord, and the bracing struts on the underside of the tail. Swinging into the cockpit past the cut out in the middle plane, one wonders what happened to the world ahead, for you can only see to the sides and rear. Controls are straightforward. The Warner is a lovely engine, and it started on the first pull, but because of the limited visibility taxiing was a chore. Checking controls for freedom of movement and checking mags, I turned onto the runway. My rudder became effective in about fifty feet of take-off roll and the elevators brought the nose onto the horizon, so that I could see ahead for a change. The Triplane is airborne in about three hundred feet (with a true rotary it would do that in half the distance). The climb out was at 55 mph, and as I begin a climbing turn I felt ailerons as stiff as a boiled shirt. You very nearly need both hands for the ailerons. Climbing up to altitude and settling down for an hour cross-country, I was struck again by the in-flight appearance of the upper wing so far above and so lightly hung on. I was cruising at a pleasant 98 mph. Getting used to everything except the Mach truck-like ailerons, I stalled the plane, and it fell through at about 50 mph, usually dropping the right wing. Recovery was easy and loss of height slight. Putting the bird in a Lufberry circle, I could see how you could cut the circle small enough to nearly chew your own tail off. The ailerons may be stiff to use, but they do bite the air, and the rudder virtually whips the aeroplane around. In a climbing vertical reverse, the three-wing concept worked well. In a fit of daring equal to grabbing a leopard by the tail, I decided to try a loop. Picking up to 120 mph, I pulled up, but because of the placement of the wings it was hard to orient with the horizon. It was a most uncomfortable feeling. Unfortunately I was a little slow and did not pull tight enough at the top, and barely managed to get over. As the Triplane fell through, I wondered whether the whole stack of wings might not collapse like a club sandwich being sat on by a fat lady. My nerves took longer than the DR1 to recover, but vowed to try again once I had gained my breath. Second time I was more forceful, again entering at 120 mph but this time really hauling on the stick. Almost before I knew it the DR1 had whipped up and over in a very tight loop, with almost no rudder required. This is an airplane that needs to be flown forcefully, no tiptoeing around. Having had enough for one day I let down into the traffic pattern for landing. Choosing to land on a dirt strip, I glided in, and nose down had good enough visibility so that I didn’t feel I was conning a nuclear sub. Flaring out, the DR1 loses speed fast, levelling down at about 45 mph with a rather wobbly feel, and blanking out almost completely of the tail surfaces, so much so that as you are rolling along you might as well have a broomstick for company in the cockpit. Several years went by before I climbed into its cockpit again, now as its owner. The DR1 has gone through a painstaking development process equal to the Saturn rocket and looks infinitely better in correctness of colour and markings. Moreover it now has infinitely better aileron control than it had originally, due to replacing the wrongly routed control cable and the aileron hinges. It’s now a fun aircraft to fly, with beautifully light ailerons that are so positive that to change direction one simply has to look in that direction for the DR1 to go. The rudder is as powerful as ever, and in even gentle turns you can feel the planes gripping the air and wanting to turn more steeply. The roll rate is good, but the fun thing to do is the flat turn just using full rudder. Loops, Cuban 8’s, Lufberry’s, wingovers all are easily performed. Flying the DR1 for any length of time though can get tiring, as there is no tail fin. A large powerful rudder on the end of a short fuselage makes for continual concentration to keep the aircraft from yawing one way or the other. Even so if it wasn’t for the poor(ish) visibility it would be as good as the Sopwith Triplane, although that aircraft is just that much easier to fly, especially in landing. But one adapts. I now make all DR1 landing wheels first, dropping the tail only late in the landing run, with a prayer each time to Icarus or other flying gods to keep me straight. ========================================================================== STATS: From "German Aircraft Of The First World War" by Peter Gray and Owen Thetford; and "Fighter Aircraft Of The 1914 - 1918 War" by W.M. Lamberton and E.F. Cheesman. Empty Weight: 406kg (893 lb) Loaded Weight: 586kg (1,289 lb) Engine: 110-hp Swedish Thulin Le Rhone copy) Max Speed: 185 km/h (115 mph) @ 1,000m (3,280 feet) 165 km/h (103 mph) @ 4,000m (13,120 feet) 128 km/h (80 mph) @ 5,000m (16,404 feet) Climb: 2.9 minutes to 1,000m (3,280 feet) 5.5 minutes to 2,000m (6,561 feet) 9.3 minutes to 3,000m (9,842 feet) 13.9 minutes to 4,000m (13,121 feet) 21.9 minutes to 5,000m (16,404 feet) Ceiling: 6,100m (20,013 feet) Endurance: 1 hour 30 minutes Armament: Two 7.92mm Spandau LMG 08/15 No’s Built: 320

As a balance to Frank Tallman's view of the Sopwith Triplane I thought I would add some other first-hand accounts by those who have flown it. Most are drawn from the books "Sopwith Triplane Aces of World War 1" by Norman Franks or "Sopwith Aircraft" by Mick Davis. Wing Commander Paul Hartman, RCAF (Rtd) - commenting on the Carl Swanson reproduction Triplane in 1968 at the International Air Conference about flying vintage aircraft. Of all the vintage aircraft I have flown, this is undoubtedly the most pleasant to fly. It possessed stability and control response so good as to be unique, not only for aircraft of that era but also in comparison with many of todays machines. It's positive stability about all three axes, plus the horizontal stabliser that was adjustable by the pilot during flight, resulted in an aircraft that coudl be flown with a minimum of concentration and effort. Indeed, when the aeroplane was properly rigged and correctly trimmed in flight, it could be flown hands-off. The controls were light, powerful and well-harmonised and the aircraft's response to the controls was excellent. As I settled into the seat for my first flight I was again stuck by the simplicity of the cockpit and the paucity of instruments. Airspeed indicator, tachometer and pulsometer; throttle, Tampier lever, fuel cock and 'blip' switch plus stick and rudder was the sum total. The seat of the Triplane is much lower than in other aircraft, and my initial impression on sitting in it was one of very limited visibility forward through an arc of 30 degrees either side of the centre line. However a gap between the wing root of the centre mainplane and the fuselage enabled the pilot to see forward and downward for approach and landing. Moreover once airborne the thin wings offered almost no restriction to overall visibility. The engine was primed, throttle and Tampier levers set, switch on. Contact! The Clerget fired immediately and settled into a rhythmic rattle typical of the rotary and idled smoothly at about 700rpm. I had no intention of allowing this aircraft to become airborne in a three-point attitude, as happened during my first flight in the Nieuport 17. Thus the control stick was held about one inch forward of centre as I opened the throttle. The Tripe accelerated quickly as the power was increased to approximately 1150rpm, and the tail rose at about 20 knots. There was almost no tendency for the aircraft to swing to the left due either to torque or the gyroscopic effects of the engine, and very little rudder was required to keep the aircraft straight during the take-off run. With the tail up and the aircraft in almost level flight attitude, visibility over the nose during the take-off run was excellent. At 38 to 40 knots, the aircraft left the ground and accelerated rapidly to 60 knots. I eased the climb, holding the speed constant at 60. The altimeter indicated 650 to 700 feet as the aircraft boundary was crossed - a distance of approximately 5,000 feet from the take-off point. I had been airborne less than a minute at that instant, so the aircraft has a fair rate of climb. Those watching on the ground told me later it appeared to be climbing like a homesick angel. It certainly felt so to me. I continued the climb to 900 feet, where I levelled off and made a left hand return to the field. During the turn, with an angle of bank of 40 degrees, I became aware that a coordinated entry into the turn had been made without my being aware of it. There was no slip or skid, and no gyroscopic precession was apparent from the engine. The wind blasting squarely in my face confirmed the former, and the necessity to hold a very light top rudder force during the turn attested to the latter. At 1,500 feet above the aerodrome a stall check was made. The throttle was closed and the engine idled at approximately 700rpm at an indicated airspeed of 40 knots. The control stick was fully back. The aircraft was hanging on the properller in a 12 to 13 degree nose high attitude, refusing to stall. I depressed the blip switch, the rpm decreased, and the nose dropped. The ailerons were fully effective immediately prior to either wing drop. As the nose dropped, the blip switch was released and the engine picked up to idle rpm. The height lost during recovery from the stall was 75 feet. After recovery the aircraft as trimmed to glide at 50 knots. The glide was continued to 1,000 feet, where the engine power was set at 1100rpm and a level speed run made. Subsequent corrections for air temperature showed the aircraft achieved a true airspeed of 111 mph.The speed run also enabled a last check to be made of the effectiveness of the adjustable horizontal stabliser as a trimming device. It was a positive and poweful trimming device. A speed of 105 knots indicated was the maximum to which the aircraft was flown. It displayed a slight tendancy to yaw to the left as speed increased in a dive, then yaw to the right as speed was reduced. The yaw is easily overcome with rudder. The landing was straightforward and easy. The aircraft was glided at 50 knots to a height about 15 feet above the ground, at which point the blip switch was depressed and held. The control stick was eased slowly backward to flare the aircraft. It slowly lost height as the speed decreased during the flare, until the aircraft was about one foot off the ground at a speed of about 40 knots. Stick fully back at this pont - a slight sinking feeling as the air speed needle touched 37 to 38 knots - and we're on the ground! Captain Foster Herbert Martin Maynard, who served with 'Naval 1' in the Great War. The Triplane was an excellent machine for fighting purposes, for although somewhat leisurely in manoeuvre, it's extra-ordinarily good climbing powers generally enabled a good pilot to get the better of his opponent in an individual contest. About the middle of July (1917) I was given a two-gun Triplane to try out. The extra firepower afforded was, of course, extremely valuable. Unfortunately, the extra weight took off so much performance that the machine was of no use in a formation of ordinary one-gun Tripes. A report by a British Third Army AA position, which witnessed Robert Little (Naval 8) attack eleven Albatross near Arras om 7th April, 1917. At 1845hrs on the 7/4/17 a Sopwith Triplane, working alone, attached 11 hostile machines, almost all Albatross scouts, north-east of Arras. He completely outclassed the whole patrol of hostile machines, diving through them and then climbing above them. One Albatross scout, which was particulary aggressive, dived on him and passed him. The Sopwith then dived on him and then easliy climbed again above the whole patrol, drawing them all the time towards the anti-aircraft guns. As soon as they were within range, the anti-aircraft guns opened fire on the patrol, which turned eastwards, and the Sopwith returned safely. The officers who witnessed the combat report that the manoeuvering of the Sopwith completely outclassed that of the Albatross scouts. Captain Robert Alexander Little, The great Australian ace, Naval 8. (he has dived into a mixed fight involving several FE's and Albatross scouts on 30 April at 0645hrs, east of Arras). An Albatross dived on me from out of the sun. My gun jammed and I tried to break off the engagement, but the HA kept pace with me and opened fire, shooting away my pump and hitting the planes, so then I stopped and stunted. I then got under the HA and stayed there. I turned when he turned and dived when he dived. The HA pilot could not find me. I got my jam clear and fired on the HA, which was about 20 feet in front of me and about 10 feet above. Half the fuselage and engine was all I could see through my sight. I saw tracers hit it. It started to climb, then stalled and went down in a dive, turning slowly. I last saw him at 1000 feet when I lost him in the mist. Flight Commander Raymond Collishaw, Naval 10. The Triplane I found to be a delightful machine - in my estimation much preferable to the Pup. The machine was a private venture by the Sopwiith Company, and the prototype made it's appearance in mid 1916. The three-wing design was adopted to permit the pilot the widest possible field of vision, and also as a means of ensuring manoeuverability. The middle wing was at the pilot's eye level, and interfered very little with his vision. All three wings had a narow chord, and because of this the top and bottom wings blocked off less from the pilot's view than in the case of biplanes. The standard Triplane was fitted with the Clerget 130 hp engine. This powerful motor gave it a speed of nearly 100mph at 15,000 feet, and it could climb to 10,000 feet in just under 12 minutes and had a service ceiling approaching 20,000 feet. Apart from it's good manoverability and rapid rate of climb, which was very good for it's day, the Triplane's main virtue was the extreme altitude that it could attain, and its performance at these heights. Like all aircraft the Triplane had its weaknesses. It was not quite as fast as it could have been, and it could not match a machine such as the Albatross D.III in a dive. Its main failing though was its armament. Like the Pup it only had one Vickers. The German fighters it was pitted against during 1917 had twin guns, and given comparable performance, it is hard to find a substitute for firepower. Six experimental models were in fact fitted with twin Vickers, and I was fortunate enough to obtain one prior to leaving Naval 10. Some of the pilots considered the added firepower would be more than offset by a drop in speed and climb performance at height as a result of the extra weight. Others, including myself, felt that a certain loss of performance would be acceptable in exchange for the extra gun. I found, in fact, that although there was a definite loss in performance over 10,000 feet, it was relatively slight, and having twice the firepower at my command made a big difference.

Climbing isn't as straightforward as it would appear. Depending on the aircraft you are flying, different aproaches are called for. For example, nothing will outclimb either the Sopwith Triplane or the Fokker DR.1. They're effectively venetian blinds and climb vertically like the clappers! But aircraft such as the SPAD and the SE 5 do have other strengths. Speed. You can out distance them in fast 'shallow' climbs. So extend away once you've made your pass in a fast shallow climb that'll leave the Tripes wallowing in your slipstream. Then return for another go once you have gained height. And come in steeply to keep your speed up. A point on breaking away, which is crucial to survival. Done incorrectly the Dr.1 will get on your tail and fill you full of holes. After all the speed variation is only around 20 - 25 mph, unless you have droped on them from a great height. So at that speed difference it will take time to gain safe seperation. When you break from your firing pass you have to be watching which way the Dr.1 turns to avoid your pass. If it 'turns' left, you then 'curve' left yourself (gentle stick movements to maintain speed). The Dr.1 will end up having to fly a 360 degree turn to gain a lead on you. Same for the right. And if it break up you go down, It if breaks down you go up. It ain't foolproof, but most times it'll work. Of course if there are other nasties in the vicinity then your problems have multiplied! By the by Rowans MiG Alley has the best (IMHO) AI ever created for any combatsim. The team here have done wonderful things with the AI - but they are still limited to the vagaries of CFS3. Which show up every now and then. MiG Alley really is in a class of it's own.

Extract from the book "Flying The Old Planes" by Frank Tallman, 1973. My Sopwith Camel is, as far as I’m aware, the only original World War 1 Camel ever brought back to flying condition. It was originally owned by Colonel Jarrett of the Jarrett War Museum located on the old Steel Pier in Atlantic City; who in the 1930’s had the best museum of WWI equipment ever assembled, including the Belgian War Museum in Brussels. The Jarrett Museum fell on hard times following WWII and, with time and money on my side after my service period, and a lifelong ambition of owning a WWI aircraft, I purchased for a small sum (by today’s standards) several antique aircraft including the Camel, a Nieuport 28, a Pfalz D.XII, a Fokker D.VII and a SPAD VII. The Camel was the first WWI aircraft I brought back to flying condition and required some major rebuilding, which took several years, many thousands of dollars and a whole host of experts including Paul Poberzney of the Experimental Aircraft Association, the gifted master craftsman Ned Kensinger, the Hawker Siddeley Group and a number of very dedicated volunteer’s. (NB: There is quite a bit on the rebuilding process in the Chapter but I have left it out of this extract for the sake of space). When the day finally came to fly the air was filled with great anticipation. On arrival at the airport though I was dismayed to hear from my team that they had been trying to get the temperamental 110 h.p. Le Rhone started since 8.00am that morning, without success. The lack of knowledge amongst us regarding the Le Rhone was appalling. Did we have spark? Yes. Was the mag set? Yes. Had the commutator ring been wiped off? Yes. Had we primed it? Only every other cylinder. With only a vague notion of what I was doing I clambered into the cockpit (a very tight fit) and reviewed the cord-wrapped Spade stick, the Block tube, carburettors next to one’s knees, the flexible air intake to the outside air scoops, the wood wire brace longerons, the instrument panel with it’s clutter and the duel control cables to the wooden rudder bar. At my request, the crew forced open the intake valves as the engine was pushed through (switch off) and shot a charge of fuel in each cylinder, as the cylinder came in front of the hole in the cowling. By accident, rather than by knowledge, I advanced the long lever controlling the air, and in pushing the manet (a small wheel knob on the miniature control quadrant) forward and then returning it, I had hit on the correct starting procedure. Wonder of wonders, as I flipped the porcelain-mounted switch up and called for contact, the Le Rhone started with a full-throated bellow, scaring both me and the crew! By shoving the fuel-controlling lever forward and using the coupe (cut-out) button on the stick, I was able to keep the engine running. Soon the never-to-be-forgotten smell of castor oil infused our area, and the sight of oil splattering the leading edge of the low wings indicated that the engine was lubricating properly. Taxiing practice ended ignominiously a hundred feet from the starting point, when my newfound knowledge wasn’t equal to the delicate adjustment of fuel and air, and the Le Rhone quit. The revitalised ground crew hauled the 900 pound airplane over the grass and faced me into the wind. For safety sake we changed the plugs, and the Le Rhone started first try. I headed down the field with the throttle wide open. The tail came up almost instantly, and visibility was good, except for the Aldis sight and the twin Vickers. Not having planned on flight it came as something of a shock to find the Camel airborne at about 35 mph after a ground run of just 150 feet. Being afraid of jockeying with my ticklish fuel and air controls I stayed low and just got used to the Camel’s sensitive ailerons, elevators and rudder. I circled the field once, got into position for landing, shut fuel air and switch off, and made a light forward slip, touching down gently on three points. Total landing couldn’t have been much longer than the initial take-off run. So much for my first (unintentional) flight in the Camel. Since then I’ve spent more time flying the Camel than any of the other historical aircraft in our collection. I’ve also had more forced landings in it than all the rest of the WWI aircraft combined. It’s that temperamental Le Rhone. Cylinders have blown, magneto’s have failed, even fouled spark plugs have brought me down unceremoniously, with sweating hands and my heart in my mouth, desperately seeking a patch of open ground on which to land. Yet for all that it’s the one I turn to first for any show or exhibition, as the Camel gets my blood going like no other. This is an aircraft that is a joy to fly. With the Le Rhone 9J, you cannot adjust either the fuel or air intake without running the risk of a dead-stick landing. You must leave them alone and use you Coupe (cut-out) button for all fight handling. The take-off run is easy. In a wind of 10 to 15 knots you are airborne in a couple of plane lengths at 35 mph and climbing out at 60 mph, with a rate of climb of almost 1,000 feet a minute. The elevators are sensitive, as is the rudder. Consequently, when fling for any distance I often put the heels of my shoes on the floor tie wires, because the vibration of the Le Rhone through the rudder bar exaggerates the rudder movements. In level flight at 100 mph indicated, the Camel is delightful, with just a hint of rudder being required for straight flight. The structure is rugged enough to feel comfortable in loops, and being slightly tail-heavy it goes up and over in an incredibly small circle in the sky, and faster than any other WWI aircraft I have flown. Sneeze and your halfway through a loop before your aware of what’s happened. 110 mph is enough to carry you through, and as you slow down over the top you must feed in rudder against the torque. In military shows I have ground strafed, and as soon as the airspeed reaches 130 to 140 mph the nose begins to hunt up and down, and the elevator becomes extremely sensitive. I feel this action is due largely to the square windshield between the two Vickers guns, causing a substantial burble over the tail surfaces. Turns are what the Camel is all about. Turning to the right with the torque requires the top rudder to hold the nose up, and the speed with which you can complete a 360-degree turn is breathtaking. Left turns are slower, with the nose wanting to rise during the turn. But small rudder input easily keeps the nose level with the horizon. In stalls at 35 to 40 mph the nose drops frighteningly fast and hard to the right, but you also get control back quickly, although a surprising amount of altitude has been lost. I have had the pleasure of limited dog fighting with other WWI fighters, and there are none that can stay with a Camel in a turn. With the Le Rhone being temperamental as it is, flying the Camel is best done at times when there are few other aircraft in the sky, leaving easy access to the airport in cases of emergency. The Camel touches down easily but runs out of rudder control almost instantly, and if you bounce your landing at all, you are likely to find yourself in a hairy ground loop looking at a rapidly bending aileron dragging in the grass. For a wide variety of reasons, the Camel is a fascinating airplane, flight-wise as well as historically. But don’t think I ever got out of the Camel after being airborne even in the coldest weather without buckets of perspiration and considerable gratitude that I had gotten the little girl home again without breaking her into splinters! ======================================================================= STATS: From “British Aeroplanes 1914 - 18” by J. M. Bruce. 130 hp Clerget Empty Weight: 929 lb (421 kg) Loaded Weight: 1,453 lb (659 kg) Max Speed: 115 mph (185 km/h) @ 6,500 feet (1981m); 113 mph (181 km/h) @ 10,000 feet (3352m); 106 mph (170 km/h) @ 15,000 feet (4572m). Climb: 6 minutes 0 seconds to 6,500 feet (1981m) 13 minutes 35 seconds to 10,000 feet (3048m) 20 minutes 40 seconds to 15,000 feet (4572m) Ceiling: 19,000 feet (5791m) Endurance: 2 hours 30 minutes Armament: Two fixed .303 Vickers mg No’s Built: 5,490; of which 1,325 were built in 1917 and 4,165 in 1918. Of the 4,188 machines distributed to the RFC/RAF, 2,116 went to Squadrons with the B.E.F. in France 150 hp B.R.1, standard induction, compression 5.5 to 1 Empty Weight: 931lb (422 kg) Loaded Weight: 1,471 lb (667 kg) Max Speed: 121 mph (195 km/h) @ 6,500 feet (1981m); 117.5 mph (189 km/h) @ 10,000 feet (3352m); 111.5 mph (179 km/h) @ 15,000 feet (4572m). Climb: 5 minutes 05 seconds to 6,500 feet (1981m) 8 minutes 50 seconds to 10,000 feet (3048m) 16 minutes 30 seconds to 15,000 feet (4572m) Ceiling: 22,000 feet (6705m) Endurance: 2 hours 30 minutes Armament: Two fixed .303 Vickers mg No’s Built: 5,490; of which 1,325 were built in 1917 and 4,165 in 1918. Of the 4,188 machines distributed to the RFC/RAF, 2,116 went to Squadrons with the B.E.F. in France

Sadly SirMike, no. The Nieuport 28 was the only Nieuport that Frank Tallman had in his stable. The next three installments will cover his German aircraft, namely the Fokker Dr.1, the Fokker D.VII and the Pfalz D.XII. Dej, the only reference Frank makes regarding the Camels 'tail heaviness' is that according to the rigging plans it had to be rigged that way as a counter to the heavy nose of the aeroplane: engine, guns, ammo, fuel and pilot all crammed up forward within the first seven feet of a nineteen foot fuselage! Seems the early prototype Camel exhibited a strong tendancy to nose over on take-off or nose dive once power was reduced in gliding and landing and air flow over the wings eased. The only way to counteract that was to increase the effectiveness of the elevators, and tail rigging was the simpliest method of doing so. Frank does make the comment that although only slight forward pressure was required to maintain level flight, it would make the Camel tiring to fly for any length of time.

Extract from the book “Flying The Old Planes” by Frank Tallman, 1973. The father of the Sopwith Triplane was the Sopwith Pup, and according to Oliver Stewart, one of the most romantic chroniclers of World War One flying, these were two of the finest and most widely loved and respected Allied aircraft of that conflict. Sopwith sensibly decided to use the Clerget Rotary engine which, among other qualities, had dual ignition and was an advanced design over the 110 hp Type 9J Le Rhone. Like the Pup, the Tripe used the single Vickers gun for armament, with the padded porthole-like windscreen on the back of the gun. Clearing a jam on this little dude must have involved a frozen face and fingers over the snow-covered western Front, and the pilot must have needed a high-wire artists lack of acrophobia to stand up and play armourer on the jammed Vickers. Several Tripes were fitted with twin Vickers, but the performance hit of the extra weight was noticeable and, with the Sopwith Camel beginning to be delivered in large numbers, the Triplane was relegated to second-line status. Through the history of this unusual airplane runs an aura of very strange dealings and decisions. At the same time that the Sopwith Triplane had been ordered by the RFC, the Admiralty had ordered SPAD VII’s for it’s RNAS. Due to reasons never adequately explained, the Services did a swap and, except for one in the Near East, and another fighting the White Russians in 1919, the RFC never flew the type. The area of doubt that still remains is why this fine aircraft was never placed into quantity production, when it was so evidently superior to anything the Germans (or Allies) had at the time. Like the later Fokker Dr.1, the Tripe used a single I bracing-type strut, although in the case of the Tripe flying and landing wires were also utilised. Time was to prove it a strong basic design which, except for early rigging problems, gave little reason for structural worries. The Sopwith Triplane’s fuselage, gear, and tail surfaces are almost dead ringers of the Pup’s, so they are simplicity with a capital S, and the Sopwith Triplanes wings have two solid spars fifteen inches apart. Although not apparent in most photo’s, there are flying and standing wires, as well as drag wires from the cowling to the wings, and additional wires from aft of the pilots seat forward to the wing structure. The struts, which are of spruce and go through the wings as well as the fuselage in the cockpit area, are of a size and shape of a plank from a hundred-gun ship of the line. Interestingly enough, the trim wheel for the adjustable tail plane is bolted to the centre section strut that goes through the cockpit and fastens to the bottom longeron. The Triplane I flew was built by Lou Stolp for Earl Tavan, a Californian rancher who dreamed of Tripes instead of cattle. Lou is a master builder of the Experimental Aircraft Association. With the valuable assistance of the Hawker Siddeley Group detailed original plans were provided to Lou and his team as well as much needed assistance. Some modernisation changes were made for modern convenience that did not spoil the appearance. For power, instead of the cranky and rare rotaries, a Warner 165 hp radial (with the same frontal dimensions) was substituted. A battery, starter, and generator were included as well. Wire wheels of the proper size and weight were designed and beautifully built, with a brake inside the hub and completely unseen. The basic fuselage was constructed of square steel tubing of the same dimensions and of greater strength than the original wood. The cockpit layout was faithfully identical to the original, as were the wings, controls and all wires. The bracing wires were all of the streamlined type (as were those on original Tripes) and purchased from MacWhyte Company in Milwaukee, which is the only firm in the USA which makes such. Because of it’s height, the Tripe appears rather larger than it is, when it actuality it is only a foot higher than the Dr.1. It was brutally hot on the day I flew the tripe, with a ground temperature of 100 degrees. The Warner started easily, and visibility while taxing out was a pure pleasure after the truly blind Dr.1. I taxied out to the end of the runway, and after running up the Warner, turned into the wind. Pouring on the coal, I left the tail on the ground for about 100 feet, then raised it instantly. I got an unexpected torque swing to the left and went off the narrow grass runway, clipping the growth like a McCormick reaper. Full opposite rudder and aileron brought me slowly back along with a sudden wetness in my palms, and I was airborne with no wind in about 480 feet. Obviously the triplane is heavier than the original (by about 300 pounds) and without the slow, big propped rotary, the performance suffers. Climbing out, I was struck by the typical rotary torque feel that had occurred on takeoff. Rate of climb was approximately 1,000 feet a minute at an indicated 58 mph. The three ailerons on each wing were pure delight and gave this machine a crisp response equal to that of a Stearman or Tiger Moth. I climbed to the aerobatic area in slow circles, feeling out the rudder and elevators, which have somewhat lees positive ness than the ailerons. Stalling speed occurred at 44 mph, and the plane broke gently straight ahead. Wide-open throttle gave an indicated airspeed at 3,000 feet of 92 mph, and, edging the throttle back, I dropped the nose gently for a loop. With 115 mph indicated, I pulled back gently and added full power over the top, where I had 30 mph. The Tripe followed through nicely, but with a loop considerably larger in diameter than the Dr.1. All the way through the flying wires sang like a demented peanut vendor. In slow rolls without an inverted feed system, the Warner cut out at the inverted position, and it was necessary to finish dead stick. Normally you would pick something for a horizon line, but in a roll with the Triplane, you have the feeling of three artificial horizons bars, and you are not sure which one to pick. Cuban 8’s are performed easily, as are climbing reverses, with the rudder proving to be adequate. Rolls and changes of direction are crisp and the aircraft quite agile due to those excellent ailerons. Sustained turns on the other hand leave something to be desired. A turn is not the manoeuvre to use with someone on your tail. The strong point of the Triplane is its rate of climb. It goes up like the proverbial monkey, and when speed drops to around 45 mph if you level out quickly it’ll just sit at that height, without dropping off into a stall or spin. Speed quickly returns and the Triplane is once again responsive and light on the controls. In a mock combat with an extremely able pilot, ex-Major James Appleby flying the Fokker Dr.1, I would have the edge flying the Triplane due to the stiff and slow ailerons on the D.1; but both aircraft have their limitations. The skill and experience of the pilots are more important than the actual physical differences between the two planes. Coming into land, I sensibly chose the grass area and not the narrow surfaced runway. I touched down faster and sooner than anticipated at about 52 mhp. Still I managed to roll to a stop straight ahead, and wiped nineteen gallons of salty water off my forehead. Reflecting on the differences between the Dr.1 and the Triplane I feel that the tripe is infinitely superior. It is more controllable, lovelier on the ailerons, climbs faster, and the roll out on landing is easier. It would have been nice to have flown a Tripe with the Clerget rotary, and see how it performed without the extra 300 lb penalty imposed by the Warner engine. Then again, the Dr.1 was also equipped with the Warner, so perhaps the comparisons are valid. ========================================================================= STATS: From “British Aeroplanes 1914 - 18” by J. M. Bruce. Empty Weight: 1,101 lb (335 kg) Loaded Weight: 1,541 lb (698 kg) Engine: 130 hp Clerget Max Speed: 117 mph (188 km/h) @ 5,000 feet (1524m); 112 mph (180 km/h) @ 7,000 feet (2133m); 109 mph (175 km/h) @ 9,000 feet (2743m); 107 mph (172 km/h) @ 11,000 feet (3352m); 104 mph (167 km/h) @ 13,000 feet (3962m); 98 mph (158 km/h) @ 15,000 feet (4572m). Climb: 1 minute 45 seconds to 2,000 feet (609m) 2 minutes 30 seconds to 3,000 feet (914m) 4 minutes 35 to 5,000 feet (1524m) 7 minutes 15 seconds to 7,000 feet (2133m) 11 minutes 50 seconds to 10,000 feet (3048m) 17 minutes 30 seconds to 13,000 feet (3962m) 22 minutes 22 seconds to 15,000 feet (4572m) 26 minutes 30 seconds to 16,400 feet (4998m) Ceiling: 20,500 feet (6248m) Endurance: 2 hours 45 minutes Armament: One fixed .303 Vickers mg No’s Built: 178, of which 10 were delivered to the Aviation Militaire

I'm surprised that the Tripe didn't draw more comments, given the fascination folks here seem to have for three wings. I have to admit that of the Great War British aircraft she is my favourite! As is the SPAD VII for the French aeroplanes and (God only knows why ) the Pfalz D.III for the Germans. As a balance to Frank Tallman's view of the Sopwith Triplane I thought I would add some other first-hand accounts by those who have flown it. Most are drawn from the books "Sopwith Triplane Aces of World War 1" by Norman Franks or "Sopwith Aircraft" by Mick Davis. Wing Commander Paul Hartman, RCAF (Rtd) - commenting on the Carl Swanson reproduction Triplane in 1968 at the International Air Conference about flying vintage aircraft. Of all the vintage aircraft I have flown, this is undoubtedly the most pleasant to fly. It possessed stability and control response so good as to be unique, not only for aircraft of that era but also in comparison with many of todays machines. It's positive stability about all three axes, plus the horizontal stabliser that was adjustable by the pilot during flight, resulted in an aircraft that coudl be flown with a minimum of concentration and effort. Indeed, when the aeroplane was properly rigged and correctly trimmed in flight, it could be flown hands-off. The controls were light, powerful and well-harmonised and the aircraft's response to the controls was excellent. As I settled into the seat for my first flight I was again stuck by the simplicity of the cockpit and the paucity of instruments. Airspeed indicator, tachometer and pulsometer; throttle, Tampier lever, fuel cock and 'blip' switch plus stick and rudder was the sum total. The seat of the Triplane is much lower than in other aircraft, and my initial impression on sitting in it was one of very limited visibility forward through an arc of 30 degrees either side of the centre line. However a gap between the wing root of the centre mainplane and the fuselage enabled the pilot to see forward and downward for approach and landing. Moreover once airborne the thin wings offered almost no restriction to overall visibility. The engine was primed, throttle and Tampier levers set, switch on. Contact! The Clerget fired immediately and settled into a rhythmic rattle typical of the rotary and idled smoothly at about 700rpm. I had no intention of allowing this aircraft to become airborne in a three-point attitude, as happened during my first flight in the Nieuport 17. Thus the control stick was held about one inch forward of centre as I opened the throttle. The Tripe accelerated quickly as the power was increased to approximately 1150rpm, and the tail rose at about 20 knots. There was almost no tendency for the aircraft to swing to the left due either to torque or the gyroscopic effects of the engine, and very little rudder was required to keep the aircraft straight during the take-off run. With the tail up and the aircraft in almost level flight attitude, visibility over the nose during the take-off run was excellent. At 38 to 40 knots, the aircraft left the ground and accelerated rapidly to 60 knots. I eased the climb, holding the speed constant at 60. The altimeter indicated 650 to 700 feet as the aircraft boundary was crossed - a distance of approximately 5,000 feet from the take-off point. I had been airborne less than a minute at that instant, so the aircraft has a fair rate of climb. Those watching on the ground told me later it appeared to be climbing like a homesick angel. It certainly felt so to me. I continued the climb to 900 feet, where I levelled off and made a left hand return to the field. During the turn, with an angle of bank of 40 degrees, I became aware that a coordinated entry into the turn had been made without my being aware of it. There was no slip or skid, and no gyroscopic precession was apparent from the engine. The wind blasting squarely in my face confirmed the former, and the necessity to hold a very light top rudder force during the turn attested to the latter. At 1,500 feet above the aerodrome a stall check was made. The throttle was closed and the engine idled at approximately 700rpm at an indicated airspeed of 40 knots. The control stick was fully back. The aircraft was hanging on the properller in a 12 to 13 degree nose high attitude, refusing to stall. I depressed the blip switch, the rpm decreased, and the nose dropped. The ailerons were fully effective immediately prior to either wing drop. As the nose dropped, the blip switch was released and the engine picked up to idle rpm. The height lost during recovery from the stall was 75 feet. After recovery the aircraft as trimmed to glide at 50 knots. The glide was continued to 1,000 feet, where the engine power was set at 1100rpm and a level speed run made. Subsequent corrections for air temperature showed the aircraft achieved a true airspeed of 111 mph.The speed run also enabled a last check to be made of the effectiveness of the adjustable horizontal stabliser as a trimming device. It was a positive and poweful trimming device. A speed of 105 knots indicated was the maximum to which the aircraft was flown. It displayed a slight tendancy to yaw to the left as speed increased in a dive, then yaw to the right as speed was reduced. The yaw is easily overcome with rudder. The landing was straightforward and easy. The aircraft was glided at 50 knots to a height about 15 feet above the ground, at which point the blip switch was depressed and held. The control stick was eased slowly backward to flare the aircraft. It slowly lost height as the speed decreased during the flare, until the aircraft was about one foot off the ground at a speed of about 40 knots. Stick fully back at this pont - a slight sinking feeling as the air speed needle touched 37 to 38 knots - and we're on the ground! Captain Foster Herbert Martin Maynard, who served with 'Naval 1' in the Great War. The Triplane was an excellent machine for fighting purposes, for although somewhat leisurely in manoeuvre, it's extra-ordinarily good climbing powers generally enabled a good pilot to get the better of his opponent in an individual contest. About the middle of July (1917) I was given a two-gun Triplane to try out. The extra firepower afforded was, of course, extremely valuable. Unfortunately, the extra weight took off so much performance that the machine was of no use in a formation of ordinary one-gun Tripes. A report by a British Third Army AA position, which witnessed Robert Little (Naval 8) attack several Albatross near Arras om 7th April, 1917.At 1845hrs on the 7/4/17 a Sopwith Triplane, working alone, attached 11 hostile machines, almost all Albatross scouts, north-east of Arras. He completely outclassed the whole patrol of hostile machines, diving through them and then climbing above them. One Albatross scout, which was particulary aggressive, dived on him and passed him. The Sopwith then dived on him and then easliy climbed again above the whole patrol, drawing them all the time towards the anti-aircraft guns. As soon as they were within range, the anti-aircraft guns opened fire on the patrol, which turned eastwards, and the Sopwith returned safely. The officers who witnessed the combat report that the manoeuvering of the Sopwith completely outclassed that of the Albatross scouts. Captain Robert Alexander Little, Naval 8. (he has dived into a mixed fight involving several FE's and Albatross scouts on 30 April at 0645hrs, east of Arras). An Albatross dived on me from out of the sun. My gun jammed and I tried to break off the engagement, but the HA kept pace with me and opened fire, shooting away my pump and hitting the planes, so then I stopped and stunted. I then got under the HA and stayed there. I turned when he turned and dived when he dived. The HA pilot could not find me. I got my jam clear and fired on the HA, which was about 20 feet in front of me and about 10 feet above. Half the fuselage and engine was all I could see through my sight. I saw tracers hit it. It started to climb, then stalled and went down in a dive, turning slowly. I last saw him at 1000 feet when I lost him in the mist. Flight Commander Raymond Collishaw, Naval 10.The Triplane I found to be a delightful machine - in my estimation much preferable to the Pup. The machine was a private venture by the Sopwiith Company, and the prototype made it's appearance in mid 1916. The three-wing design was adopted to permit the pilot the widest possible field of vision, and also as a means of ensuring manoeuverability. The middle wing was at the pilot's eye level, and interfered very little with his vision. All three wings had a narow chord, and because of this the top and bottom wings blocked off less from the pilot's view than in the case of biplanes. The standard Triplane was fitted with the Clerget 130 hp engine. This powerful motor gave it a speed of nearly 100mph at 15,000 feet, and it could climb to 10,000 feet in just under 12 minutes and had a service ceiling approaching 20,000 feet. Apart from it's good manoverability and rapid rate of climb, which was very good for it's day, the Triplane's main virtue was the extreme altitude that it could attain, and its performance at these heights. Like all aircraft the Triplane had its weaknesses. It was not quite as fast as it could have been, and it could not match a machine such as the Albatross D.III in a dive. Its main failing though was its armament. Like the Pup it only had one Vickers. The German fighters it was pitted against during 1917 had twin guns, and given comparable performance, it is hard to find a substitute for firepower. Six experimental models were in fact fitted with twin Vickers, and I was fortunate enough to obtain one prior to leaving Naval 10. Some of the pilots considered the added firepower would be more than offset by a drop in speed and climb performance at height as a result of the extra weight. Others, including myself, felt that a certain loss of performance would be acceptable in exchange for the extra gun. I found, in fact, that although there was a definite loss in performance over 10,000 feet, it was relatively slight, and having twice the firepower at my command made a big difference.

Flying The Old Planes - Part 4: Sopwith Triplane Extract from the book “Flying The Old Planes” by Frank Tallman, 1973. The father of the Sopwith Triplane was the Sopwith Pup, and according to Oliver Stewart, one of the most romantic chroniclers of World War One flying, these were two of the finest and most widely loved and respected Allied aircraft of that conflict. Sopwith sensibly decided to use the Clerget Rotary engine which, among other qualities, had dual ignition and was an advanced design over the 110 hp Type 9J Le Rhone. Like the Pup, the Tripe used the single Vickers gun for armament, with the padded porthole-like windscreen on the back of the gun. Clearing a jam on this little dude must have involved a frozen face and fingers over the snow-covered western Front, and the pilot must have needed a high-wire artists lack of acrophobia to stand up and play armourer on the jammed Vickers. Several Tripes were fitted with twin Vickers, but the performance hit of the extra weight was noticeable and, with the Sopwith Camel beginning to be delivered in large numbers, the Triplane was relegated to second-line status. Through the history of this unusual airplane runs an aura of very strange dealings and decisions. At the same time that the Sopwith Triplane had been ordered by the RFC, the Admiralty had ordered SPAD VII’s for it’s RNAS. Due to reasons never adequately explained, the Services did a swap and, except for one in the Near East, and another fighting the White Russians in 1919, the RFC never flew the type. The area of doubt that still remains is why this fine aircraft was never placed into quantity production, when it was so evidently superior to anything the Germans (or Allies) had at the time. Like the later Fokker Dr.1, the Tripe used a single I bracing-type strut, although in the case of the Tripe flying and landing wires were also utilised. Time was to prove it a strong basic design which, except for early rigging problems, gave little reason for structural worries. The Sopwith Triplane’s fuselage, gear, and tail surfaces are almost dead ringers of the Pup’s, so they are simplicity with a capital S, and the Sopwith Triplanes wings have two solid spars fifteen inches apart. Although not apparent in most photo’s, there are flying and standing wires, as well as drag wires from the cowling to the wings, and additional wires from aft of the pilots seat forward to the wing structure. The struts, which are of spruce and go through the wings as well as the fuselage in the cockpit area, are of a size and shape of a plank from a hundred-gun ship of the line. Interestingly enough, the trim wheel for the adjustable tail plane is bolted to the centre section strut that goes through the cockpit and fastens to the bottom longeron. The Triplane I flew was built by Lou Stolp for Earl Tavan, a Californian rancher who dreamed of Tripes instead of cattle. Lou is a master builder of the Experimental Aircraft Association. With the valuable assistance of the Hawker Siddeley Group detailed original plans were provided to Lou and his team as well as much needed assistance. Some modernisation changes were made for modern convenience that did not spoil the appearance. For power, instead of the cranky and rare rotaries, a Warner 165 hp radial (with the same frontal dimensions) was substituted. A battery, starter, and generator were included as well. Wire wheels of the proper size and weight were designed and beautifully built, with a brake inside the hub and completely unseen. The basic fuselage was constructed of square steel tubing of the same dimensions and of greater strength than the original wood. The cockpit layout was faithfully identical to the original, as were the wings, controls and all wires. The bracing wires were all of the streamlined type (as were those on original Tripes) and purchased from MacWhyte Company in Milwaukee, which is the only firm in the USA which makes such. Because of it’s height, the Tripe appears rather larger than it is, when it actuality it is only a foot higher than the Dr.1. It was brutally hot on the day I flew the tripe, with a ground temperature of 100 degrees. The Warner started easily, and visibility while taxing out was a pure pleasure after the truly blind Dr.1. I taxied out to the end of the runway, and after running up the Warner, turned into the wind. Pouring on the coal, I left the tail on the ground for about 100 feet, then raised it instantly. I got an unexpected torque swing to the left and went off the narrow grass runway, clipping the growth like a McCormick reaper. Full opposite rudder and aileron brought me slowly back along with a sudden wetness in my palms, and I was airborne with no wind in about 480 feet. Obviously the triplane is heavier than the original (by about 300 pounds) and without the slow, big propped rotary, the performance suffers. Climbing out, I was struck by the typical rotary torque feel that had occurred on takeoff. Rate of climb was approximately 1,000 feet a minute at an indicated 58 mph. The three ailerons on each wing were pure delight and gave this machine a crisp response equal to that of a Stearman or Tiger Moth. I climbed to the aerobatic area in slow circles, feeling out the rudder and elevators, which have somewhat lees positive ness than the ailerons. Stalling speed occurred at 44 mph, and the plane broke gently straight ahead. Wide-open throttle gave an indicated airspeed at 3,000 feet of 92 mph, and, edging the throttle back, I dropped the nose gently for a loop. With 115 mph indicated, I pulled back gently and added full power over the top, where I had 30 mph. The Tripe followed through nicely, but with a loop considerably larger in diameter than the Dr.1. All the way through the flying wires sang like a demented peanut vendor. In slow rolls without an inverted feed system, the Warner cut out at the inverted position, and it was necessary to finish dead stick. Normally you would pick something for a horizon line, but in a roll with the Triplane, you have the feeling of three artificial horizons bars, and you are not sure which one to pick. Cuban 8’s are performed easily, as are climbing reverses, with the rudder proving to be adequate. Rolls and changes of direction are crisp and the aircraft quite agile due to those excellent ailerons. Sustained turns on the other hand leave something to be desired. A turn is not the manoeuvre to use with someone on your tail. The strong point of the Triplane is its rate of climb. It goes up like the proverbial monkey, and when speed drops to around 45 mph if you level out quickly it’ll just sit at that height, without dropping off into a stall or spin. Speed quickly returns and the Triplane is once again responsive and light on the controls. In a mock combat with an extremely able pilot, ex-Major James Appleby flying the Fokker Dr.1, I would have the edge flying the Triplane due to the stiff and slow ailerons on the D.1; but both aircraft have their limitations. The skill and experience of the pilots are more important than the actual physical differences between the two planes. Coming into land, I sensibly chose the grass area and not the narrow surfaced runway. I touched down faster and sooner than anticipated at about 52 mhp. Still I managed to roll to a stop straight ahead, and wiped nineteen gallons of salty water off my forehead. Reflecting on the differences between the Dr.1 and the Triplane I feel that the tripe is infinitely superior. It is more controllable, lovelier on the ailerons, climbs faster, and the roll out on landing is easier. It would have been nice to have flown a Tripe with the Clerget rotary, and see how it performed without the extra 300 lb penalty imposed by the Warner engine. Then again, the Dr.1 was also equipped with the Warner, so perhaps the comparisons are valid. ========================================================================= STATS: From “British Aeroplanes 1914 - 18” by J. M. Bruce. Empty Weight: 1,101 lb (335 kg) Loaded Weight: 1,541 lb (698 kg) Engine: 130 hp Clerget Max Speed: 117 mph (188 km/h) @ 5,000 feet (1524m); 112 mph (180 km/h) @ 7,000 feet (2133m); 109 mph (175 km/h) @ 9,000 feet (2743m); 107 mph (172 km/h) @ 11,000 feet (3352m); 104 mph (167 km/h) @ 13,000 feet (3962m); 98 mph (158 km/h) @ 15,000 feet (4572m). Climb: 1 minute 45 seconds to 2,000 feet (609m) 2 minutes 30 seconds to 3,000 feet (914m) 4 minutes 35 to 5,000 feet (1524m) 7 minutes 15 seconds to 7,000 feet (2133m) 11 minutes 50 seconds to 10,000 feet (3048m) 17 minutes 30 seconds to 13,000 feet (3962m) 22 minutes 22 seconds to 15,000 feet (4572m) 26 minutes 30 seconds to 16,400 feet (4998m) Ceiling: 20,500 feet (6248m) Endurance: 2 hours 45 minutes Armament: One fixed .303 Vickers mg No’s Built: 178, of which 10 were delivered to the Aviation Militaire

Flying The Old Planes - Part 3: SE 5 Extract from the book "Flying The Old Planes" by Frank Tallman, 1973. Have you ever looked at the lines of a plane and from experience known instinctively that it will be all you expect? Such a plane is the British Se.5. It’s appearance reminds one of the British bulldog: sturdy, short, not beautiful but honest and dependable. As you take it from the hanger the first thing to check is the radiator. It is adequate under most normal conditions, but it should be full. Next pull the undercowl by releasing the piano hinges, reach in, and with a wrench unscrew the oil plugs in the case. Staring from the top plug, to check the oil. Check your fuel tanks – the main tank is in front of the pilot. Then the leader tank, which is actually the leading edge of the centre section. Now walk around the Se, paying particular attention to the exhaust stacks, the shock cord, and the landing gear fittings, your dual set of flying and landing wires and, most particularly, the tail surfaces, with their bracing wires underneath and above. On your way to the flight line you would notice that in manually lifting the tail of the Se.5, it is light in comparison with many other WWI aircraft. This is primarily due to the landing gear being set rearward, almost even with the leading edge of the wing. This was a source of embarrassment to some, occasionally causing nose-overs when landing and taking off. Climbing in to the Se.5 make sure to swing you leg well clear of the exhaust pipe, which extends past the cockpit coaming. Your hand falls easily to the circular spade joystick. The rudder bar is set off the floor and has a top for your foot so that it cannot slip off when the plane is inverted. Oddly the throttle and mixture are set on the right on a little shelf (rather than the left as in almost all other aircraft), and the mixture control when full open is to the rear when your throttle at the same time goes forward! All Hisso engines have to be loaded up with throttle back and switch off and the propeller moved back and forth until you get some fuel overflow. Check carefully to see your gas valve is on. When ‘contact’ is called and the prop is swung “clear”, rotate the booster mag handle, and the engine will catch and start easily with a nice gentle rumble. It idles nicely below 500 rpm. After allowing the water temperature to rise and checking oil pressure mags, you’re clear to go. The heart-lifting thrill of shoving the throttle forward is never lost, at least to me, and it was there as I pushed forward the control of the Se.5. The tail levelled almost instantly. Because the propeller is slow-turning (about 1500 rpm on take-off), you have no appreciable torque and very little engine noise. The Se.5 was airborne in 246 feet, and could have gotten off somewhat sooner if required. You have a nice positive feel, and you are climbing out at about 75 to 80 mph with a rate of climb approaching 900 feet per minute. Straight and level at 3,000 feet, I noticed slight tail heaviness, even with the trim tab wheel forward. The cockpit is roomy by WWI standards; comfortable, with fine visibility and very little wind flow. Wide open I was indicating 127 mph and 1650 rpm at 3,000 feet. Settling back to cruise, I locked my belt and brought the stick back for a stall. It pays off gently, but with a sharp right wing drop at an indicated 52 mph. Invariably, in a stall, the right wing dropped. I tried a spin – one turn nicely, cleanly to the right; unfortunately, it would only spiral to the left and, I believe sensibly, I did not try to force it in. with any aircraft over fifty years old I eat a little raw heart with aerobatics, for no matter how careful you check it, anything can fatigue in this length of time. Being careful to keep heavy stick pressures out of my work, I pulled up into vertical reverses in both directions, an it held on nicely and reversed well with rudder. Looping at 135 mph went well but got slightly soft at the top, where I was indicating 60 mph, but it came through without my hanging on the belt. Cuban 8’s went well, but the engine spewed fuel out on my descending half roll and cut out for a period of four seconds. It slow rolls nicely to the left, but you need 115 mph to carry you through for the time the engine cuts out. Unfortunately, in rolling to the right it resists strongly, and you get a roll that is impossible to do smoothly and takes much time. Flick rolls or snap rolls were nice to the right at 85 mph, but completely impossible to the left, for it stalls straight forward and will not snap with any combination of stick and rudder movements. Controls are positive but slightly heavy, and even with low ‘G’ manoeuvres the stick force required makes one feel the effort. To throw the Se.5 around with abandon would require a fit young man with muscle. Especially for any length of time or at high altitude. Entering the traffic pattern I circled as I waited for the green light. Once it flashed I started a gentle turn into my grass area, holding about 75 to 80 mph indicated. By now the strangeness of flying with my left hand and using the throttle with my right was gone. Like all early aircraft the Se.5 pays off very quickly, and in attempting to check my touchdown speed on the airspeed indicator I bounced but caught it with stick and a little rudder. It indicated about 54 mph. The rudder was quite positive and the steerable tailskid is one of the few WWI planes so equipped, making taxiing very easy. ========================================================================== Here's another view of the ability of the SE 5 in a fight. Both are drawn from the classic book "Sagittarius Rising" by Cecil Lewis, and provide another perspective of the SE 5 performance - as well as the confidence that the aircraft engenders. Both are from when Lewis was serving with 56 Squadron, by which time he was a very experienced pilot on his second tour, and with several kills to his credit. Extract 1 Rumours of the new SE 5 with a 200 hp engine had been prevalent for some weeks, and at last the machine arrived. I was detailed to take it up on the test. I found it faster, and it climbed so well that, since it was a beautiful evening, I decided to find it's ceiling. At ten thousand feet the view was immense, England quartered on its northern perimeter. Oh to be home again. Just to be over England, even if one could not land! After all, why not? I turned north. At twenty thousand feet, Kent was below me. The faintest drift of blue smoke from the chimneys of some country houses. There would be the scent of a wood fire down there, far, far, far below. The wing-tips of the planes, ten feet away, suddenly caught my eye, and for a second the amazing adventure of flight overwhelmed me. Nothing between me and oblivion but a pair of light linen-covered wings and the roar of a 200-h.p. engine! There was the fabric, bellying slightly in the suction above the plane, the streamlined wires, taut and quivering, holding the wing structure together, the three-ply body, the array of instruments, and the slight tremor of the whole aeroplane. I looked long at the island below me, then shut off the engine, and in one long, unbroken glide swept back to France. I came over St. Omer at about five thousand feet and saw a back-staggered scout circling the aerodrome. I turned to have a look. When I came close, I saw it was one of the new Sopwith Dolphins. I plunged down on its tail as a challenge for a scrap. This new SE I was flying would be more than a match for anything in the sky. The reader will not take it amiss if I say that by this time I was a fairly competent pilot. I could do every stunt then invented with ease and style. I admitted none to be my superior in the handling of an aeroplane. So I confess I dived on the Dolphin with the intention of showing him just how and aeroplane should be flown in a fight, sitting on his tail for a bit and then, when it was quite obvious I had killed him ten times over, coming up alongside, waving him a gracious good-bye and proceeding to my aerodrome. But it didn't work out a bit like that. The Dolphin had a better performance than I realised. He was up in a climbing turn and on my tail in a flash. I half rolled out of the way, he was still there. I sat in a tight climbing spiral, he sat in a tighter one. I tried to climb above him, he climbed faster. Every dodge I had ever learnt I tried on him: but he just sat there on my tail, for all the world as if I had been towing him behind me. Who was the fellow anyway? What was it coming to when test pilots at Aircraft Depots could put it over a crack pilot of 56? The Dolphin shut off and dropped to the carpet. I followed. We jumped out of our machines. I seemed to recognise the spare figure crossing towards me. He lifted his goggles. It was Patrick! "Well, Lewis," he said, as we shook hands, laughing, "I see your still learning to fly?" (Patrick was the O.C of the testing and ferry pilots at Marquise in March 1916 when Lewis first arrived in France on his first tour). Extract 2 A Wing of French machines had been sent up from the south to operate in the Dunkerque area. In order to familarise the French pilots with all types of British aircraft operating in the sector (so they might not shoot down friendlies by mistake), a machine from every British Squadron was sent over for the French pilots to see. I was detailed to take over an SE. The French flew SPADS, a neat low-winged biplane, and it's leader was the famous French ace, Guynemer. He had three aircraft, a standard SPAD VII, a high compression SPAD and a larger special machine (SPAD XII) made by the same firm with a 200-h.p. Hispano engine fitted with a cannon. A race was held between the two special SPAD's and the SE 5. Their speeds were almost identical, but the high-compression SPAD climbed quicker. After the race was over, Guynemer and I held a demonstration combat over the aerodrome. Again I was badly worsted. Guynemer was all over me. In his hands the SPAD was a marvel of flexibility. In the first minute I should have been shot down a dozen times. Nothing I could do would shift that grim-looking French scout off my tail. Guynemer sat there, at about thirty yards range, perfectly master of the situation. In self-justification, I feel I must add that both the Sopwith Dolphin and the SPAD were more manoeuverable than the SE 5. So that, given equal flying ability, they would win. Given Guynemer's still greater skill, the SE 5 was right out of it. At last we came down, landed, shook hands, and went into the Mess to drink sweet wine and eat sugar cakes. Only a week later Guynemer was shot down and killed. To be fair to the SE the above combats are not necessarily the way to fight the SE 5. And although they do portray a fairly accurate comparison in head to head combat, it would not have been the way Lewis would have fought in the real kill or be killed arena. The SE is not the sort of aircraft to get in close and dogfight with, unlike more nimble aeroplanes like the Tripe, Pup and Camel. As Lewis describes several times in his book combat was more a case of using height, climb rate and speed to out manoeuver your opponent, so as to drop on him when he was at a disadvantage. "A pilot would go down on the tail of a Hun, hoping to catch him in the first burst; but he would not be wise to stay there, for another Hun would almost certainly be on his tail hoping to gte him in the same way. Such fights were really a series of rushes, with momentary pauses to select the next opportunity - to catch the enemy at a disadvantage, or seperated from his friends." The same approach is described several times in McCudden's marvellous book "Flying Fury". The SE's strength, like the SPAD, is better suited to the vertical than the horizontal, and woe betide anyone foolish enough to fight otherwise. ======================================================================== STATS: From “British Aeroplanes 1914 – 1918” by J. M. Bruce Se.5 Empty Weight: 1,406 lbs (638 kg) Loaded Weight: 1,940lbs (879 kg) Engine: 150 hp Wolseley-built Hispano Suiza Max Speed: 120 mph (193 km/h) @ 6,500 feet (1981m); 116 mph (187 km/h) @ 10,000 feet (3048m); 105 mph (169 km/h) @ 15,000 feet (4572m) Climb Rates: 5 minutes 35 seconds to 5,000 feet (); 7 minutes 50 seconds to 6,500ft ( 1981m); 13 minutes 40 seconds to 10,000 feet (3048m); 29 minutes 10 seconds to 15,000 feet (4572m). Ceiling: 17,000 feet (5182m) Endurance: 2 ½ hours Armament: one fixed Vickers mg, one Lewis mg on a Foster mounting No’s Built: 5,205 of all types with 828 built in 1917 and 4,377 in 1918. In total 1,999 were sent to France. Se.5a Empty Weight: 1,580 lbs (716 kg) Loaded Weight: 2,034 lbs (922 kg) Engine: 200 hp Wolseley-built Hispano Suiza Max Speed: 132 mph (212 km/h) @ 6,500 feet (1981m); 128 mph (205 km/h) @ 10,000 feet (3048m); 115 mph (185 km/h) @ 15,000 feet (4572m) Climb Rates: 6 minutes 0 seconds to 6,500ft ( 1981m); 11 minutes 20 seconds to 10,000 feet (3048m); 2 2 minutes 55 seconds to 15,000 feet (4572m). Ceiling: 19,000 feet (5791m) Endurance: 2 1/4 hours Armament: one fixed Vickers mg, one Lewis mg on a Foster mounting No’s Built: 5,205 of all types with 828 built in 1917 and 4,377 in 1918. In total 1,999 were sent to France

The tongue-twisting mouthful of Societe pour Aviation et Ses Derives were the manufacturers of the SPAD, and it was Louis Becherau, the designer of the pre-war Gordon Bennet winning Deperdussin monoplane, who carried his ideas for speed and ruggedness into this new concept of fighter. The choice of the superb Hispano Suiza powerplant was an innovation for its day. Becherau had decided that the days of rotaries were numbered. Gyroscopic force and the unreliability of rotaries had combined to make the choice of a Hisso an imaginative but eminently proper one. Starting with the 140 hp Hispano-Suiza, Becherau gradually increased the horsepower with different engine models of 150, 180 and finally 200 hp. The ruggedness of the SPAD was refreshing to the French squadrons, and it could readily make a tiger out of an Escadrille pilot who in flying Nieuports in combat often waited for the weakly designed wing to take leave. Early models had a weakness with unreliable carburettor’s and cooling problems, but once that was overcome the SPAD came to epitomise the word reliable. One other fault, later to be corrected with the SPAD XIII, was the single Vickers gun. The SPAD construction was, of course, predominately wood, and it never ceases to surprise me that in this First World War period such large quantities of spruce, veneers and ply’s were available to both the Allies and the Germans. The radiator, being brass, lead, aluminium and some steel, weighs enough to require a forklift or nine graduates of a Charles Atlas weightlifting class; and, of course, behind it is a water-cooled V8 which, while light for it’s day, weighs more than most modern-day air-cooled engines of a similar size. Like most of the aircraft of the time the SPAD VII ha d a square longeron fuselage covered in the engine area with aluminium, and the oval-shaped fuselage was formed with light veneer and stringers. The tail surfaces were wooden and used a comfort making strut for additional rigidity on the fixed portion of the elevators. In the 180 hp and the 200 hp SPAD VII’s, they used a rudder with an additional midsection bulge like the belt line of a beer salesman, and this was supposed to take care of the additional torque of the larger engines. I have always flown our SPAD with the smaller straight-sided surface, and have had no rudder problems in the air or on the ground. The wings of the SPAD were a thin French wingspan made with two routed spars and built-up ribs. Wings and tail section all had a typical wire-formed scalloped trailing edge. The SPAD has an airfoil that gives a good climb (but awful glide characteristics), while the Se.5, according to the historians, was better acrobatically. Having flown the SPAD and the SPAD XIII as well as the Se.5 extensively, if I were in combat I would choose the SPAD VII. With no dihedral and quite light control forces, I found that the SPAD did not require the high perspiration count to throw it about that the heavier Se.5 required. SPAD’s had push-pull rod-controlled ailerons; this was a real innovation, and it contributes greatly to the light feel and quick response of the aircraft. Before flight, we had to set the plane in level-flight position and fill the header tank first, then the radiator, to eliminate (as much as possible) the steam-provoking air bubbles due to operating the SPAD in a much warmer, and dryer, climate than what it was designed for. Once in position for take-off I turned the fuel-on switch off, and we went through the procedure that is necessary to start a Hisso. It includes checking if the fuel pump is operative. We also rock the propeller until fuel spills from the carburettor; then with contact, the pilot madly spins the booster coil and the mechanic flips the prop backward. It kicks forward and catches, and the Hisso rumbles nicely as the pressure and temperature rise. Because of the long exhaust stacks the engine is extremely quiet, and it’s easy to hold a conversation by the cockpit without shouting. Pointing the SPAD into the wind I pour the coal on. Instantly the tail is up, and I have complete rudder control. I am off the ground and climbing in about 150 feet. Best climb speed is around the 60 to 65 mph. The push-pull ailerons are delightful, and the response is equal to or exceeds that of any of the WWI aircraft I have flown, including the Fokker D.VII; which is the best of the rest. The Hisso idles beautifully, and power-off stalls occur at 47 mph, with a positive and quick nose drop. Like all WWI aircraft the control throw of the joystick is long, and adds to the challenge of maintaining a smooth coordinated flight until one gets used to it. Rarely do I spin the World War One airplanes. If they are out of rig and you can’t recover, having to leave them would be much like the skipper of the Lusitania saying goodbye to his pride and joy. But spinning the SPAD VII is pure delight. Of all the aircraft in our collection, the SPAD VII promotes the most confidence. It’s sheer ruggedness, it’s light positive controls, all contribute to make taking liberties with this aircraft absolute pleasure. With fly-through manoeuvres like the loop, I start at 135 mph, and halfway up I can either quit or got through with ball-bearing facility. It goes over nicely, but you see the flying wires slightly bowing all the way around. Generally I take a ‘G’ meter along and try to stay within 2 to 2 ½ G’s in manoeuvres with the old girls. Slow rolls are a combination of slow roll and aileron roll and come through nicely at 110 mph without enough altitude loss to upset the most stringent FAA flight examiner. Cuban 8’s are a combination of the above, Immelmann’s are effortless, as is quick changes of direction in the roll plane. It doesn’t turn as well as any of the Sopwith’s or Dr.1, but with lots of rudder and practice it can get round quite quickly. With the water temperature again rising in the warm air I got back into the pattern. A speed of 55 to 65 mph was adequate for the approach, and I touched wheels first on the concrete at about 48 mph. Holding the tail up with just enough power, I rolled onto the grass, immediately sucking the stick back and digging in the tail skid, and stopping in about 250 feet. Just flying these World War I airplanes straight and level isn’t enough, so when the opportunity arose to do a special film documentary, I got most of the WWI birds out for flight and evaluation. In limited combat I found the SPAD noticeably more manoeuvrable than the Se.5, better than the Pfalz D.XII and better in some respects than the Camel or Nieuport. With a height advantage the Dr.1 could even get close. The only serious contender was the Fokker D.VII. The SPAD is more limber than anything except the Camel, Triplane or Dr.1 and the engine is pure reliability. And with its high speed it will run away from anything except perhaps the Se.5, and loops and rolls are positive and comfortable. STATS: From “French Aircraft of the First World War” by Dr. James J/ Davilla and Arthur M. Soltan Empty Weight: 500kg (1102 lb) Loaded Weight: 705kg (1554 lb) Engine: 180 hp Hispano Suiza 8Ab Max Speed: 212 km/h (132mph) @ 2000m (6,561 feet); 204 km/h (127 mph) @ 3000m (9,842 feet); 200km/h (124 mph) @ 4000m (13,123 feet); 187 km/h (116 mph) @ 5000m (16,404 feet). Climb Rates: 4 minutes 40 seconds to 2000m (6,561 feet); 8 minutes 10 seconds to 3000m (9,842 feet); 12 minutes 49 seconds to 4000m (13,123 feet). Ceiling: 6,553m (21,499 feet) Endurance: 1 hour 30 minutes Armament: one 7.7mm Vickers mg No’s Built: Approx 3,500 SPAD VII’s of all versions

Extract from the book "Flying The Old Planes" by Frank Tallman, 1973. Have you ever looked at the lines of a plane and from experience known instinctively that it will be all you expect? Such a plane is the British Se.5. It’s appearance reminds one of the British bulldog: sturdy, short, not beautiful but honest and dependable. As you take it from the hanger the first thing to check is the radiator. It is adequate under most normal conditions, but it should be full. Next pull the undercowl by releasing the piano hinges, reach in, and with a wrench unscrew the oil plugs in the case. Staring from the top plug, to check the oil. Check your fuel tanks – the main tank is in front of the pilot. Then the leader tank, which is actually the leading edge of the centre section. Now walk around the Se, paying particular attention to the exhaust stacks, the shock cord, and the landing gear fittings, your dual set of flying and landing wires and, most particularly, the tail surfaces, with their bracing wires underneath and above. On your way to the flight line you would notice that in manually lifting the tail of the Se.5, it is light in comparison with many other WWI aircraft. This is primarily due to the landing gear being set rearward, almost even with the leading edge of the wing. This was a source of embarrassment to some, occasionally causing nose-overs when landing and taking off. Climbing in to the Se.5 make sure to swing you leg well clear of the exhaust pipe, which extends past the cockpit coaming. Your hand falls easily to the circular spade joystick. The rudder bar is set off the floor and has a top for your foot so that it cannot slip off when the plane is inverted. Oddly the throttle and mixture are set on the right on a little shelf (rather than the left as in almost all other aircraft), and the mixture control when full open is to the rear when your throttle at the same time goes forward! All Hisso engines have to be loaded up with throttle back and switch off and the propeller moved back and forth until you get some fuel overflow. Check carefully to see your gas valve is on. When ‘contact’ is called and the prop is swung “clear”, rotate the booster mag handle, and the engine will catch and start easily with a nice gentle rumble. It idles nicely below 500 rpm. After allowing the water temperature to rise and checking oil pressure mags, you’re clear to go. The heart-lifting thrill of shoving the throttle forward is never lost, at least to me, and it was there as I pushed forward the control of the Se.5. The tail levelled almost instantly. Because the propeller is slow-turning (about 1500 rpm on take-off), you have no appreciable torque and very little engine noise. The Se.5 was airborne in 246 feet, and could have gotten off somewhat sooner if required. You have a nice positive feel, and you are climbing out at about 75 to 80 mph with a rate of climb approaching 900 feet per minute. Straight and level at 3,000 feet, I noticed slight tail heaviness, even with the trim tab wheel forward. The cockpit is roomy by WWI standards; comfortable, with fine visibility and very little wind flow. Wide open I was indicating 127 mph and 1650 rpm at 3,000 feet. Settling back to cruise, I locked my belt and brought the stick back for a stall. It pays off gently, but with a sharp right wing drop at an indicated 52 mph. Invariably, in a stall, the right wing dropped. I tried a spin – one turn nicely, cleanly to the right; unfortunately, it would only spiral to the left and, I believe sensibly, I did not try to force it in. with any aircraft over fifty years old I eat a little raw heart with aerobatics, for no matter how careful you check it, anything can fatigue in this length of time. Being careful to keep heavy stick pressures out of my work, I pulled up into vertical reverses in both directions, an it held on nicely and reversed well with rudder. Looping at 135 mph went well but got slightly soft at the top, where I was indicating 60 mph, but it came through without my hanging on the belt. Cuban 8’s went well, but the engine spewed fuel out on my descending half roll and cut out for a period of four seconds. It slow rolls nicely to the left, but you need 115 mph to carry you through for the time the engine cuts out. Unfortunately, in rolling to the right it resists strongly, and you get a roll that is impossible to do smoothly and takes much time. Flick rolls or snap rolls were nice to the right at 85 mph, but completely impossible to the left, for it stalls straight forward and will not snap with any combination of stick and rudder movements. Controls are positive but slightly heavy, and even with low ‘G’ manoeuvres the stick force required makes one feel the effort. To throw the Se.5 around with abandon would require a fit young man with muscle. Especially for any length of time or at high altitude. Entering the traffic pattern I circled as I waited for the green light. Once it flashed I started a gentle turn into my grass area, holding about 75 to 80 mph indicated. By now the strangeness of flying with my left hand and using the throttle with my right was gone. Like all early aircraft the Se.5 pays off very quickly, and in attempting to check my touchdown speed on the airspeed indicator I bounced but caught it with stick and a little rudder. It indicated about 54 mph. The rudder was quite positive and the steerable tailskid is one of the few WWI planes so equipped, making taxiing very easy. ========================================================================== STATS: From “British Aeroplanes 1914 – 1918” by J. M. Bruce Se.5 Empty Weight: 1,406 lbs (638 kg) Loaded Weight: 1,940lbs (879 kg) Engine: 150 hp Wolseley-built Hispano Suiza Max Speed: 120 mph (193 km/h) @ 6,500 feet (1981m); 116 mph (187 km/h) @ 10,000 feet (3048m); 105 mph (169 km/h) @ 15,000 feet (4572m) Climb Rates: 5 minutes 35 seconds to 5,000 feet (); 7 minutes 50 seconds to 6,500ft ( 1981m); 13 minutes 40 seconds to 10,000 feet (3048m); 29 minutes 10 seconds to 15,000 feet (4572m). Ceiling: 17,000 feet (5182m) Endurance: 2 ½ hours Armament: one fixed Vickers mg, one Lewis mg on a Foster mounting No’s Built: 5,205 of all types with 828 built in 1917 and 4,377 in 1918. In total 1,999 were sent to France. Se.5a Empty Weight: 1,580 lbs (716 kg) Loaded Weight: 2,034 lbs (922 kg) Engine: 200 hp Wolseley-built Hispano Suiza Max Speed: 132 mph (212 km/h) @ 6,500 feet (1981m); 128 mph (205 km/h) @ 10,000 feet (3048m); 115 mph (185 km/h) @ 15,000 feet (4572m) Climb Rates: 6 minutes 0 seconds to 6,500ft ( 1981m); 11 minutes 20 seconds to 10,000 feet (3048m); 22 minutes 55 seconds to 15,000 feet (4572m). Ceiling: 19,000 feet (5791m) Endurance: 2 1/4 hours Armament: one fixed Vickers mg, one Lewis mg on a Foster mounting No’s Built: 5,205 of all types with 828 built in 1917 and 4,377 in 1918. In total 1,999 were sent to France

I've just added some first hand accounts regarding the SE manoeuverability in the thread on "Flying The Old Planes" on that aircraft. Have a read and see what you think.

Here's another view of the ability of the SE 5 in a fight. Both are drawn from the classic book "Sagittarius Rising" by Cecil Lewis, and provide another perspective of the SE 5 performance - as well as the confidence that the aircraft engenders. Both are from when Lewis was serving with 56 Squadron, by which time he was a very experienced pilot on his second tour, and with several kills to his credit. Extract 1 Rumours of the new SE 5 with a 200 hp engine had been prevalent for some weeks, and at last the machine arrived. I was detailed to take it up on the test. I found it faster, and it climbed so well that, since it was a beautiful evening, I decided to find it's ceiling. At ten thousand feet the view was immense, England quartered on its northern perimeter. Oh to be home again. Just to be over England, even if one could not land! After all, why not? I turned north. At twenty thousand feet, Kent was below me. The faintest drift of blue smoke from the chimneys of some country houses. There would be the scent of a wood fire down there, far, far, far below. The wing-tips of the planes, ten feet away, suddenly caught my eye, and for a second the amazing adventure of flight overwhelmed me. Nothing between me and oblivion but a pair of light linen-covered wings and the roar of a 200-h.p. engine! There was the fabric, bellying slightly in the suction above the plane, the streamlined wires, taut and quivering, holding the wing structure together, the three-ply body, the array of instruments, and the slight tremor of the whole aeroplane. I looked long at the island below me, then shut off the engine, and in one long, unbroken glide swept back to France. I came over St. Omer at about five thousand feet and saw a back-staggered scout circling the aerodrome. I turned to have a look. When I came close, I saw it was one of the new Sopwith Dolphins. I plunged down on its tail as a challenge for a scrap. This new SE I was flying would be more than a match for anything in the sky. The reader will not take it amiss if I say that by this time I was a fairly competent pilot. I could do every stunt then invented with ease and style. I admitted none to be my superior in the handling of an aeroplane. So I confess I dived on the Dolphin with the intention of showing him just how and aeroplane should be flown in a fight, sitting on his tail for a bit and then, when it was quite obvious I had killed him ten times over, coming up alongside, waving him a gracious good-bye and proceeding to my aerodrome. But it didn't work out a bit like that. The Dolphin had a better performance than I realised. He was up in a climbing turn and on my tail in a flash. I half rolled out of the way, he was still there. I sat in a tight climbing spiral, he sat in a tighter one. I tried to climb above him, he climbed faster. Every dodge I had ever learnt I tried on him: but he just sat there on my tail, for all the world as if I had been towing him behind me. Who was the fellow anyway? What was it coming to when test pilots at Aircraft Depots could put it over a crack pilot of 56? The Dolphin shut off and dropped to the carpet. I followed. We jumped out of our machines. I seemed to recognise the spare figure crossing towards me. He lifted his goggles. It was Patrick! "Well, Lewis," he said, as we shook hands, laughing, "I see your still learning to fly?" (Patrick was the O.C of the testing and ferry pilots at Marquise in March 1916 when Lewis first arrived in France on his first tour). Extract 2 A Wing of French machines had been sent up from the south to operate in the Dunkerque area. In order to familarise the French pilots with all types of British aircraft operating in the sector (so they might not shoot down friendlies by mistake), a machine from every British Squadron was sent over for the French pilots to see. I was detailed to take over an SE. The French flew SPADS, a neat low-winged biplane, and it's leader was the famous French ace, Guynemer. He had three aircraft, a standard SPAD VII, a high compression SPAD and a larger special machine (SPAD XII) made by the same firm with a 200-h.p. Hispano engine fitted with a cannon. A race was held between the two special SPAD's and the SE 5. Their speeds were almost identical, but the high-compression SPAD climbed quicker. After the race was over, Guynemer and I held a demonstration combat over the aerodrome. Again I was badly worsted. Guynemer was all over me. In his hands the SPAD was a marvel of flexibility. In the first minute I should have been shot down a dozen times. Nothing I could do would shift that grim-looking French scout off my tail. Guynemer sat there, at about thirty yards range, perfectly master of the situation. In self-justification, I feel I must add that both the Sopwith Dolphin and the SPAD were more manoeuverable than the SE 5. So that, given equal flying ability, they would win. Given Guynemer's still greater skill, the SE 5 was right out of it. At last we came down, landed, shook hands, and went into the Mess to drink sweet wine and eat sugar cakes. Only a week later Guynemer was shot down and killed. To be fair to the SE the above combats are not necessarily the way to fight the SE 5. And although they do portray a fairly accurate comparison in head to head combat, it would not have been the way Lewis would have fought in the real kill or be killed arena. The SE is not the sort of aircraft to get in close and dogfight with, unlike more nimble aeroplanes like the Tripe, Pup and Camel. As Lewis describes several times in his book combat was more a case of using height, climb rate and speed to out manoeuver your opponent, so as to drop on him when he was at a disadvantage. "A pilot would go down on the tail of a Hun, hoping to catch him in the first burst; but he would not be wise to stay there, for another Hun would almost certainly be on his tail hoping to gte him in the same way. Such fights were really a series of rushes, with momentary pauses to select the next opportunity - to catch the enemy at a disadvantage, or seperated from his friends." The same approach is described several times in McCudden's marvellous book "Flying Fury". The SE's strength, like the SPAD, is better suited to the vertical than the horizontal, and woe betide anyone foolish enough to fight otherwise.

Yeah, I really do think that the SPAD is one of the very few aircraft in OFF that is sadly undermodelled. It's heavy and sluggish, and doesn't react well in any plane of manoeuver. Yet Frank sings it's praise in lightness of control forces, it's responsiveness to control input and the ease and surety with which manoeuvers are conducted. The SPAD VII is still very much a fighter that performs best in the vertical, given it's wonderful speed, roll rate, ruggedness in the dive and sterling climb rate. And while turn is not in the league of such nimble aircraft as the Nieuport 17, Camel, Dr.1 and Fokker D.VII, it should (I believe) be similar to that of the Se.5/a and Pfalz D.III; although not quite as good as the Albatross D.III/V.

Flying The Old Planes - Part 2: SPAD VII Extract from the book "Flying The Old Planes" by Frank Tallman, 1973. The tongue-twisting mouthful of Societe pour Aviation et Ses Derives were the manufacturers of the SPAD, and it was Louis Becherau, the designer of the pre-war Gordon Bennet winning Deperdussin monoplane, who carried his ideas for speed and ruggedness into this new concept of fighter. The choice of the superb Hispano Suiza powerplant was an innovation for its day. Becherau had decided that the days of rotaries were numbered. Gyroscopic force and the unreliability of rotaries had combined to make the choice of a Hisso an imaginative but eminently proper one. Starting with the 140 hp Hispano-Suiza, Becherau gradually increased the horsepower with different engine models of 150, 180 and finally 200 hp. The ruggedness of the SPAD was refreshing to the French squadrons, and it could readily make a tiger out of an Escadrille pilot who in flying Nieuports in combat often waited for the weakly designed wing to take leave. Early models had a weakness with unreliable carburettor’s and cooling problems, but once that was overcome the SPAD came to epitomise the word reliable. One other fault, later to be corrected with the SPAD XIII, was the single Vickers gun. The SPAD construction was, of course, predominately wood, and it never ceases to surprise me that in this First World War period such large quantities of spruce, veneers and ply’s were available to both the Allies and the Germans. The radiator, being brass, lead, aluminium and some steel, weighs enough to require a forklift or nine graduates of a Charles Atlas weightlifting class; and, of course, behind it is a water-cooled V8 which, while light for it’s day, weighs more than most modern-day air-cooled engines of a similar size. Like most of the aircraft of the time the SPAD VII ha d a square longeron fuselage covered in the engine area with aluminium, and the oval-shaped fuselage was formed with light veneer and stringers. The tail surfaces were wooden and used a comfort making strut for additional rigidity on the fixed portion of the elevators. In the 180 hp and the 200 hp SPAD VII’s, they used a rudder with an additional midsection bulge like the belt line of a beer salesman, and this was supposed to take care of the additional torque of the larger engines. I have always flown our SPAD with the smaller straight-sided surface, and have had no rudder problems in the air or on the ground. The wings of the SPAD were a thin French wingspan made with two routed spars and built-up ribs. Wings and tail section all had a typical wire-formed scalloped trailing edge. The SPAD has an airfoil that gives a good climb (but awful glide characteristics), while the Se.5, according to the historians, was better acrobatically. Having flown the SPAD and the SPAD XIII as well as the Se.5 extensively, if I were in combat I would choose the SPAD VII. With no dihedral and quite light control forces, I found that the SPAD did not require the high perspiration count to throw it about that the heavier Se.5 required. SPAD’s had push-pull rod-controlled ailerons; this was a real innovation, and it contributes greatly to the light feel and quick response of the aircraft. Before flight, we had to set the plane in level-flight position and fill the header tank first, then the radiator, to eliminate (as much as possible) the steam-provoking air bubbles due to operating the SPAD in a much warmer, and dryer, climate than what it was designed for. Once in position for take-off I turned the fuel-on switch off, and we went through the procedure that is necessary to start a Hisso. It includes checking if the fuel pump is operative. We also rock the propeller until fuel spills from the carburettor; then with contact, the pilot madly spins the booster coil and the mechanic flips the prop backward. It kicks forward and catches, and the Hisso rumbles nicely as the pressure and temperature rise. Because of the long exhaust stacks the engine is extremely quiet, and it’s easy to hold a conversation by the cockpit without shouting. Pointing the SPAD into the wind I pour the coal on. Instantly the tail is up, and I have complete rudder control. I am off the ground and climbing in about 150 feet. Best climb speed is around the 60 to 65 mph. The push-pull ailerons are delightful, and the response is equal to or exceeds that of any of the WWI aircraft I have flown, including the Fokker D.VII; which is the best of the rest. The Hisso idles beautifully, and power-off stalls occur at 47 mph, with a positive and quick nose drop. Like all WWI aircraft the control throw of the joystick is long, and adds to the challenge of maintaining a smooth coordinated flight until one gets used to it. Rarely do I spin the World War One airplanes. If they are out of rig and you can’t recover, having to leave them would be much like the skipper of the Lusitania saying goodbye to his pride and joy. But spinning the SPAD VII is pure delight. Of all the aircraft in our collection, the SPAD VII promotes the most confidence. It’s sheer ruggedness, it’s light positive controls, all contribute to make taking liberties with this aircraft absolute pleasure. With fly-through manoeuvres like the loop, I start at 135 mph, and halfway up I can either quit or got through with ball-bearing facility. It goes over nicely, but you see the flying wires slightly bowing all the way around. Generally I take a ‘G’ meter along and try to stay within 2 to 2 ½ G’s in manoeuvres with the old girls. Slow rolls are a combination of slow roll and aileron roll and come through nicely at 110 mph without enough altitude loss to upset the most stringent FAA flight examiner. Cuban 8’s are a combination of the above, Immelmann’s are effortless, as is quick changes of direction in the roll plane. It doesn’t turn as well as any of the Sopwith’s or Dr.1, but with lots of rudder and practice it can get round quite quickly. With the water temperature again rising in the warm air I got back into the pattern. A speed of 55 to 65 mph was adequate for the approach, and I touched wheels first on the concrete at about 48 mph. Holding the tail up with just enough power, I rolled onto the grass, immediately sucking the stick back and digging in the tail skid, and stopping in about 250 feet. Just flying these World War I airplanes straight and level isn’t enough, so when the opportunity arose to do a special film documentary, I got most of the WWI birds out for flight and evaluation. In limited combat I found the SPAD noticeably more manoeuvrable than the Se.5, better than the Pfalz D.XII and better in some respects than the Camel or Nieuport. With a height advantage the Dr.1 could even get close. The only serious contender was the Fokker D.VII. The SPAD is more limber than anything except the Camel, Triplane or Dr.1 and the engine is pure reliability. And with its high speed it will run away from anything except perhaps the Se.5, and loops and rolls are positive and comfortable. ========================================================================= STATS: From “French Aircraft of the First World War” by Dr. James J/ Davilla and Arthur M. Soltan Empty Weight: 500kg (1102 lb) Loaded Weight: 705kg (1554 lb) Engine: 180 hp Hispano Suiza 8Ab Max Speed: 212 km/h (132mph) @ 2000m (6,561 feet); 204 km/h (127 mph) @ 3000m (9,842 feet); 200km/h (124 mph) @ 4000m (13,123 feet); 187 km/h (116 mph) @ 5000m (16,404 feet). Climb Rates: 4 minutes 40 seconds to 2000m (6,561 feet); 8 minutes 10 seconds to 3000m (9,842 feet); 12 minutes 49 seconds to 4000m (13,123 feet). Ceiling: 6,553m (21,499 feet) Endurance: 1 hour 30 minutes Armament: one 7.7mm Vickers mg No’s Built: Approx 3,500 SPAD VII’s of all versions

I think it's safe to assume that Frank Tallman isn't comparing the turn circle or turn rate of the SPAD to be the equal of the Camel, Tripe or Dr.1. What he is talking about is maneuverability in general - of which turn is only one factor. Maneuverability also includes roll rate, climb rate, dive speed, loops, spins (and recovery) and every other variation of aerobatics. I gained the impression from the article that what impressed Frank the most with the SPAD in regards to maneuverability is the lightness of control and responsiveness. The aircraft in the Tallman collection were originals - no modern parts or materials. Which is the reason why is so careful in loading up the aircraft with 'G'. The SPAD he flew had a standard 180 hp Hispano Suiza engine, no modern engines for him. Which makes his comments all the more impressive.

Glad the explanation was of some help to you Hellshade.

One of my most treasured books is "Flying The Old Planes" by Frank Tallman. Published in 1973 Frank describes flying original WWI aircraft in marvellous detail. Given that not everyone would have read this book I thought I would reproduce sections that relate to our era of interest. This is the first of several posts. Frank, who along with Paul Mantz fomed Tallmantz Aviation, was famous as a stunt pilot for Hollywood and a collector of rare and vintage aircraft. Paul was killed in 1965 on the film set for 'Flight of the Phoenix'. Frank died in 1978 while delivering a Piper Aztec. In bad weather, with a lowering ceiling and rain, he struck the side of Santiago Peak in the Santa Ana Mountains near Trabuco Canyon. RIP. Certainly the loveliest racehorse lines of all the WWI aircraft belonged to the Nieuport 28, and like the beautiful thoroughbred it resembles, it also had real speed and agility. Gustave Delage was the chief designer of the extensive series of Nieuport aircraft. Yet in spite of the efficient designs, many models had intrinsic weaknesses. The N.28 is no exception. The sewn cover seams on the wing lay so spanwise, approximately ten inches back on the upper surface of the wing. Even in those relatively early years of aviation the area’s of life on a wing were known, and this major error in manufacturing, tied to an airplane quite capable of exceeding two hundred miles per hour in a dive, culminated in many an accident. Consequently the ‘28’ series, good in so many other respects, was never as popular as the sturdy SPAD’s. The ‘28’ was constructed with a real mix of materials; wood spars with built-up wood ribs, plywood leading edge, turn buckles by the barrowload, streamline tubing for the landing gear, ‘I’ beam steel tubing in the centresection, paired with light aluminum and wooden outer wing struts and a pressed-cardboard cover (tulip wood strips) from the engine cowling to the rear of the cockpit area. After a general inspection we face the aircraft into the wind and chock it. The single lever controlling fuel air mixture is retarded while the gas is on and the propeller pulled through. The dual ignition switch is off, and the coupe (cut-out) button on the top of the stick is depressed for added safety. There is fair compression necessitating a strong mechanic to pull through the prop. The 160h.p. Gnome starts without priming and with a real bark. With the appearance of spattered castor oil on the leading edge of the wing we know we re oiling and ready for takeoff. With the chocks pulled and the Gnome winding up it’s like a Clydesdale pulling, so strong is the old engines power. I know of no other aircraft except the Boeing F4B that has such complete and instant response. The tail is up in 15 feet of forward roll, and the rudder is needed to overcome torque, though the actual torque is nothing like the hair-raising fables of WWI-type pulp magazines. With its short wingspan, it bounces off the surface in about 220 feet. Wow! The climb is spectacular, and a steep-climbing turn gives not the tiniest evidence of payoff. In flight, the most noticeable fact of the N.28 is that the big Gnome gives off heat like a cast-iron stove in a New England country winter. Great of you were flying over cold Europe, but hot as hell over sunny Cal. Climb is in the order of 1,200 feet a minute, and stalls are straightforward unless one uses full back elevator. Given the dubious seamstress work on the top wing, and in recognition of the aircraft’s advanced age, most of my aerobatics are done with ‘G’ loads in the order of 2 to 3, and with some timidity on my part. The N.28 loops beautifully, and with the exception of offset rudder at the top (to counteract torque), it might as well be on rails. I start the loop in a gentle dive of 120 mph, and there is an immense sense of thrust from the big Gnome as it pulls you up and over. Slow rolls are smooth, and you don’t need forward stick to hold the nose up, just unshakable faith, for the engine quits and doesn’t come back again for about 15 seconds. With that short wingspan the N.28 excels in quick changes of direction, and that big positive rudder really swings the nose around in turns. No other aerobatics were tried, but the plane picks up speed like a pig on a greased slope, and you can comfortably get 200 mph without too much of a dive. Like almost all WWI planes a nose high forward slip with this plane can kill off speed and yet give you some idea of clearance in your landing area. In the N.28 this is even more necessary, because with the Vickers guns in the staggered position your vision on the port side in a standard field pattern is quite limited. With it’s short wings the N.28 pays off fast, and you had better be close to the ground in nay three-point attitude. But thanks to the graceful and generous rudder, you don’t have to make the rudder correction on landing that you do with the SPAD and the Fokker D.VII. The apparent touchdown speed is between 48 and 50 mph. The skid takes hold quickly, and drags to a stop in about 300 feet. =================================================================== STATS: From “French Aircraft Of World War One”, by Dr. James J. Davilla and Arthur M. Soltan. Empty Weight: 456kg (1,005 lb) Loaded Weight: 698kg (1,539 lb) Max Speed: 198 km/h (123mph) @ 2,000m (6,560 feet) Climb: 5.5 minutes to 2,000m (6,560 feet) Ceiling: 5,180m (16,998 feet) Endurance: 1 hour 30 minutes Armament: two .303 Vickers mg’s No’s Built: 310, of which 297 were delivered to the American Air Service.