June 2015

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I hate the overuse of the word ‘ iconic’ but this year will be the last opportunity that you will have to see that iconic
symbol of the cold war airborne nuclear deterrent, the Vulcan, actually flying. There are several museums where
you can view one on the ground and two where they start the engines and taxy the aircraft but only one remains
airworthy - but, unfortunately, not for long, as airframe and engine life run out for good. So, an era ends and I
have been asked to pen a few personal reminiscences about my time flying in the mighty beast. Although I first
flew in one in 1966, it wasn’t until 1972 that my 6 year old daughter, Philippa, could say ‘My daddy flies in a beau-
tiful, big, noisy airplane’. I had just joined 617 Squadron, ‘The Dam Busters’, as a flight commander. Big she was,
and very beautiful to look at, especially in the air but, oh dear the accommodation left much to be desired. For the
two pilots there was a narrow cramped cockpit with a view like peering out of a letter box. For the rear crew, two
navigators and an air electronics officer, there was a smelly and cramped black hole with two occasional seats to
allow us to carry ground crew if necessary. There were two oval windows, above our heads but these were usual-
ly covered with blinds so that the radar screen could be seen clearly.
When the aircraft, and the other V-bombers, the Victor and Valiant, were introduced in the mid-fifties their role
was to fly as high as possible, around 50,000ft and at high speed, around Mach 0.90. By the mid-60s when the
primary nuclear deterrent was provided by nuclear submarines the Vulcan’s operational role was changed to low
level in order to avoid detection by enemy radar. This was our role in 1972. We could still carry a nuclear weapon
and had the capacity to carry 21 1000lb bombs and other specialised conventional weapons. The aircraft was
‘old’ technology, no fly-by-wire for the pilots
but rods and cables. No GPS or indeed any
digital equipment for the navigators. All of
our equipment was analogue which meant
all cogs, pulleys and tapes. We had radar,
some radio navigation aids, a terrain-
following radar and we still used the classic
aid of obtaining position lines, when flying
at high level, from the sun, moon, planets
and stars. The navigator radar used his
radar to obtain fixes and then release our
weapons on the correct target. The naviga-
tor plotter’s task was to ensure that the air-
craft followed the correct track to our desti-
nation, be it another airfield or a target with-
in certain tracking and timing criteria. The
AEO was responsible for communications
and the operation of our electronic counter-
measures.
Day to day routine flying was interspersed
with exercises of various sorts often involving four aircraft and their crews sitting at 15 minutes standby at the end
of the runway in preparation for a spectacular, almost simultaneous take-off with smoke belching from the air-
craft’s four Olympus 301 engines each with 20,000lb of thrust. Normally, in preparation for this, we were scattered
to dispersal airfields around the country. I can remember some very cold nights in Machrinhanish! We also had
regular detachments to Goose Bay in Canada where we had the opportunity to fly at low level over terrain similar
to that we might experience in our operational role. There were warmer breaks too with regular detachments to
Malta to fly low level NATO exercises over Italy and Greece.
All this seems so long ago. Well it is forty years and the memory dims. Unfortunately the public will soon no longer
have the chance to revive those memories, so do take the opportunity of going to one of the 2015 air shows
where Vulcan XH 558 ‘The Spirit of Great Britain’ can be seen and heard in one of its last eye-catching and ear-
shattering demonstrations. It’s an impressive sight.
The Vulcan 2015 display schedule is still being finalised and new dates are being added. Visit this website regu-
larly to see the latest plan as confirmed displays are added:
The Avro Vulcan
Some personal memories - Terry Hayward
The navigators’ station: “a smelly and cramped black hole”.