An excellent account has been written by one of America's leading aviation writers,
historians, and combat-aircraft experts, Jeff Ethell. Regrettably Jeff lost his life in
1997 while doing what he loved best, flying a World War II P-38 fighter. This text is
copyright 1995 to Jeff Ethell.
Flying a Spitfire
The symbol of Britain's refusal to give up during that dark summer of 1940, the
Spitfire won the hearts of both pilots and public in World War II. Regardless of the
version, with either Rolls-Royce Merlin or Griffon power, all Spitfire cockpits are
virtually identical and wonderfully compact. Climbing in really is (to use a very worn
turn of phrase) like pulling the machine on. If everything is done correctly, the Spitfire
is one of the easiest aircraft to start. The engine usually fires within two blades and
runs like a clock.
While the Merlin-engine versions run very smoothly, the larger Griffon-engine machines
feel as if they are angry. The sound from the exhaust stacks and the vibration transferred
to the seat of the pants communicates visceral power, almost a desire to go kill
something. Any hot-rod lover would enjoy this sensation of unbridled horsepower, this
impatience to be turned loose and hunt. Every fighter I've been in is great fun to fly but
only a very few are brutally straight about why they exist. The Griffon Spitfire is one
such machine.
With enough warmth in the coolant and oil, a flip of the parking brake catch releases
the brake lever on the spade control grip and the aircraft is taxiing with minimal power.
The first time I had the opportunity to fly a British aircraft with this hand operated air
brake system I was sceptical about it being very effective compared to hydraulic toe
brakes. Within a very few minutes I was completely won over. It is far easier to manage,
particularly on run up when one has to really stand on most American fighter rudder
pedals. The source of high-pressure air is controlled by the brake lever on the spade
control grip, or stick. The rudder pedals modulate the distribution of pressure to the
left and right main wheel brakes. If the pedals are even, equal braking is applied to both
sides; as one rudder pedal is applied then more brake pressure is fed to that side.
Strength of application is delivered by the hand lever on the grip. The major benefit to
all this is having one's feet and legs almost completely relaxed most of the time.
Lining up for take-off is intimidating with that Rolls-Royce engine sticking way out
in front. There is no sense in thinking too much about it. Throttle up slowly to prevent a
lurch to the right (if in a Griffon Spit where the propeller turns the opposite direction
from American aircraft)...left foot moves forward almost in concert with the left hand to
keep the nose straight. Monster torque shoves the right wing down rapidly, very much like
the P-40, until full left aileron and full (give or take a minuscule amount) left rudder
is held. The Rolls is a wounded dragon bellowing horrendously.
There is so much raw power and noise, and you are so tightly focused on keeping
everything under control, the actual lift-off at around 90 kts goes by almost unnoticed.
Switch hands, move the gear lever down to disengage it from the slot, inwards through the
gate and then smartly all the way forward, hold momentarily, then let go. If all is well,
the lever snaps outwards through the upper gate, then springs back into the upper slot.
Its easy to spot a new Spitfire pilot...the aircraft porpoises as the pilot changes hands
and works the gear lever.
Sitting behind this demon V-12 churning out so much power is intoxicating...the earth
falls away at a rapid rate, at least for something with a propeller. A look around reveals
the excellent visibility out of the bubble canopy. This lessens, to a degree, the
impression of being buried within a Spitfire, though that feeling of being a part of the
machine does not change. The elevator is very light while the rudder is stiff and the
ailerons even more so. Every Spitfire I've flown takes a bit more muscle to roll than most
fighters. As speed increases both rudder and ailerons get heavier, resulting in a curious
mismatch at high speed...one has to handle the almost oversensitive elevators with a light
fingertip touch while arm-wrestling the stiff ailerons. Pilots had to keep this in mind
during combat, particularly when going against the FW 190 which had a sterling rate of
roll and exceptionally well harmonised controls. That being said, the aircraft is very
well balanced and delightful to manoeuvre. Whipping a Spit around the clouds ranks right
up there at the top of aviation's great experiences.
The aircraft stalls like a Piper Cub. Though a wing tends to drop, there isn't the
slightest mean streak in it unless you cob the power, which produces a very violent torque
roll. Power off, gear and flaps down, main fuel tanks full, it stalls at 65 kts, which is
ridiculously slow. Add a slight bit of power and that drops to 60 kts. With that enormous
snout, I try to make a curving approach to landing at about 100 kts in order to keep the
runway in sight as long as possible. By the time I'm rolling out across the field
boundary, if at max landing weight, I should be no faster than 85 kts with power and 95
kts in a glide. At lighter weights these speeds can be reduced by 5 kts.
All Spitfires are exceptionally easy to land with no inherent tendency to swerve or
groundloop. Just reduce power to idle, flare to a three point attitude and she sets down
on a feather almost every time. This is a great surprise to most considering the narrow
track undercarriage and full swivel, non-locking tailwheel. Why doesn't it drop a wing
violently or make the pilot stomp on the rudders? I wish I knew. The genius of managing to
combine light aircraft characteristics with such high performance is nothing short of
miraculous compared to most other wartime tailwheel types. One or two landings in the
Spitfire and you are in love for life.
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