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REAL AVIATION TALES

The following article was written by my Father some 30 odd years ago. I have retyped it exactly as he wrote it and it is reproduced with kind permission from my mother. Further reproduction can only be made with this editor’s consent, DAV191-Charlie.

“Allow five minutes to lower the gear”

“Good morning Gordon, Vic. Where are we bound for today?” This is called “Oneupmanship” by Stephen Potter. I knew very well that we were due to fly to Toronto via Manchester with, if the Westerlies were strong enough to demand one, a tech stop in Gander. Gordon was First Officer and Vic the Flight Navigator.
“Manchester and Toronto, skipper,” said Vic. “What fuel shall we put on for Manch? I have the weather.”
The Captain has several decisions to take early on in any voyage, the fuel required being an important one, and for long flights even critical. For this very short sector it proved to be vital for a crew of 10 and 110 passengers.
Fuel uplift depends on several things: landing weight at destination, take off weight on departure [both of these can be limiting factors] and the amount of fuel required for the flight time of that sector [this is known as the burn off], holding fuel, diversion fuel and fuel for any other contingency, which is sometimes called “Mum’s Fuel”.
Fuel for short sectors is usually pre-calculated to take all these factors into account, and the result is a Standard Uplift. A Boeing 707 burns on average 7 1/2 tons of fuel an hour [we do not talk in gallons] and consequently gets rapidly lighter as it flies along, so less and less fuel is burnt as time goes by to keep it in the air.
It is a mistake to shove on lots of fuel for Mum, because that makes the machine too heavy to carry that fuel economically. More power is required at heavier weights, so more fuel is consumed – a veritable vicious circle.
The Standard fuel on board from Gatwick to Manchester is 35,000 lbs. I really do not know why, but on this particular day, I decided to increase the fuel on board to 50,000 lbs. Maybe it was because it would not need quite such an uplift in Manchester to tank up for the ocean crossing that would save precious time on the turnaround. We were to pick up another 79 passengers [pax in the vernacular] in Manch to make up a full load of 189 for Toronto [YYZ ditto].
For whatever reason, and prepared to accept the wrath of the Fuel Control Unit [extra fuel was NOT popular], 50,000 lbs of best kerosene was bunged on board. We did all the rest of our little chores, and preceded out to the aircraft the regulation 45 minutes prior to departure to join George, the Flight Engineer, who was already doing his checks.
Pax were boarded, load sheet signed, and all the familiar litany of pre-start, start, taxi, and before take-off checks completed. Cleared for take-off, off we took on the 30 minute flight to Manch.
Now London has a one-way aerial traffic system, a sort of roundabout in the sky, and one has to go East then North before turning North West for Manchester. Just after we passed a radio beacon called Brookman’s Park, climbing to 25,000 ft to Manchester, George the Engineer called out that his hydraulic contents gauge was dropping fast, and that one of the engine driven hydraulic pumps lights had come on.
Shortly after that the other light came on, and we knew that we had a hydraulic leak somewhere, and therefore no “Utility System”, as it is called. Aircraft designers being clever chaps, all systems have back-up systems, and most contingences are allowed for. Two electrical pumps, not as powerful as the engine driven variety, supply the back-up to the hydraulics, and are known as the Auxiliary System. Aux Pump #1 can be connected to the main system, but aux pump #2 cannot, It supplies it’s own parts of the aircraft, such as rudder boost, spoilers and nose wheel steering. More of this anon, but at the time of the original failure, it was just a straightforward check-list exercise, and applying the appropriate emergency drills, which we practised “ad nauseam” in the flight simulator, and occasionally for real in the air.
As we started our descent into Manchester, we told them that we had a hydraulic failure, and we would appreciate a longish downwind leg. This was to allow time to extend the landing gear manually by means of a sort of starting handle shaped thing that fitted into slots under the floor of the flight deck, and unlocking the wheels by means of a system of cables and pulleys thus allowing them to free fall under the influence of gravity. Turning the starting handle the other way then inserts the locking pin. Each one is done separately starting with the nose wheel. {CG note: The same sort of Boeing system seen in the film Memphis Belle}.
It says in the relevant emergency checklist:- “Allow five minutes for manual extension of the gear”. It also calls for a degree of physical strength on the part of the Flight Engineer, and always works in the simulator.
Anyway, we left Congleton radio beacon on the north-east heading given by Manchester Radar, and started on the field approach checks, item 6 of which is the aforementioned manual lowering of the wheels – two for the nose wheel and four for each main bogey [or truck, as the Americans call them]. George had his starting handle at the high port. I slid my seat forward to enable him to get a swing at the nose wheel lowering device under it’s little flap in the flight deck floor and “off we jolly well”. George inserted the handle after raising the flap door, and cranked away to unlock the nose wheel.
From this moment on, things did not quite go according to plan. He found that he could only turn the handle half as much as that required before it jammed. It had obviously managed to unlock the wheels and the leg from it’s up position, because a frightful banging and crashing ensued, and the whole aircraft started to shake and vibrate.
Our flight deck indicator showed the nose wheel to be unlocked [as if we hadn’t guessed], but certainly was not green for down. How far down had gravity taken the wretched thing?
There is, below the flight deck of a 707, a compartment which is filled with black electronic boxes and the nose wheel assembly. It is called Lower 41, and can be entered from inside and out side the aircraft.
George muttering that, it was never like this in the simulator, opened the hatch and descended into Lower 41. There he found that the leg had extended to about 45 degrees [not enough] and the doors which open and shut during normal operation were flapping about, and probably hitting the fuselage. When they were up they were up and when they were down they were down, but when they were only half way up they did not know what to do.
Our first concern was to get the leg extended, and to stop the infernal banging and vibration, which had already brought us a visit from the No 1 Hostess. Hasty consultation between the four of us. Without going into technicalities, we tried one solution without success, and as we didn’t know and had no means of finding out where the leak in the system was, thought that it was a shot to connect No 1 aux pump to the system, and hope that the Aux pressure would blow the leg down. Well, it didn’t – and in 1½ seconds we had lost the 3.8 gallons of auxiliary hydraulic fluid. We now had no hydraulic systems at all, an event not covered by any emergency checklist, a half lowered nose wheel, and lots and lots of red and amber warning lights to tell us what wasn’t working any more. In addition to the free fall emergency system, the nose wheel can also be lowered using a great long lever sort of thing called a Johnson bar, which works on a spring and ratchet and pawl principle.
“George, we must stop this vibration, go down to Lower 41 and use the Johnson bar.”
George used to be a Paratrooper, and is very tough and strong. He needed to be. He got the nose wheel down using this rather dangerous implement [if the ratchet/pawl didn’t hold, the lever could swing forward under the tension of the spring and woe betide anything in it’s way] and, sweat pouring off him, he reappeared on the flight deck to get the crash axe.

Q: “What do you want that thing for?”
A: “To bash in the locking pin.”

Ah well, we now had a green light for the nose wheel, which was irretrievably down, and the vibration, etc., had stopped.
With no hydraulics, wheels can be lowered by hand, as it were, but not retracted. This little performance had taken us 15 minutes – just one wheel. What about the others?
Whilst all this was going on, I had handed the flying over to Gordon, and told the passengers that we were experiencing a spot of bother getting the wheels down. Nothing to worry about [Bang, Crash]. I would keep them informed and so on. I also told the Number one Hostess and Manchester radar that we had a slight problem [in the best traditions of, but to a much smaller degree than, Apollo 13], and requested that we be given radar steers to keep us clear of other traffic, but in reasonably close proximity to Ringway airport. Just in case. They were superb.
I was also in contact with our company at Manchester on the company frequency, using the other VHF set. I wondered if I should use one of my feet to crack walnuts.
“All right George, now for the main gear – let’s try the starboard one first.”
George, wielding his handle, set about lowering the starboard gear, assisted this time by Vic the Nav, who was to use his foot to boost the last bit of travel.
Our indicator on the panel went “red”, unlocked and in travel. Perhaps it would help the reader if I explained the undercarriage warning system in our 707, lightwise.
There are in all five oblong door shaped lights, two on top and three below [CG note: Fig 1 is from FS9, the lettering and colouring are the same, just imagine 2 on top and the 3 underneath as opposed to side by side]
The 2 lights illuminate red when:
a.] Any one of the undercarriage doors is locked neither up or down. This light reads DOOR. OR:
b.] Any one of the three main landing gears is unlocked, and is in travel to the either locked up or locked down position. This light reads GEAR.



Figure 1.

After our battle with the nose wheel we had (a) showing red, and so it remained [the doors don’t come up again without hydraulics], (b) out and (d) green. At this, the next stage in the game, we had (a) red, (b) red, (d) green and nothing for (e).
George and Vic really put some pressure on the handle, but no joy. When it locks down, the green light (e) comes on.

Q. “Will it lock down, George?”
A. “Not this way it won’t.” [puff, grunt]

As Spike Milligan would say: “Oh Dear, Oh Dear, LOTS of Oh Dears.” The situation was no longer funny at all.

Crisp order 1: “Vic, can we fly to Manston for a “foam” landing?”
Ditto 2: “Manchester, we may need a foam carpet landing – can you lay one on at Manston?” [South East of London]
Ditto 3: “George, go and make a visual inspection of the starboard gear.”
Ditto 4: “Gordon, carry on flying this beast, how does she handle?” [Like a hippo he says.]
Ditto 5: “Number one, we MAY have to do an emergency evacuation, brief the passengers and get them all seated up forrard, ready to use the two front doors.”
Ditto 6: “Company, we are experiencing difficulty with the emergency lowering system – have you any suggestions?”
“Wait one” was the reply.

Now, the two main gear legs can be inspected by rolling back the carpet in the aisle of the cabin and peering through two glass insert windows to see whether the red lines painted on the locking knuckles of the under-carriage legs coincide. George and Vic did this task, watched by the fascinated passengers, only to find that the windows were opaque with grime and dirt and they were unable to peer through them, at the state of the locks.
“Can we borrow a tissue luv, and a squirt of eau de Cologne if you happen to have one?” Bingo, a quick scrub and they could see. Nothing like it for scrubbing off the mud, thank you, passengers. Not that George and Vic liked what they could now see. Light bulbs are known to fail. George came back and said that there was a 6 inch discrepancy, and therefore the starboard leg was not locked down – the hole for the locking pin was not lined up with the pin that was supposed to enter it. Pin against metal, puff grunt as much as you like but nothing will happen.

Manchester: “RAF Manston cannot lay a foam carpet but RAF Leeming [North East of us] can, it will take 45 minutes, what are your intentions?”
Self: “Stand by.” Frantic look for the Leeming chart, how far from us, how long is the runway [7,500 ft].
Vic: “We have fuel remaining for about one hour of flight, Leeming is twenty minutes away and it will take them forty- five minutes to lay the foam, so if we decide in about fifteen minutes time, we might just make it.”

Thank you Vic, and thank you again for agreeing to that extra 15,000 lbs of fuel out of Gatwick. Without it, we would indeed have been in a mess. As it was, life was beginning to be quite interesting. The flying manual says that foam landings should not be attempted if there is “a one up and one down” situation – the starboard leg was definitely
not down, what about the port one?
The day is full of decisions. Rice Krispies or Corn Flakes? Let’s have a go at the port leg. The starboard one may come down in sympathy.

“George, have a go at the port one.”
“OK, we can’t be worse off.”

George and Vic had a go at the port main gear by the emergency system. Same result as they had had on the starboard one, exactly. Except that the two red marker lines were only two inches apart. A miss is as good as a mile. We now had a “green” nose wheel and two “red” main gears. Thirty odd minutes have now elapsed since we started our approach into Manchester, and I am seriously beginning to think about nasty things like: If we have to land wheels up [effectively] will we burn? [As the fuel tanks were now almost empty, I thought we would – air/fuel mixture is much more explosive than plain fuel.] Are the passengers in the best place if we do? Can we make Leeming? Can we stop in the 7,500 ft runway there? [I doubted this very much.] What else can we do to get the main bogeys to lock down? What can I tell the passengers? [Things had been dragging a bit.] And what do I tell Manchester and the company on the radio?
We asked for, and were given, a low pass at 300 ft over the control tower so that they could have a squint at us through binoculars.

Us: “What joy?”
Tower: “All your doors are hanging down, and we can see all three undercarriage legs.”
Us: “Another steer, please, we still have two reds”
Tower: “Make it 180 Sierra Lima – maintain 3,000 feet.”

In some aircraft you can “bounce” the wheels on the runway and thus achieve a lock, but with a geometric locking system [i.e. the lock is achieved over dead centre], the result is the splits and an expensive noise. So we could not apply “G” forces, but maybe sideways? This would involve yawing the aircraft to the left and right, by use of the rudder, so that the sideways flow of air would shove out the undercarriage enough to achieve a lock. There were no other options really, and our fuel state was getting alarmingly low. So we will try to “yaw” the wheels down: simplicity itself.
Short conference to explain the next move.
“I have control, Gordon, we will now apply left rudder to achieve a sideways force on the left undercarriage leg to get it to lock – I will warn the passengers”
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are experiencing a spot of trouble with getting the wheels down so that we can land. Your cabin crew have already briefed you for an emergency evacuation of the aircraft should it prove to be necessary. I am now going to do a couple of manoeuvres that you do not normally have to put up with in an airliner. Please stay strapped into your seats and do not be alarmed.”
“Manchester approach, please give us another radar steer so that we have about twenty nautical miles straight flight, and we may gain or loose a bit of height, say 500 ft either way. I will let you know about Leeming in about 5 minutes.”
We were now so marginal for fuel that we would have to land there long before the carpet would be completed.
“Company - I am going to try to lock the main bogeys by yawing. If that does not work I think that we are faced with a wheels up landing. Passengers have been briefed.”
“OK Gordon, here we go – stand by to help if she starts to Dutch-roll [corkscrew].”
I applied left rudder as hard as I could but I might have been pushing a battleship – nothing happened – no movement at all. Funny?
Ah, we have no hydraulics, and therefore no rudder boost [2,500 lbs of hydraulic pressure to assist the pilot to move that great barn door when he pushes the rudder pedal]. Now, the air, rushing past the rudder at 175 knots, made it very difficult to move [shove your hand outside a car doing 60 mph and you will see what I mean – the rudder is much bigger than the hand]. One or two things were on our side during this little flight to Manchester – the extra fuel, of course, and the fact that both George and Gordon were Tough Chaps. Gordon is somewhat similar in build to the Incredible Hulk.
“Gordon, to move this rudder will need both of us, but chiefly you. Left rudder, ready, steady, GO.”
Shove, puff and heave-ho. She moved, and the aircraft yawed. Four pairs of eyes were glued to that red light, four sets of fingers crossed, and probably legs as well. To our considerable delight, the light went green, “c” in figure 1.
Control the ensuing Dutch-roll and lets have a go at a yaw to the right. Same drill, and the same result, “e” went green. We now had all the wheels down, and a great sigh of relief sloshed round the flight deck.
“George, go and check the visual indicators, just to be sure.”
“Manchester, we now have three greens and would appreciate an approach as soon as possible. Please tell Leeming to stand-down – no foam. We are a little embarrassed for range.” [A euphemism for the fact that we are down to a sniff of fuel.”
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am sorry for the delay, we expect to land at Manchester in a few minutes.”
“Company, gear is down and locked, we shall be landing shortly and will require a tug to tow us in.”
“Roger Sierra Lima, tug on it’s way.”
We landed with enough fuel for another 15 minutes flying, which is a bit less than is customary, our emergency brakes stopped us on the runway, and never had anyone tasted quite such a good cup of tea as we consumed whilst being towed in [well, four stiff Scotches actually.]
I later spoke to the controller at Leeming on the phone to thank him for standing by with the foam carpet. Do you know, I think that he was quite disappointed not to have had to lay it.
Next day the Manchester papers carried the headline: “No panic in packed 707 jet”. Ah well, if only they knew.

FWSG


Footnote.
The figure given of 7 ½ tons of fuel consumed per hour, applies to cruising altitude flight. At 3,000 ft, it is over double that figure, in fact we usually burn about ½ ton taxiing out for take-off. That gorgeous extra 15,000 lbs!




Editor’s note
My father told me later that he would not have achieved this remarkable flying feat in any other aircraft but a Boeing. He went on to become the Chief Training Captain in the company [no names, no pack drill] and I can just see him now doing a Simulator check ride for some unfortunate crew finishing with, “Imagine you are fully established on runway 24L at Manchester when suddenly you loose all of your hydraulic fluid………….”