Text by: Iain Young (above). Images by: Keith Wilson

WHAT A privilege to be able to fly the Vulcan, that iconic symbol of the Cold War era. Everybody recognises its distinctive delta shape and air show crowds love its spirited displays and the wonderful sound of those four Olympus engines.

But even the most ardent enthusiasts did not expect that they would see a Vulcan flying again once they were retired by the Royal Air Force in the early 1990s. However, against all the odds Vulcan B Mk.2 XH558 (G-VLCN) has indeed flown again and we can look forward to its mighty presence on the air show circuit thanks to the efforts of the Vulcan to the Sky Trust, a dedicated band of enthusiasts based at Bruntingthorpe Airfield, in Leicestershire. But first the little matter of the Permit to Fly and the flight test programme that had to be completed to establish that this, the first ‘complex’ ex-military aircraft to be considered for civil approval in the UK, was in good shape prior to issue of that essential piece of paper.

So it was that I found myself at Bruntingthorpe conducting a survey of the Vulcan Operating Company’s (VOC) facilities and procedures, assessing the airfield’s suitability for large aircraft operations given its major use as a car proving ground, and meeting the crew for the first time.

Why? Because my employer, Marshall Aerospace, had been contracted by VOC two years earlier to act as ‘Prime Contractor and Engineering Authority’ and the aircraft would be flown under the company’s test flying approval. That meant I was to be responsible for all the operational aspects of the flight test programme and, in military fashion, would brief and authorise each flight.

Along with my colleague, flight trials manager, Dave Whitehead, I would supervise the test programme and collate data. More importantly, I would fly the aircraft to manage the test process and document the results. As I said earlier: What a privilege! So what is the Vulcan like close up? I had not had the opportunity to get close to a Vulcan during my RAF years and my first impressions as I entered the hangar at Bruntingthorpe were of the beautiful finish on all surfaces although she is not as big as I had expected. Sure, she is not exactly small, but not big, like a 747, more the size of the C130 Hercules that I fly at Cambridge.

There is plenty of wing area, of course, and a cavernous open bomb bay, but overall XH558 looks compact and purposeful in her lair and I could not wait to take a look inside. There are formalities to be observed before that. There are ejection seats and rear seat escape devices so Taff Stone, crew-chief and safety manager, insisted on a comprehensive safety brief and rigorous loose article check before I was allowed to climb in.

And I do mean climb in. There isn’t the luxury of a conventional door on this aircraft and the only access is the steep ladder into the belly of the airframe. I am glad that I am not carrying any flying kit on this first occasion. The first platform is more spacious than I expected and there is quite a bit of room to stow items of equipment. Electrical power was on so there was some lighting but it was not exactly bright and airy and the interior designers’ choice of matt black paint did not help.

Ahead of me was a narrow vertical ladder up to the cockpit but I left that for the moment and climbed on to the intermediate- level rear crew platform behind me. This is the original black hole where the air electronics officer (AEO) and two navigators used to go about their business. Three aft-facing seats are arranged side-by-side along a desk set across the fuselage and two of those face what is now a substantially blank wall as the radars have been consigned to the scrap bin.

The AEO’s area on the port side of the aircraft has more to look at with controls for electrical, hydraulic and auxiliary power pack systems and two of the three radios fitted to the aircraft.

One of the latter is provided by a Garmin 430 and this modern GPS and nav/com unit looks small and incongruous in this 1950’s setting. Taff shows me how the seats swivel, to allow the rear crew to get in and out more easily, and how a rapid-inflation cushion can provide escape assistance if g-forces are high enough to otherwise pin the occupants down.

Next I climbed to the cockpit. The ejection seats are about eight inches apart and wriggling through while ducking to avoid the low ceiling was not an elegant process; it becomes easier with practice I’m told. The seats are early models and look and feel similar to those I was familiar with in my early Jet Provost and Hawker Hunter days. They do not feel any more comfortable than I remember from those times and the cockpit designer definitely did not go in for wasted space. It is of the compact variety and the haphazard scatter of knobs, switches and gauges brings back yet more memories of those heady days when the UK aircraft industry was at the height of its powers and the word “ergonomic” had not been invented. The cockpit windows looked small from the outside but field of view did not look too bad from the inside and the pilot eye height of 17-foot (5 m) above ground is not particularly high by airline standards. Getting out was even less pretty but I eventually found my way to the ground and wondered how she might fly.

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