by Phil Delnon
Westland was in a hole: The F7/30 had been cancelled by the Air Ministry, the Cierva autogyro had been abandoned, and the P7 had been wrecked. The only aircraft left to develop was the Pterodactyl.
The rear-engined swept-wing biplane was hardly an orthodox prospect, yet offered possibilities which Penrose was eager to try. Several versions were proposed, including a seaplane variant. Meanwhile the existing version had been fitted with a powered four-gun turret over the rear cockpit, and was proving to have unique handling characteristics.
In the meantime there had been staff and management changes at Westland, and there was now less interest in the Pterodactyl. It was abandoned, and Penrose was to fly it to the RAE for storage. The Pterodactyl had its own ideas about that: on take-off the undercarriage bounced so much that it closed a cock in the cooling system. Penrose was able to land, but the engine seized solid. There was no replacement, so that was its last flight: it went to Farnborough in crates.
Penrose is bitter about the missed opportunity: at almost the same time as the Pterodactyl was being crated up, Professor Busemann in Germany was discovering the advantages of the swept-back wing in an experimental wind-tunnel delivering airflows of over 700mph. The way to supersonic flight was opening up, but neither Westland nor Penrose would be involved.
Indeed, the position at Westland was become so perilous that Penrose applied to a rival company, Airspeed. Loyalty prevailed, however, and he stuck it out at Westland. After a diffident start, the new boss was vigorously pushing forwards, and Westland was accepted to tender for an Army Co-operation aircraft: based on the ill-fated P7, it took ideas from successful glider configurations of German origin and transmitted via publications made by NACA. It also contained a host of innovative details such as the use of duralumin. It was designated P8.
So far, so well: but Westland was behind with spare parts for Wapitis flying with the RAF in India, and the Wallace Mk II was still behind schedule. Another internal reorganisation saw Penrose offered the now-vacant post of works manager. He declined. It was still his ambition to become a pilot/designer in the de Havilland mould; he did not see himself as a manager of costing and scheduling; organising manpower and services - making it all pay. That was not my world...
Penrose's world was the sky; and as though the point were not clear enough by now, he took up a new hobby: gliding. He could afford it: his salary had risen to £1,000 per annum.
An abortive attempt to sell Westland planes in Greece led to two very contrasting experiences. Penrose made the return journey from Athens flying via Berlin in one of the new all-metal, tri-motor Junkers 52's soon to become the Luftwaffe's workhorse, the dependable Tante Ju - and the pilot even let him fly it for a while. Innocent days.
The less happy experience followed immediately: Penrose started to feel ill, and before long he was passing blood. His luck held: the doctor at home in Yeovil had served in Gallipoli during the Great War, and he recognised the symptoms at once: dysentery. There was no known cure.
The standard treatment was starvation and opium. It was two months before Penrose could go back to work, and in the meantime Westland had engaged a new test pilot. To Penrose's relief, the man was no more than a stand-in who soon moved on to be the works engineer.
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