Down Memory Lane - From the Log Books #11

[Guest TOSGcentral]

Pre War Single Seaters (Part 2).

 

 

This time we will move into what may be regarded as some of the true vintage ‘Classics’ and we will start with one of the most famous of all – the Minimoa.

 

 

The name Minimoa is a contraction of Mini Moazagotl which was the glider that the Minimoa was modelled after.

 

 

Moazagotl. No I never flew it – I was two years old when it was destroyed! There was only one of them and, of particular interest to Australians is that it was built by Edmund Schneider who was to later become Australia’s main gliding manufacturer.

 

 

The Moazagotl was built for Wolf Hirth in 1933 and the dominant feature was 20 metres of extremely cranked gull wing with the outer panels being also swept back. The wing was supported by a single large lift strut on either side.

 

 

The gull winging was so extreme that the big machine lacked some of the grace, at certain angles, of later gull wing designs – and in fact looked a bit bizarre and angular in some views. But it certainly worked! In 1934 it became only the second glider in the world to achieve a 300 km flight.

 

 

In common with most of the classic gliders it was carefully stored away during WW2 and then, with the invading armies so close, it was taken out and deliberately burnt to prevent its capture. This was very sad because the machine had no real value other than as an aviation heirloom but feelings may run very high when it comes to heritage.

 

 

Minimoa. After the success of the Moazagotl, Wolf Hirth decided to go into a production version but made it a little smaller so it would be more manageable (the principle version of several models was 17 metres span but with the reduced span allowing the wing to be fully cantilevered and the lift struts deleted. Well over 100 Minimoas were produced and were to achieve exceeding fame around the world.

 

 

The first few Minimoas were, like the Moazagotl, high wing machines and your head was buried in the wing roots. The main production versions quickly had the wing lowered to mid wing configuration which improved the view no end but also made the design ‘click’ to the observing eye.

 

 

They were still very expensive machines and the wings in particular took huge woodworking skills and jigs to fashion the complex cranked and swept back gull joints in the main spars.

 

 

The Minimoa that I owned had survived the war and been impounded by the RAF in Germany. It flew for many years as part of the RAFGGA and then was sold to GGA members and continued operating as a private machine, doing a lot of flying.

 

 

I had wanted one of the ‘Classics’ and my first foray with a Kranich had been thwarted by as much cultural vandalism at the hands of drunken RAFGGA members as had the Moazagotl been destroyed at the hands of distraught Germans. So I started casting about. If I had any sense I should have beetled off to Austria and bought an Mg19 but I did not know about them then. Besides I had my future wife with me and the South end of Germany is a devastatingly distracting place for me.

 

 

I knew of the Minimoa and heard it was now laid up, so I started pressing buttons and negotiating for a buy. The Min had changed hands again and been purchased by an American who had started work on a total restoration prior to taking the machine to the States. The sailplane was still at RAF Bruggen so I drove over to take a look.

 

 

A ‘Total Restoration’ of something like a Minimoa is a massive task. Once I get some images up for this series I have a pic of the Min fully rigged but with the fabric off – it is an awesome sight! So our American friend had not actually got very far other than stripping the fabric and dismantling a few odds and ends. It was a sad display, de-rigged, stacked against the back hangar wall in an area that leaked badly.

 

 

The serious bit was the wings, stacked leading edge downwards, had standing water all along the main spars and the whole thing was soaking wet. That is often a death knell for these vintage gliders because the glue used does not like water. I was deeply concerned about this but as far as I knew then this was the last one left of one of the world’s most famous sailplane types. I would have it and made a ridiculously low offer – pointing out some of the facts of airworthiness life as far as this aircraft was concerned. I got it but it took time and I had to go back to Germany again to pick it up.

 

 

Trailering something that size with the fabric off is a daunting exercise. You have to use open trailers so I was praying for good dry weather and not get her soaked again. The gods smiled and that bit was OK and I got the Min loaded and secured.

 

 

The next bit was not so clever. Getting across Holland was no problem, however the Belgium frontier was not closed but was totally unmanned – not a soul in sight on a major arterial road crossing. I sat and fumed for 20 minutes, honking the horn and got fed up and just drove through as I had a ferry to catch. That was a bit touchy because the Europeans have a thing about aircraft crossing borders and require heaps of forms to be filled out. Also, a few months earlier, a guy had been machine gunned for what I was doing and I am not talking about some hand held thing – this was a bloody great cannon on a tripod they dragged out and set up. The fleeing car was a mile away when they blew it up! That is possibly why the border roads are so straight?

 

 

At 3.30 in the morning I lost a trailer wheel and nearly had a heart attack. The noise was ghastly and sounded exactly like an irreplaceable gull wing joint being ground into nothing by bitumen. But it was only a trailer wheel so that was OK – except that we could not find the wheel in the darkness!

 

 

The dawn eventually came and I found that we were beside an 8’ wide ditch, 8’ deep, half full of water and the wheel was the other side. It had stopped in the pristine flower bed of the nearest house and just 2’ from a floor to ceiling plate glass front window. 2’ more and we would have been in no doubt where it was much earlier.

 

 

I snuck in and retrieved it quietly. The problem became apparent. The American mechanical genius former owner had put larger wheels on the trailer and just drilled out the holes for them without chamfering them! So the studs were being chopped off by the sharp edges of the holes.

 

 

I made do with what I had to get us going and we limped into Zeebrugge just in time to catch the ferry. But it was not over yet – I prevented the ferry from sailing!

 

 

I was called to the garage deck to be confronted by two Belgium thugs (sorry – frontier officials). In typical European style they looked about 8’ tall in their tall hats, long trench coats, high heeled jack boots and had formidable side arms strapped to them. They looked a bit bleak because they had missed the aircraft going on. They wanted the paper work – which of course I did not have because I had already crashed one border. So I gave them a good mix of combined English, French and German explanations that I did not understand – so they had no hope.

 

 

A couple of the ferry’s officers got involved, began drumming fingers, waved watches about and started getting into the spirit of the thing. They determined that I was totally incompetent, should be deported and they were pleased to do it. They further doubted my ability to reverse the long combination off their boat without jack knifing it and anyway they would have to round up several passengers whose vehicles were behind the trailer, and another ferry was due into this berth so exactly how much of an international incident did they want over a few forms and an obvious wreck?

 

 

The goons backed off wagging fingers and told me never to come back – so that was OK.

 

 

Unfortunately it was far from over and I could not hide. By this time I had married Kay who was still on an Aussie passport. These ferries carry immigration people who do that bit at sea so you get a clear run through customs – very sensible! The Poms decided not to let her back into the country because she did not have a visa!

 

 

It got a bit tight then. I was tired anyway and sick and fed up with bloody red tape. There was a bit of scene when I horned into Kay’s interview and various veiled threats were made about necks being wrung and career embarrassment when someone competent could interpret the documentation we had. The passport was stamped and I fumed more because I could not get XXXXed because of the high speed driving still yet to be done with a crippled trailer.

 

 

Dover was better. But Customs did not want to let the aircraft in – you guessed it – because there was no paperwork. The gods smiled again and I got an experienced and kindly old guy who gave me a real good looking over. He asked where the aircraft had come from. I told him, for the fourth bloody time, and he said he did not believe me! He believed the glider must have come from Switzerland! The penny dropped - the Swiss were in a free trade agreement – no paperwork required. I admitted that the glider could possibly have come from there etc etc. and in less than a minute a couple of forms were stamped and I bolted out of there.

 

 

By this time I was desperately short of time. Kay had to get back to work and so did I. The shops were open in Dover so I bought a large hammer and big supply of nuts and bolts. I then found somewhere quiet, knocked the studs out of the trailer hubs and reattached the wheels. I could not do anything about the machining work required and consequently replaced about 24 bolts getting the trailer a further 180 miles.

 

 

I dropped Kay in London and bolted up the Great North Road, dropping the trailer off at RAF Cranwell and just getting to work on time. My serious advice is if you want to get involved in import and export then think very carefully – do it right. I fluked it but that was a long time ago now.

 

 

Anyway I had the Min! I let her sit for over a year in a dry, slightly heated workshop (bit difficult to find in UK). The open trailering in dry winter conditions had helped with steady airflow drying and no rain. But I had a gut feeling that I had to take it steady. This seemed to have worked and no glue failures were found on her later and she was bone dry (or normal ambient humidity anyway).

 

 

Later I was to trailer her to the National Centre at Lasham where I could work during long summer evenings on her after work. But it was a hopeless task – the job was far too big and the project far too important for a few hours a week. So, with my impending Australian relocation coming up, I sold her. But I picked my mark.

 

 

The buyer was actually not very experienced but was very practical and most sensible. He could not rebuild it but he had the money to put it straight into the best workshop in the country who most assuredly could and damn did they do a top job! He listened carefully to my sale requirements and never broke his word to me.

 

 

I was sad, I had owned it for so long, been through so much ‘rescuing’ it and yet got so little out of it. Did not matter – the machine and heritage was now safe and so it has remained up to the present day.

 

 

But my story is not yet quite over because Lady Fate did have a treat (and personal learning experience) for me. My last flight in the Min was a just a couple of weeks before leaving for ‘Down Under’. It was at the 50th celebration of the formation of the British Gliding Association, and was held at the Southdown Gliding Club at Firle Beacon– one of the original British Gliding sites and steeped in history.

 

 

The Minimoa took the prize for the best sailplane there. And I took the prize for the biggest idiot there, although nobody noticed but me and who I was talking to.

 

 

The person was Phillip Wills who was the most outstanding figure in the history of British Gliding. A lot of his success was with his own Minimoa and the two were inseparable in story. He made a bee line for the Min as soon as he arrived and I was on his heels. When I caught up he was going over the glider and was damn near in tears. That was when I really made a fool of myself.

 

 

I had walked up behind and said that I supposed he would like to fly it. He span on me and emphatically said “Yes I most certainly would!†He had taken me quite literally.

 

 

I was crushed! The Min was no longer mine to offer to anybody and some conversation had to ensue. Phillip was in his mid to late seventies (which is no particular problem) but gawd knows when he had flown last. I have never forgiven myself for that stupid and unfeeling blunder.

 

 

Later I was winch launched onto the Firle ridge and pottered up and down a bit in the weak lift. The Min was in her element and just stooged along. A classic flight in a classic glider at a classic event. I was content.

 

 

What were the ‘big gulls’ like to fly? I guess that you are dominated by two conflicting emotions – (a) Damn I cannot break this it is just too valuable in so many ways that you cannot put a price on. To (b) Damn I have this to fly and it is sheer gliding history – so you get a big ‘rush’ and try and keep your cool.

 

 

In practical terms however they are very easy and tend to look after themselves. Certainly some of the ‘gulls’ were savage monsters but the Min was a gentle beast. The winch launch was a bit of a chore because it only had an aero tow hook in the nose but that was OK as the ridge was working. Once released and we just sauntered off down the hill face gaining height and enjoying the ambience of a quiet sky.

 

 

The cockpit was cramped and frankly uncomfortable. You were sitting bolt upright in, and on, Spartan furnishings and while everything came to hand readily enough and there was adequate leg room, I still felt like a pilot in a machine rather than the symbiosis that I expected from something like the Minioma – and found in other far less famous types.

 

 

Visibility was very good generally with the mid wing, but dominating your vision was the extreme gull joints that seem to tower over you each side and block your sideways view.

 

 

Turning the machine took little physical effort on the stick but was ponderous. More importantly the huge ailerons had you really working on the rudder, But once in a turn she stayed locked there hands off, Equally, once straight and level the same thing happened.

 

 

At about 1:26 glide angle, but a low sink rate, circuit work was easy as long as you worked ahead and did not push yourself into a corner of trying to throw it about because you had to. I suspect that then she may become hard work.

 

 

This Minimoa was a later version with a mainwheel and Schempp Hirth airbrakes. So approach control was a breeze providing you remembered what you were flying and did not get too fast. The approach is followed by a smooth transition into the full hold off and she just rumbles to a halt, eventually tipping a wing down to the ground.

 

 

That flight in the Minimoa was my last but one glider flight in the UK before coming to Oz. The last was with Mike Valentine at a Scottish hillsite in the Cairngorms but that was both friendship and business and has no place here.

 

 

I found later that I did not have the ‘last Minimoa’. At least two others were found and fully restored and are also still flying today.

 

 

Next we will look at more of the ‘gulls’ and some plainer versions as gliding began ‘straightening itself out’.

 

 

[BigPete]

Fantastic stuff Tony. If you haven't written a book about your life and aviation exploits, then you need to. Would be a best seller I'll bet. What a terrific story. Thankyou.

 

regards