12:48pm Monday 6th July 2009
By Mike Pryce
THE sound advice from the pilot was to make sure you were firmly strapped into his plane. Otherwise, when it looped-the-loop, you’d fall out.
Also, when he flew upside down, don’t worry if the engine cut out.
The fuel line was gravity fed and everything would be OK once the craft was righted.
At least that was the theory.
Although it must still have been buttock-clenching stuff to be whistling along in the wind, your head pointed towards the ground, hoping and praying the propeller would kick in again.
By now, you gather this was not flying Pan-Am to Boston with an upstairs lounge bar. It was Perdiswell to Droitwich in a Tiger Moth so delicate that if you put your foot in the wrong place it would go straight through the fuselage.
It was also a very long time ago, during the early 1940s, when, in some of the darkest days of the Second World War, brave young men lined up at the airfield on the northern outskirts of Worcester to learn how to fly planes. Their heroes were the likes of Johnny Johnson, Douglas Bader and Biggles and they knew that if they flew into action for real, their life expectancy would not be great.
One of the fresh faces among the volunteers was Alan Sier, then a teenage apprentice at the Metal Box Company, but now 82 years old and living in the peace and quiet of Arden Road, Worcester.
Fortunately, by the time Alan was called up in 1945 the war was almost over. He never had to fly in anger and instead was dispatched to Singapore and Burma, where he ended up in the motor transport section looking after 700 Japanese PoWs. Which was a long way from what he thought he might be doing when he joined 187 Squadron of the Air Training Corps,as a 15-year-old just out of St George’s school in Barbourne, Worcester.
He said: “I’d always been interested in flying and I thought that when my time came to join up I would like to be in the RAF, so enlisting in the ATC would be a good thing. 187’s headquarters were in a building at the back of Kays in The Tything where we trained in Morse code, navigation, trainee flying and aircraft recognition. There were about 30 of us in the squadron, but the real thrill came when it was your turn to fly. In those days Perdiswell was a working airfield and there was lots of flying and testing from it.
The only problem was that it was all grass and take-offs and landings were a bit bumpy, to say the least.
They had eight Tiger Moths and the instructors were a great bunch of blokes. They were all former Battle of Britain pilots either on leave or recovering from sickness or from Bomber Command between tours.
“You had butterflies in your stomach when you put on your parachute for the first time and climbed into the cockpit, which was open, of course.
“The old Tiger Moth was called a ‘string bag’ because of the wires that worked its controls, its paperlight wings and wooden struts.
“When you got in, the order was ‘Mind where you put your feet’. Or your foot would go straight through the wing.
“There were only three controls – the joy stick that operated the flaps on the wings, foot pedals that worked the rear rudder and a throttle control.
“There was an altitude metre and a speed indicator, but nothing else.
Mind you, that was enough to concentrate on when you were learning.
“We were also warned to make sure we strapped ourselves in securely or we’d fall out when the plane did a loop. The pilot said he didn’t really want to lose anybody that way because it was a fair drop to the ground.
“Also, we were told not to panic if the engine cut out while we were flying upside down. The Tiger Moth’s fuel tanks were on the top of its wings and the gravity feed system didn’t work upside down.
But we were assured the engine would restart when we righted.
“Training consisted of circuits and what they called ‘bumps’ – take-offs and landings – and loops and rolls. We’d fly very low over the rooftops of Worcester. ‘Low enough to pull the washing pegs off mother’s line’ as they used to say.
Also, we only just used to miss the cars and people as we took off over Bilford Road. Mind you, they were used to it.”
Alan flew eight times in all from Perdiswell in the Tiger Moth, crisscrossing the skies above Worcester and its surrounding villages.
Some of his predecessors in 187 Squadron went on to join the aircrews of Lancaster and Stirling bombers, others became Royal Navy pilots and some became airborne troopers.
For Alan though, after three years in the RAF, it was back to Metal Box, where he completed 43 years’ service.
And that might have been that.
Except two years ago, as an 80th birthday present, his family decided to give him a real surprise.
They organised for him to fly once more in a Tiger Moth of his youth.
Along they all went to Sywell airfield in Northamptonshire, where Alan climbed aboard, being careful where he put his feet, naturally.
He said: “When we got up there, the pilot leaned back, put his hands behind his head and said, ‘It’s all yours, Alan. I gather you’ve done this before so off you go. Just keep it straight’. I had to remind him it was more than 60 years ago, but he didn’t seem bothered.
“I absolutely loved it. And I didn’t fall out.”
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