Sir Alan Cobham: The Flying Legend Who Brought Aviation to the Masses

By Colin Cruddas

Flying in the years between the two world wars was the preserve of the powerful and the wealthy, or so it was until Sir Alan Cobham’s ‘Flying Circus’ began to tour Britain.A former pilot with the Royal Flying Corps in the First World War, Alan Cobham continued to fly, establishing air routes to the Empire countries. He also involved himself in aerial photography and survey work, undertook charter flights and pioneered the ‘Air to Air’ refuelling technique still in use today.Yet it was his National Aviation Day displays for which Sir Alan Cobham’s name is best remembered. Affectionally known as ‘Cobham’s Flying Circus’, his team of up to fourteen aircraft toured the United Kingdom, visiting hundreds of municipal locations, allowing ‘ordinary’ people to have their first taste of flying. So extensively did Cobham travel with his displays, and so popular did they become, that after war broke out in 1939, some 75 per cent of Britain’s young men volunteering for aircrew duties claimed that their first experience of flying had been with ‘the Circus’.Sir Alan’s name still lives on in the aviation world. The creation of Flight Refuelling Limited in 1934 eventually led to the formation of what is today a major international aerospace and defence organisation – Cobham PLC.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pen and Sword
• Release date: Oct 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781526738417

Colin Cruddas

COLIN CRUDDAS worked for the Blackburn Aircraft Company as a senior systems engineer on the Buccaneer flight test program before moving to the United States where he was employed by both Boeing and McDonnell Douglas as a design engineer. After his return to the UK, having served for many years as the official archivist of the international aerospace company that today trades under the name of Cobham Plc, Colin Cruddas is uniquely qualified to write the definitive biography of one of the greatest pioneers in aviation history.

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Chapter One

Early Days

It was in the late Victorian years that British influence in world affairs reached its peak and, though largely unnoticed by the general public, started its slow decline. There was, however, a great deal of jingoistic flag-waving still to come, not least by an adventuresome young man, who, as civil aviation slowly began to take root after the First World War, set out to prove that the aeroplane could dramatically shorten the links connecting the Empire. The name of this visionary, soon to be emblazoned across the globe, was Alan John Cobham.

Born on 6 May 1894, he shared the year of his arrival with several well-known individuals, including Edward VIII, Jack Benny, Dashiell Hammett, Rudolph Hess and Nikita Khrushchev. Young ‘AJ’, the first child of Fred and Lizzie Cobham, was followed four years later by a sister, Vera, who suffered from poor health throughout her life, dying at the early age of 23. The family was then living at 4 Hetley Terrace (now 78 Denman Road), in the south-east London borough of Camberwell. It was here that Fred’s employment as a ‘Town Traveller’ (or ‘Buyer’ in modern day parlance) in the drapery trade enabled them to enjoy a typically comfortable middle-class life. Annual holidays at coastal resorts such as Eastbourne, Margate, Sheringham and Folkestone were to provide many fond childhood memories in later years. However, in addition to those happy times spent at the seaside, Cobham would often later recall wonderful days at Brockbury Hall, an impressive farmhouse owned by his father’s cousin, Donald Birchley, at Colwall in the Malvern Hills. It was there that he developed a lifelong love of the countryside.

Cobden Hall, a rambling old country house at Saxham, some 12 miles from Bury St Edmunds, was also a favourite holiday location, where, on one occasion, aged 5, he went with a favourite uncle to see the Barnum and Bailey travelling circus. He was enthralled by the extravagant grand parade through the streets and at seeing a man inside a cage surrounded several lions. In later life, he opined that perhaps the showmanship he displayed in his own career might well have had its seeds sown within that memorable experience.

The start of the new century was not kind to young Cobham, for he contracted diphtheria and suffered the agony of a severely swollen sore throat. His condition was not improved by a cut knee that began to turn gangrenous. Diphtheria was then a life-endangering condition, and for days it was touch and go as to whether he would survive, but a spell of recuperation at Eastbourne was said to have greatly assisted his recovery.

At this time, and with both children in questionable health, the family’s finances were threatened when changes in fashion led to ladies wearing simpler garments. This, in turn, had a large effect on Fred Cobham’s more fancifully embroidered clothing business. It was also discovered that young Cobham’s private school education had been sadly neglected, and in 1903, aged 9, he was transferred to a local Council School where, with the aid of a keen and understanding teacher, he developed a particular passion for geography. This, he proudly claimed, enabled him to commit to memory not only the country’s main coastal and internal features, but the types and locations of all the major industrial and agricultural centres. Little could he have realized the importance this was to play in his adult life. A year later, he entered a vastly different educational environment. Despite the reduced family income, he was enrolled at Wilson’s Grammar School in Camberwell, which, founded in 1612, boasted a prestigious academic record. (The school relocated to the former site of Croydon Airport in 1975.) Though initially overawed by a teaching staff wearing mortar boards and long gowns, he found that, with but one exception, all of his mentors were kindly disposed. The odd man out was the mathematics teacher, Mr Wiggett, who, it was rumoured, had been brought into this world with the express purpose of terrifying all students within his care. He was, nevertheless, recognized as dedicated to his profession and commanded respect, if only through fear.

Cobham soon realized that he was never going to excel in physical pursuits, and the only sport in which he claimed any prowess was wrestling. He had discovered this when, after being subjected to a period of bullying, he literally took matters into his own hands and threw his tormentor over his shoulder. Though perhaps an act born of desperation, this useful asset nevertheless gained him the instant respect of his classmates, and he was the first to concede that, although he quite enjoyed traditional ball games, he took greater pleasure in the admiration resulting from his wrestling conquests.

His parents’ decision, in 1906, to move to a new address at 59 Baldry Gardens in Streatham fortunately did not affect his daily travelling to school, though he now came from a different direction. Whilst happy enough when engaged in the round of normal studies, it became evident over the next three years that he was ambivalent toward academic subjects and would not be suited to carrying on into the sixth form, nor attempting to enter university.

The moment for a big decision had arrived. Greatly impressed by both a book he had read about sheep farming in Australia and a subsequent discussion with a school colleague who had an uncle living in that country, he announced his intention to leave school and become a sheep farmer ‘down under’. His views were greeted with ridicule by all within the family but his father, who vehemently declared at dinner one evening that, ‘If the boy wants to be a farmer, he can be, and every one of you can shut up.’ A long silence ensued whilst all began to seriously consider the implications of a 15-year-old boy embarking on what they considered to be a badly thought-out venture, but which appeared to have the head of the household’s approval.

Family differences duly simmered down, but although the idea of farming was shelved, at least for the time being, Cobham’s firm determination to leave formal education behind and enter the adult world of business had intensified.

His enthusiasm was also greatly increased when he was offered a three-year apprenticeship with Hitchcock Williams in St Paul’s Churchyard. This was a company within his father’s line of business, and he gained valuable experience as he worked his way through some twenty departments. At the age of 17, and with five men already working under him, his dedication to learning his craft was rewarded by being put in charge of the Made-up Garments Department. This required a quick response to orders sent in by the company’s travellers, and no excuses were tolerated for late delivery of the finished goods. After the deduction of two weeks’ holiday pay, his annual salary of £10 resulted in a final return of four shillings (20 pence) per week.

Cobham enjoyed a short period of ‘living in’ within a large house owned by the company in Paternoster Row, but the arrangement ended when he became what would now be called a commuter. This required him to catch the workmen’s tram from Streatham at seven o’clock every morning, which, crawling along at 6mph, eventually reached Blackfriars. The return fare was just two pence, but he reasoned that the agonizingly slow journey really warranted the tram company paying him.

In addition to playing occasional games of tennis, Cobham, along with an enthusiastic neighbour called Robinson, had started to construct large kites which they flew from Streatham Common. This didn’t always go down too well, for on one occasion a kite having a wingspan of over 8ft dived suddenly from some 200ft and, after scattering terrified spectators, knocked the tall silk hats off two gentlemen proceeding to church, or so the story goes. Whilst the facts may have become slightly embellished over the years, this event may well have had an influence on the ground- strafing techniques employed in future conflicts!

At this time, although the Wright Brothers had made the first flight by a manned, controlled, heavier-than-air machine that flew under its own power in December 1903, aeronautical work in Europe had been largely conducted in France and, to a lesser extent, Germany. Powered flight in Britain did not take place officially until October 1908, when Samuel Franklin Cowdery (later changed to Cody) designed, constructed and flew his British Army Aeroplane No. 1 at Farnborough.

In the general absence of powered flight in the new Edwardian period, those who could afford to take to the skies did so in balloons and, less frequently, in gliders. Nonetheless, public awareness of propeller-driven machines was rapidly gathering pace and anything that managed to get off the ground was guaranteed to attract a large crowd. At Crystal Palace, young Cobham’s wish to undertake an airship flight was frustratingly vetoed by his father, who maintained that anyone with common sense would stay ‘where God had intended, with feet firmly on the ground’.

In 1910, a Good Friday aviation meet at Brooklands helped to consolidate his growing interest in flying machines. By now he felt the need to touch as well as see these magical creations and, despite the barriers restraining the crowds, he was determined to try. Along with his friend Laurie Stocks, he cunningly contrived to wear blue overalls not dissimilar to those worn by the contestants’ mechanics, and, after climbing fences behind the exhibitors’ enclosures, they were able to mingle inconspicuously with the ground support personnel milling round the aircraft. Not staying too long at any given spot proved to be a wise move, for amidst this hive of activity nobody queried their unauthorized presence. Cobham was particularly impressed by Gustav Hamel, one of the small elite band of demonstration pilots, who was testing his engine’s performance by means of a very large spring balance positioned between his aircraft and a stake in the ground. One can, perhaps, imagine full power being selected in the rudimentary cockpit and a mechanic, his cap turned round to avoid it disappearing in the blast of the slipstream, struggling to read with accuracy the pounds of thrust being developed.

Also in 1910, a prize was offered in Paris for the best ‘aviette’, or man-powered machine, and the Cobham-Stocks team set out to win it. Some progress was made, with bemused parental support, but, other aerodynamic considerations apart, the energy available from the enormous crude propeller fell miserably short of what was required. Preliminary calculations by Stocks had shown a need for some three-and-a-half horsepower for their winged bicycle, but the later realization that a man pedalling flat out would, over a short period, generate far less than one horsepower left an unbridgeable shortfall in the propulsion department. All was not lost, however, as their joint enthusiasm carried over into a more studious investigation of the camber required for a wing to have any chance of generating lift. This resulted in Cobham constructing a jig which employed a garden fork and two blocks of wood. After inserting a number of spruce ribs, the whole lot was immersed in hot water. The following day, after cutting the string holding the structure together, he was delighted to see that, by good luck rather than scientific analysis, all the ribs had attained the same degree of curvature. It is not recorded whether this initial success encouraged Cobham’s further research into structural manufacture.

Although clearly moving forward in the Hitchcock Williams organization, and no longer obsessed with the thought of moving to Australia, his love of the countryside and of a farmer’s life continued to exert a strong pull. An invitation from Donald Birchley to join him at Brockbury Hall threw his thoughts into further turmoil. On the face of it, the prospect of an open-air life was most attractive, but both parents expressed deep concern that with them being unable to provide any financial support and with the farm’s main production of hops often proving uncertain, it wasn’t such a good idea. Now 18, and deeply in the throes of indecision, he set off on a cycling holiday around the Isle of Wight, where, it seems, he experienced his first serious romantic encounter. Sitting on the beach one day, he was surprised to hear a voice ask, ‘Why don’t you come and talk to me?’ Looking up, he saw a beautiful dark-haired girl, who he soon discovered to be French, was called Yvonne and in her early twenties. One chance meeting led to several others, during which he admitted to having ‘embraces of a kind I had never experienced before’. However, it came as quite a shock when, as the holiday affair ended, she told him that she was soon to marry someone considerably older. Having, one might assume, crossed the sexual threshold, he returned home now ‘a man of the world’ and with his mind made up to bid the City farewell and join Birchley. His new employer was, by all accounts, a self-styled country gentleman farmer, albeit not a very successful one. He constantly lived beyond his means while enjoying the traditional country pursuits of hunting and shooting, which meant that Cobham’s pay days, as he ironically described them, were rather more miss than hit affairs. The work, however, was congenial enough, being mainly concerned with the welfare of the farm’s horses and sheep rearing. Whilst this allowed him to acquire certain basic veterinary skills, it nevertheless soon became evident that he would never amass sufficient capital to become independent. Birchley, however, had a simple solution to this problem - marriage to a wealthy landowner’s daughter! Cobham could see the logic, indeed the attraction, of this suggestion, but despite many contrived arrangements, his lack of social confidence and insufficient funds meant the plan remained unfulfilled. He couldn’t escape the hard fact that working on a farm was one thing, but being a farmer was something else.

At the end of 1913, he returned home to find his father in serious business trouble. He then wrote to Donald Birchley to explain why, in light of this, he could no longer continue working at Brockbury. Fortunately, he was able to take up the offer of a job with Hicks and Smith, a lingerie company located in the City. To his surprise, things went so well that in June 1914 Mr Smith, a partner in the company, informed him that he was to become the firm’s main representative in London’s West End.

However, the threat of war rapidly building up over the continent would soon put such personal advancements to one side. Within a few weeks, Europe’s established order was changed forever with the outbreak of the Great War on 4 August 1914.

Chapter Two

A Call To Arms

Britain and Germany had, within the Edwardian period, been engaged in an arms race. The Royal Navy, long regarded as the country’s main line of defence, had, from 1911, gradually expanded its battleship fleet to match that of Germany. A correspondingly large increase in the number of German military divisions also indicated that the Kaiser, Wilhelm II, long envious of British dominance in world trade, was out to make trouble should a suitable provocation occur. Though formal political differences between both countries had existed for some time, they had not yet brought about a direct confrontation. During the summer of 1914, the British public’s outlook matched the summer’s blue skies, for there was little general inkling of the catastrophe about to engulf the nation. This largely untroubled state of affairs came to an abrupt end, however, on 28 June, with the assassination in Sarajevo of the heir presumptive to the Austro-Hungarian throne, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, and his wife Sophie by a Serb Nationalist, Gavrilo Princip. The following month saw intense political and military activity as the European states, bound by treaties, agreements and grossly inflated royal and political egos, aligned themselves into opposing power blocs. The royal heads of Britain, Germany and Russia each had a common ancestry in Queen Victoria - King George V and the Kaiser, Wilhelm II, were grandsons of Queen Victoria, and Tsar Nicholas II was married to the queen’s granddaughter, Alexandra. But any expectations that their familial links would have caused them to wish to prevent the escalation of a relatively minor event into total war soon dissolved. The Kaiser seized the chance to exercise Germany’s military might.

Upon the declaration of war, a wave of patriotic fervour swept through every town and city in the country. Countless young men, though not all, besieged local recruiting centres, frantically keen to do their bit. Cobham, thinking that his knowledge of horses would stand him in good stead, tried to join a cavalry regiment, but his application was turned down, as was his attempt to enlist in the Honourable Artillery Company. His failure to make an impact on the recruiting authorities caused him some momentary disappointment, but this was quickly dispelled following a casual conversation with a recruiting sergeant he met purely by chance on the top deck of a London tram. Having again described his experience with animals, the sergeant told him that he was exactly the kind of man the Army Veterinary Corps was looking for, and, what was more, he could arrange a ‘special enlistment’ at four shillings (20p) a day. This was big money indeed, as an ordinary private was paid only one shilling (5p) a day. Getting off the tram together in Brixton, the two men walked to the Recruiting Depot newly set up in the Town Hall, whereupon Cobham, having yet again described his background, this time to the officer-in- charge, successfully underwent a quick medical and signed on the dotted line. Just ten days had elapsed since hostilities began.

This impetuous action shocked his parents, but was generously regarded by his employer, who congratulated him on having made the right decision and, promising to re-employ him on his return from duty, presented him with a gift of twenty-five gold sovereigns. Two days later, after having received orders to report to Aldershot in Hampshire, he walked into what he later recalled as ‘administrative chaos’.

The emergency mobilization of so many young men had totally overwhelmed the recruiting system. Like almost everyone else, Cobham found himself unexpected and unwanted. However, he was soon ordered to go to Woolwich, where, despite having received neither induction training nor uniform, he was given clerical duties working alongside several others who, in his own words, ‘were of a type I had not previously encountered, and although clearly possessing similar knowledge to my own, were of vulgar mind and speech’. Coupled with the need to sleep on the concrete floor of the office for several nights before being issued with a harsh mattress, colloquially referred to as a ‘biscuit’, the hard realities of Army life were fast imposing themselves.

In due course, wooden barrack huts which had served as temporary accommodation at the time of the Crimean War, and had later been condemned, provided a marginal improvement in sleeping conditions.

After just three weeks, and now equipped with a uniform, though still completely untrained, Cobham was asked by a young Veterinary Officer, Lieutenant Hannay, if he would like to accompany him to France as his orderly. Greatly surprised, he eagerly agreed, and with no time for embarkation leave, his mother swiftly travelled down to Woolwich to see him off. A ‘life of much movement’, as Cobham frequently described it, had now truly begun. This seemingly ad hoc way of travelling to war might bring to mind an image of Don Quixote and his faithful Sancho Panza setting forth to tilt at windmills, but the officer in question here had no such aggressive intentions, his primary concern being that of looking after horses.

After a Channel crossing from Southampton, followed by a train journey, the new troop contingent finally arrived in Rouen, where it was housed in a vast railway shed with a straw-covered floor that rendered sleep virtually impossible. The following morning, Lieutenant Hannay received instructions to join, with immediate effect, the HQ of 45 Brigade, Royal Field Artillery. Cobham was then given two horses and told to proceed to Bourg, some 20 miles away. After convincing a senior officer that his map-reading skills were in good order, he mounted the horse that was to become his own and set off, leading his officer’s charger. He was soon joined by another man performing a similar task. The sounds of bombardment, though distant at first, increased as they got nearer to the front line, as did the nervousness of his travelling companion, who rather naively explained that he had joined the Army to look after animals, not to be shot at. He wasn’t the only one so inclined, for with many of the recruits having recently left rural employment, their strong feelings for animal welfare was hardly surprising. The Regimental Sergeant Major, shaking his head at Cobham’s lack of training, was at a further loss to understand how he had managed to arrive in France. After asking if he had been issued with any firearms, Cobham showed him an ancient Scott-Webley revolver he had purchased from a shop in the Strand before leaving England. The Regimental Sergeant Major was even more astonished when he saw the kind of bullets Cobham had brought with him. These turned out to be the ‘dum dum’ type outlawed by international agreement, and he ordered their immediate burial. He went on to explain that had Cobham been caught by the Germans with those items in his possession, he would have been summarily shot.

Although the war had barely begun, it was already producing a number of ‘veterans’ who, given an opportunity, welcomed the chance to impress new arrivals with horror stories, real or imagined, of life in the front line. ‘Shoot him before he shoots you’ was the popular advice handed to those who had just turned up, giving the impression that everyone was engaged in hand-to-hand mortal combat each waking moment. If that wasn’t enough to stir young imaginations, the sound of not-too-distant shelling from both sides certainly was. At this time, British troops were positioned to the left of French forces for what became a large outflanking movement to the north-east that determined the line of the Western Front. During the early weeks, the six artillery batteries within Cobham’s brigade had to remain particularly mobile, firing from many positions to give the enemy the impression of greater strength than it actually possessed. To do this successfully, it was necessary to move at night over distances of up to 20 miles along unfamiliar country lanes. An early winter also ensured a high degree of discomfort for all that would only be exceeded by that of the ‘poor bloody infantry’, which had to endure the seemingly endless trench warfare over the next four years.

Cobham freely admitted that, though generally fit and used to riding horses, he was simply not in good enough physical condition for such situations, bareback riding proving particularly troublesome. He found it difficult at times to avoid falling asleep during the nightly transitions, and the only way to revitalize his senses and circulation was to dismount and walk for a spell before remounting, a task that in the dark and whilst on the move brought its own difficulties. He was very aware that had he ‘nodded off’ and fallen from his horse, the gun crew immediately behind would have been upon him in a second, causing injury and inevitable confusion along the column.

The harsh practicalities of life in this strange, hostile environment soon became apparent. He was called upon by Lieutenant Hannay to despatch two horses that were maimed and disease-ridden. He was shown the point on their foreheads to hold the gun, but was not instructed on how to dispose of them afterwards. Taking another driver with him, Cobham found the two horses to be in a truly sorry condition. He managed to coax one up to the edge of a nearby shell crater whilst his assistant stood by with a long stout pole. Following the shot, the poor beast quivered for a moment then, guided by the pole, fell into the shell hole. It was then a simple matter to repeat the procedure for the second horse, thus bringing to an end the lives of but two of the estimated one million animals that didn’t return home after the hellish years of war ended.

Cobham found that this unpleasant experience had somehow secured him a reputation, for not only did he now know how to shoot horses, but he had established an economical method of disposal that saved time and physical effort. He stated that although he was called upon to perform this melancholy duty many times during the war, there was not always a convenient crater nearby to accommodate the labour-saving method of burial.

Until October 1914, the town of Ypres in western Belgium, though close to fierce fighting, had escaped severe damage. Cobham, however, hoping to enjoy a rare moment of relaxation whilst waiting for Lieutenant Hannay, had just sat down to partake of a coffee and cognac and was admiring the astounding beauty of the medieval Cloth Hall directly opposite, when a German shell completely demolished its spire. This was one of the opening shots of what, during the next two months, would become known as the First Battle of Ypres. Within this period, the whole area was subjected to constant shelling as it had become the last point of Allied resistance preventing the German advance toward the Channel ports of Boulogne and Calais. Later reports said that one could see across the rubble from one side of the town to the other without obstruction, and Cobham considered himself fortunate that day to have escaped with his life.

His experiences were proving to be mixed, for his memoirs recorded 45 Brigade HQ being shared with an Irish Guards battalion at Hooge chateau, just days after the owners had fled and the caretaker shot after being judged to be a German spy. This magnificent building had the capacity to house officers in the main rooms and the noncommissioned ranks in the kitchen quarters. Such class distinction was entirely within the expectations of the day in both military and civilian social circles, but in this