How Britain Built An Overpowered Interceptor Unlike Anything Else – The English Electric Lightning

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Who doesn’t love the English Electric Lightning?, I for one am a bit of a fan boy, if you ever visit RAF Hendon in the UK and you see a chap in a blue ball cap, next to the F.6 drooling over her, that’ll be me (I may or may not have a flask of Tea).

She’s one of those machines that stops you in your tracks the moment you see her up close, nothing can prepare you for the sheer majesty, ok, a bit hyperbolic, but I love the old girl and have since I were a nipper.

The Lightning is what happens when engineers decide no amount of power is too much — and then add more for good measure.

The result? An interceptor with a rocket-like climb rate and performance not for the faint of heart.

In this video, I dive into the development and history of this legendary Cold War aircraft — a machine that captured the imagination of millions and still makes my knees go a little weak every time I see her, oh and the story has cows and some French too. 🙂

I hope you enjoy watching it as much as I enjoyed making it.

#EnglishElectricLightning
#Fastestjet
#AviationHistory
#MilitaryHistory
#Concorde
#ColdWar

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CONTENTS
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00:00:00 – Intro – A Homesick Angel
00:02:56 – Chapter 1: English Electric Lightning – Miles Behind
00:09:17 – Chapter 2: English Electric Lightning – Make you an Offer
00:16:18 – Chapter 3: English Electric Lightning – Curious Cows
00:24:10 – Chapter 4: English Electric Lightning – More Peas Please
00:38:09 – Chapter 5: English Electric Lightning – Big B and the Sandman
00:50:20 – Chapter 6: English Electric Lightning – Mach 2 of Bust
00:55:06 – Chapter 7: English Electric Lightning – The Most English of Machines
01:13:52 – Chapter 8: English Electric Lightning – Into the Blue

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CREDITS
============
I am deeply grateful and extend my heartfelt thanks to the following individuals who generously provided photos and videos for this project

Andy Davy
Brian Bickers
Brian Johnstone
Charles E. Mac Kay
Charlie Stewart
Chris England
Derek Healy
Fergal Goodman
Garry Lakin
George Baczkowski
Graham Hutchinson
Mike Dowsing

SourceS and Channel Links:
Link to Anglo-American Lightning Organisation
https://aalo.club/club

Paul Seymour
https://www.airhistory.net/photo/656158/WG760

Lightning F.6 XP693 Static Engine Run, 26th November 1994
Yotube: Stoat13

Lightning F.6 XP693 Static Engine Run, 9th March 1996
Youtube: Stoat13

English Electric Lightning
YouTube: Dariusz Gorgoń

Anidaat
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/RAF_Binbrook#/media/File:XR769_front.JPG

F-4J(UK) Phantom II, serial ZE351
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/McDonnell_Douglas_Phantom_in_UK_service#/media/File:F-4J(UK)_ZE351_%22I%22_74_SQ_no_1759_Fairford_1987_t-o.jpg

Thunder City – ZU-BEX in 2002
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thunder_City#/media/File:Electric_Lighting_&_Jaguar_(Cape_Town,_South_Africa,_2002).jpg

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Our aim is to be as historically true as we can be given the materials available.

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English Electric Lightning: Like A Homesick Angel
A big thank you to WarThunder for but because it almost didn’t exist.
Designed in the late 1940s, it was a   jet so powerful that it could hit 40,000 feet 
in under one hundred and fifty seconds, chase down Soviet bombers, haul in Concorde, and even 
reach the high-flying legendary U-2 spy plane. But despite its performance, this aircraft 
was nearly a casualty of politics.
  And even when it entered service, it did so 
with constant budget cuts, cancelled upgrades, and crippling fuel limits that gave it a 
combat range shorter than most sports cars.
  But pilots and schoolboys alike adored it.
It flew fast, climbed faster, and looked like a missile with wings — but behind that speed was 
a bittersweet story of what could have been.
  This is the story of glorious 
English Electric Lightning, Britain’s first and only homegrown 
supersonic Point Defence Interceptor   to enter active service.
So, make yourself a nice cup of tea, open a fresh pack of ginger nuts as we climb 
vertically like a homesick angel into the history,   technology, and engineering of one of the most 
extraordinary aircraft ever to take to the skies. English Electric Lightning: Miles Behind
The development of the Lightning began   in the years just after the Second World 
War, when jet technology was still new. In 1945, Allied forces were busily rooting 
through the wreckage of the Third Reichs’ many factories and workshops and were shocked 
by how advanced German aviation had become. Despite the country being in ruins.
Here they discovered jet engines,   swept-wing designs, and other innovations 
far ahead of what the Allies had developed. While the British had only produced one 
operational jet aircraft, powered by a   centrifugal-flow engine, while the Germans had 
already built the Me262, Arado AR 234 Blitz, Heinkel He 162 Volksjäger, and finally the Heinkel 
He 280, all powered by the more advanced Junkers, BMW or Heinkel axial-flow turbojets.
However, these engines didn’t last long in service because of poor-quality materials, 
but they were still a sign of how far German engineers had pushed jet design.
At the time, the RAF had just started using the Meteor, while the U.S. 
was only beginning to adopt jets.
  Whereas German engineers were far 
ahead in high-speed flight research. For instance, they discovered that as aircraft 
approached transonic speeds, airflow over the wings created shock waves and increased drag.
To counter this, they introduced wing sweep, which reduced wave drag and improved performance.
Compared to the Meteor’s straight wings,   the Swallow looked like it 
had arrived from the future. The first British fighter to have any sweepback 
was the DH Venom, a development of the Vampire, although still powered by a centrifugal engine.
It would be up to Supermarine with their troubled Swift before any British frontline fighter 
had any pronounced swept wing configuration.
  It was not until the Hunter that Britain had 
an effective swept-wing front-line fighter, and the Hunter, as capable as she was, 
could only go supersonic in a shallow dive and at the time, the only aircraft under 
construction that would’ve been capable   of Mach 1 in level flight was the Miles M.52
This was the pioneering British supersonic design intended to fly at 1,000 mph and reach 
a height of 36,000ft within 90 seconds with its single 17,000lb thrust Power Jet 
three-stage gas turbine, and was expected to climb to 50,000ft, still supersonic.
This little aircraft had short-span, ultra-thin wings that were completely unswept, 
and the pilot would’ve been seated in a semi-prone position within a pressurised nose cone, 
centrally positioned inside the circular   air intake wrapped around the fuselage.
I honestly can’t imagine this arrangement being too popular with pilots.
However, in February 1946, the Miles project would be abandoned out of the blue by 
the Atlee government, with no warning given; one minute it was all smiles and 
backslaps, and the next, it was binned.
  This was despite the design of the aircraft 
being almost complete, and the construction of the first of three prototypes well underway.
The director of scientific research at the   time decreed that supersonic flight was 
simply too dangerous, if not impossible. Until then, attempts in the late 1940s to break 
the sound barrier had already cost the life of test pilot Geoffrey de Havilland jr, who had 
lost his life in a while carrying out high-speed tests in the DH 108 tailless research aircraft.
Of course, the post-war Labour government of the day, bent on cutting costs wherever possible, went 
along with it, claiming it was “too expensive”. And so the future for a british supersonic 
aircraft didn’t look promising, with severe post-war economic constraints, the British 
government, under Prime Minister Clement Attlee,   adopted an unofficial policy often summarised 
as “no new fighters until 1957,” relying instead on stopgap designs like the Gloster Meteor and 
Vampires to protect the skies around Britain. But in 1946, at English Electric, chief 
engineer W.E.W. “Teddy” Petter was working on an aircraft that would make sticking 
with obsolete fighters look short-sighted.
  The aircraft coming together at the English 
Electric assembly hall in the Northern English town of Preston was the twin-jet-engined 
high-altitude, high-speed Canberra.
  An aircraft that her designer, Petter, a 
brilliant mind behind earlier aircraft such as the Westland Lysander, the Whirlwind, 
and now the Canberra bomber, understood   more than anyone that his Canberra could easily 
evade the likes of the Meteor and Vampires. And if those British fighters struggled to reach 
his bomber, they’d no doubt have trouble reaching   any potential fast, high-flying Soviet bombers.
With this notion in mind, he made some simple, provisional sketches of a twin-engined 
swept-wing fighter capable of reaching Mach 2. Quite optimistic since all Britain had 
at the time were centrifugal engines,   and very little was known about swept wing 
design other than what scraps we managed to “save” after our American and Russians friends 
had rifled through the treasure trove of German   data and taken the best bits for themselves.
Petter’s supersonic design revolved around creating a simple, compact airframe 
with minimal drag and maximum thrust. Central to his concept was a unique vertical 
engine configuration with two centrifugal-flow Rolls-Royce Derwent engines, that’s 
all there really was engine wise,   and these would be mounted above the other in 
the fuselage, fed by a single nose intake. But Petter’s design did away with the prone 
piloting position, which, to no one’s surprise,   was not favoured by anyone and in any case, 
that arrangement offered no significant advantage with this two-engine configuration.
Once he was done with his drawings, he presented them to the Air Ministry, which naturally showed 
no interest, no bother, in any event, the Canberra was occupying everyone’s attention back at 
English Electric, so his supersonic designs would have to be filed away for the time being,
But just as Britain had cancelled the M.52, two events would take place over in America that 
would demonstrate to everyone who really was the world leader in aircraft development.
Chapter 2: English Electric Lightning:   Make you an Offer
On the 1st of October 1947, the XP-86 prototype of the North American Sabre had its maiden flight.
This was the Western world’s first post-war swept-wing fighter, and was destined to become 
one of the greatest combat aircraft of all time. Then, just two weeks later on 14 October, 
Chuck Yeager made history by becoming the first man to break the sound barrier in level 
flight, flying the Bell X-1, air-dropped from a Boeing B-29 at high altitude, reaching Mach 1.06.
Although a full-scale, manned version of the Miles M.52 never flew, a scaled-down, remotely 
piloted model, did make it into the air, when it was air-launched from a de Havilland 
Mosquito on 8 October 1947, but its rocket motor failed shortly after launch and exploded.
Just six days later, Chuck Yeager would go on to break the sound barrier.
I’m not one to be pointing fingers,   but the Bell X-1 did bear a striking resemblance 
to the Miles M.52 design in a few areas. As a result of these events, in 1948 the 
Air Ministry once again became interested in supersonic flight, and the Advanced 
Fighter Project Group (AFPG) was established   at the Royal Aircraft Establishment 
(RAE) at Farnborough in March 1948. After a summer of working to come 
up with some performance numbers,   an unofficial requirement letter was sent 
out to a handful of aircraft firms, asking for design ideas for a single-seat research jet, 
to have a maximum speed of Mach 1.21 at 45,000ft, with the potential to go to Mach 1.4.
The engines suggested at the time would be the Rolls-Royce AJ.65 Avon turbo jet, 
though it also needed the potential to be developed as a fighter that would be 
armed with a pair of 30mm Aden cannon. Multiple firms, such illustrious names like 
Boulton Paul, Bristol, Fairey, Gloster, Hawker, Armstrong Whitworth and of course 
English Electric threw their hats into the ring hoping that this request for information 
may lead to some work for their factories. So, against this backdrop, Petter, having received 
the requirements, wanted the design his firm submitted to be a functional supersonic fighter, 
rather than a disposable experimental platform. In early 1948, Petter started to assemble his 
team, with Freddie Page set to direct the effort to find the best layout and Ray Creasey who also 
had been working on supersonic designs with a deep understanding of compressibility, 
was put in charge of aerodynamics
  Both men had worked closely with Petter on 
the Canberra, and to avoid any confusion, this Freddie was not Sir Freddie 
Handley Page, of Handley Page fame.
  The layout more or less followed Petters’ 
original 1946 sketches for an aircraft with twin axial flow-engines mounted inside the fuselage, 
stacked one above the other, basically a tube with two very powerful engines, or as her pilots 
would soon call her, the Aluminium Death Tube. This would be a very different 
beast from the Meteor and Vampire.
  The stacked engine approach had the benefit of no 
asymmetrical thrust issues if one of them failed, and it would prove very easy to fly on 
one engine, although the catastrophic failure of one would knock out the other.
But on the upside, if one engine did survive, there was no additional 
intake drag to worry about.
  However, everything comes at a cost.
Mounting the engines in the fuselage left little room for fuel, this generally wouldn’t be 
an issue for experimental aircraft, but for the Lightning’s it would become the Achilles’ heel.
This aircraft would have a nose intake, as it was thought that although fuselage 
side intakes at the wing roots would   reduce the length of ducting needed, they 
could suffer serious flow separations. To ensure high-speed performance, Petter 
and the team adopted a sharply swept wing   with a leading-edge angle of 40 degrees—a 
shape that resembled a truncated delta. However, this raised the question: could 
large incidence angles or wing tilt end   up blanketing the fin and tailplane?
At this point, an unusual design choice emerged—twin, sharply swept tailplanes 
positioned clear of the fuselage wake,   each paired with equally swept fins……but this idea 
was quickly binned and never spoken of again. Instead, Petter considered 
the day’s fashion for a while:   a single fin and a tailplane mounted 
atop, much like that on the Gloster Javelin, as seen in the diagram.
Although the die was not yet cast,   by the late 1940s, a new kind of aircraft 
design was catching on for high-speed flying—the tailless delta wing,
What follows can be complex, but I will try to explain it in the 
most non-technical way possible. In these delta designs, instead of 
having a regular tail at the back,   these aircraft used a single triangular 
wing with control surfaces on the trailing edges called elevons to pitch the nose up and 
down and roll the aircraft left or right.
  You can see these elevons in aircraft 
like the Fairey FD2, the British Vulcan, the French Mirage, and America’s Convair F-102.
This setup worked well at subsonic speeds. But as these aircraft approached supersonic 
flight, engineers ran into a problem:   the balance point of air pressure on the 
aeroplane, what’s called the aerodynamic centre, starts to shift backwards.
And this shift of the aerodynamic   centre could make the aircraft unstable.
Now, engineers began to wonder if elevons alone would be enough to keep an interceptor 
under control during high-speed manoeuvres, like   high-speed turns, especially at high altitude.
So, the design was changed. Instead of a tailless design, they 
went with a more traditional layout:   a main wing and a separate tailplane, 
both swept back at 60 degrees. Ultimately, they ended up with its main wing 
mounted low on the fuselage and a tailplane   attached lower down on the vertical fin—a 
layout that became the final design choice. As for the other firms who’d also submitted 
designs, Armstrong Whitworth put forward their   AW.58, this was ordered but was later cancelled.
Fairey had also put forward a design, despite being better known for 
manufacturing naval aircraft.
  The Fairey design was looked upon favourably 
by the Air Ministry and were later awarded a contract under specification ER.103 in 1950 to 
build their supersonic FD2, which first flew in 1954 and went on to set speed records.
Over at English Electric, they too submitted their drawings in 1950, for which they were 
awarded a contract to proceed with scale   models for wind tunnel testing and £10,000 or 
about $500,000 in 2025, more than enough to cover their costs for tea and biscuits.
Chapter 3: English Electric Lightning: Curious Cows
Before work on   a full-scale aircraft could be started, English 
Electric ramped up its development resources for what they were now calling the P.1.
Before work on a full-scale aircraft   could be started, English Electric 
ramped up its development resources   for what they were now calling the P.1A
Significantly, the company used a scrap Nene jet   engine to build a wind tunnel, creating the first 
private transonic wind tunnel outside the USA. Here’s an Interesting anecdote 
I read while researching.
  Due to the engine noise from the Nene, the 
wind tunnel was placed at the far end of the English Electric site at Warton, with the 
jet exhaust pointing out over a cow pasture. One day, the farm owner came to Petter, 
complaining that the engine’s roar was   troubling his cows, worrying his sheep and 
affecting milk production, and unless something were done about the racket, he’d be compelled 
to demand compensation for his anxious herd. The next day, the engine was run again, much 
to the amazement of the engineers, the cows   wandered over and stood in the wake of the jet 
exhaust, enjoying the warmth it provided. Needless to say, they never heard from the 
farmer again once they pointed out how his   cows seemed to enjoy the free heating.
Testing with wind tunnel models continued, until it was thought that the wing and tail 
positions had been determined, but there was a point of contention between English Electric 
Engineers and the Royal Aircraft Establishment. The engineers favoured a 60-degree wing sweep, 
with the trailing edge having a sweep of 52°, and a tailplane mounted as low as it would be 
possible on the rear fuselage as it would to avoid the wing’s turbulent wake and improve pitch 
control during low-speed and transonic flight. English Electric had maintained throughout 
that the pitch-up problems plaguing the current   generation of transonic fighters were due to their 
tailplanes being in the wrong relative position. In those designs, the tailplanes were either 
level with the wing trailing edge and directly   in the wing wake downwash or in some cases were 
the newly fashionable high positioned ‘T’ tail which in English Electric’s view was even worse.
Still, the configuration was opposed by the civil servants at the Royal Aircraft Establishment, 
who instead preferred a 50-degree swept wing   and a T-Tail, following the fashion of 
the day, considering English Electric’s arrangement too dangerous.
To settle this argument,   the Royal Aircraft Establishment (RAE), which 
was acting as the Ministry’s technical advisor, persuaded the men at the Ministry to commission 
a low-speed test aircraft to be built by Short   Brothers and Harland in Belfast.
This testbed, designated the SB.5 under specification ER.100, was to be powered 
by a 1,500 lb thrust Viper engine giving her a blistering top speed of 311 mph, however, 
I must point out that some sources state it was powered by a Derwent jet.
Anyway, whichever engine was fitted,   the SB5 seriously lacked guts, taking 
almost 30 minutes at full power to reach 7,000 ft, its absolute service ceiling.
It was a very simple machine, with basic cable operated controls and a spartan cockpit.
But what it lacked in speed, power or other luxuries, it made up for 
being a quirky little thing.
  It was remarkably adaptable; its wings, 
made of plywood with light alloy sheeting, could be swapped out for interchangeable 
sweep angles of 50°, 60°, and 69°, though some sources have it as 70 degrees.
The complete rear fuselage, just aft of the engine, could also be detached and swapped out 
for one of three alternative rear assemblies, one with the tailplane set on top of the 
fin, the other with the tailplane set in the   middle and the final one in the low position.
Bizarrely, it also had a fixed undercarriage. I’m unsure, but I believe this was the 
only jet ever with this arrangement. Please correct me in the comments if I’m mistaken.
The SB.5, first flew from Boscombe Down with   Shorts Chief Test Pilot, Tom Brooke-Smith, 
on 2 December 1952, by which time the English Electric prototype was taking shape.
Therefore, the flights in the SB.5 may have   appeared to be an exercise in futility and navel 
gazing, since rather than starting with the setup which English Electric was proposing, and proving 
them wrong from the get go, which was the whole purpose of the SB.5, they instead took a gradual, 
safe approach, starting with the minimum sweep and Tee Tail and then cautiously working their way 
through all the wing and tail configurations. The irony was that the SB.5 first flight 
would be what they considered to be the   “safest” configuration of 50° sweep and “T” 
tail which English Electric did not consider safe at all for stall investigation!
This configuration was liable to result   in ‘deep-stall characteristics which had been the 
cause of losses during the development of F-104 Starfighters, Gloster Javelins, Tridents, 
and others with T-Tail configurations. This ill-advised timid approach meant 
that it was not until 1953 or ‘54, depending on the source, that the SB.5 
was rigged up with the 60-degree wing   and low-set tailplane matching that of the P.1
As it turned out, this finally validated English Electric’s low all moving tailplane philosophy, 
especially with the 60° swept wing configuration, proving that placing the tailplane anywhere 
else would’ve resulted in it being blanked out   by the wings at a certain angles of attack.
You can imagine the eye rolling and “told you so’s” at Warton, but she did provide valuable 
aerodynamic data to support the P1 design. While flying the SB.5, Brooke Smith discovered, 
late in the testing program, with the 60-degree wing sweep, at a specific high angle of attack 
a sharp wing-drop occurred due to tip stalls. These findings were backed up with 
wind tunnel and water tests at Warton,   which suggested that adding wing fences or 
series of notches would soften the tip stalls. Both were tried in flight, and both 
were effective, with the notches being   chosen as they were lighter and simpler and 
obviously imposed a much smaller drag penalty. It was later confirmed that the manually 
controlled ailerons had been the cause   of the wing drop experienced on the SB.5.
However, the notches were added on the P.1A this time for transonic aerodynamic reasons and 
as a practical location for the fuel tank vents. One significant design change was relocating 
the ailerons to the squared-off wingtips,   giving the aileron hinge line 
zero sweep and avoiding the loss of control effectiveness encountered in 
early examples of swept wing designs.
  This helped prevent roll control issues that could 
arise during crosswind landings or at high angles of attack—problems common in other swept-wing 
aircraft with traditionally placed ailerons. With the trailing edge freed up, it 
could be fully dedicated to flaps.
  I should also mention that crosswind landings 
had Lightning pilots’ eyes on stalks. The stacked engine design and towering fin 
gave the aircraft a huge broadside profile, making it highly sensitive to crosswinds.
As a result, approaches had to be flown at a swift 180 knots and touch down at 150, 
requiring a runway ideally 7,500 feet long. A sufficiently strong crosswind during 
one take-off and landing cycle could   shred a complete set of its thin tyres.
In the end, Shorts did fit the SB.5 with the more powerful Bristol Orpheus engine, 
doubling its power before testing with   the 69-degree wing sweep, which at the time 
was the greatest wing sweep in the world. 69 degrees, not 68, but 69, for scientific 
purposes, of course, only for that reason. I want to take a second of your time to thank you 
so much for watching—I’m truly grateful to share my love for aviation with enthusiasts like you.
If you’re enjoying this story, please take a quick second to hit the like button—it’s a small 
gesture that makes a massive difference in   helping me reach more aviation fans.
Now, let’s get back to the story! Chapter 4: English Electric 
Lightning: More Peas Please
  While Shorts were flying around in their 
wooden-winged jet, the Ministry of Supply—at Warton things were already moving forward.
The Ministry, being sufficiently satisfied with   the data the firm’s engineers had provided, 
awarded the English Electric a contract in mid-1950 to build two prototypes of the P.1 under 
Specification F.23/49, as research aircraft along with one structural fatigue test airframe.
These were later designated P.1A But at Warton, there was trouble at mill.
Just as they received the work, in 1950, Petter left the company, citing disagreements 
with management, moving to Folland, another aircraft manufacturer to pursue his designs, 
without relying on government funding. Please take a moment to watch the Folland 
Gnat video to find out more about what   Teddy Petter accomplished at Folland.
So, even though Petter wouldn’t see the Lightning through to completion and wouldn’t 
be able to claim the Lightning as his creation,   it’s undisputed that he did contribute 
to the initial critical stages that led to the development of the first British jet 
aircraft to achieve Mach 2 in level flight.
  But what is not disputed is that without his 
contributions to English Electric’s reputation and his initial suggestions to the Air Ministry 
with his sketches for a supersonic aircraft, they probably wouldn’t have been given the 
opportunity to participate in what became   the P1 and Lightning programme.
And, so, with Petters’ departure, the programme fell into the very capable hands of 
Freddie Page, with Ray Creasey as his deputy. Work to build the first three P.1s began, all 
hand-built at Samlesbury Aerodrome, near the town of Blackburn, in the Ribble Valley district of 
Lancashire, And to avoid confusion, not Blackburn Aircraft manufacturer, which is in Yorkshire.
This would be where all the future   Lightnings would be born.
The first prototype of the line, WHISKEY GOLF SEVEN SIX ZERO had a simple 
egg-shaped intake, and without the distinctive Lightning nose cone, also, not to delay flight 
testing, was fitted with a pair of Armstrong Whitworth Sapphire Sa.5 engines, each delivering 
8,100 pounds of thrust, with no reheat. Although capable of pushing the P.1 past Mach 
1, it was not the engine of choice due to poor throttle response, but since the engine of 
choice, the more powerful Rolls-Royce Avon, was not yet ready, the big pair of 
Sapphires would have to suffice.
  The engines were staggered to maintain 
a reasonable centre of gravity, with the lower engine being number one and sitting quite 
far forward of the number two engine above. I have always remembered it as picturing floors 
in a building….I’m a bit slow like that. Her 60-degree wings were of conventional 
construction, built around two main spars   with a series of closely spaced ribs and 
stringers riveted along the outer panels. The main stalky undercarriage units 
retracted into bays set into the lower   wing skin and hung between two heavy-duty 
forgings mounted between the main spars. As someone once said, the Lightning has “the 
aesthetic elegance of a flying filing cabinet”, Paint it red, and it could be mistaken 
for a London bus with wings, but without   the drunks and smell of stale KFC takeout.
Because the Lightning was not a small aircraft, being 55ft 3 in length, 19 feet 7 inches 
tall, and a wingspan of 34 ft 10 inches, a London Bus is just 36ft long and 14ft tall.
In the areas designed to carry fuel, the wings used integral tanks, meaning 
they didn’t house separate tanks inside; the wing was the tank, as in the wing structure 
itself was sealed to hold fuel directly. Clever stuff: this approach saved weight and 
made more room for fuel without cluttering   the wing with bulky internal tanks.
But, of course, there was a catch. These integral tanks depended on sealant 
to keep the fuel from leaking through   countless rivets, joints, and panel seams.
And, as you might expect, leaks became a bit of a trademark, especially as the airframes aged and 
got rattled around by high-speed flight. So, great for range… not so great for dry hangar floors.
In a 2013 FlyPast interview, Chief Technician Dave Branchett recalled
“Right from the start two things became apparent. First was that this aeroplane leaked—I mean really 
leaked, as in like a sieve. Every aircraft in the hangar had at least five cut-down fuel drums under 
it to catch the drips. There were even small drain pipes to duct leaks from internal danger areas to 
outside the fuselage. The flaps, which were also designed to contain fuel, haemorrhaged so badly 
that they were blanked off and remained dry.” I suppose, on the upside, when it stopped 
leaking, you knew it was out of fuel.
  Joking aside, the Lightning’s fuel capacity 
would be its acilliches’ heel until the very end, and engineers would use every nook and cranny 
to store fuel, but from the P.1B onwards, a ventral fuel tank would be carried.
We’ll come back to the fuel issues later on. WG760 was also fitted with a “Q” artificial 
feel unit, as it was thought that, because the aircraft was fitted with powered controls, 
the pilot might over-stress the aircraft.
  This Q system gave the pilot the same feedback 
that he would’ve had with manual controls. Since it was calculated that the runway at 
Warton was going to be too short for the P.1, which they calculated would have an approach speed 
of between 180 and 200 knots, it was thought safer to use the longer runway at RAF Boscombe Down.
Therefore, in May 1954, the P.1, serial WG760, was shipped by road to Boscombe Down for 
taxi trials, where they tested the brakes, nose wheel steering and braking parachute; 
this last piece was rated up to 200 knots. When all the tests were complete, the date for the 
maiden flight was set for the 3rd of August 1954, but Roland Beamont, the legend who was to make 
the first flight, managed to accidentally set off   the engine bay fire suppression system, a right 
old mess which took the whole day to clean up. Finally, the next day, at 10am on the 4th of 
August 1954, WG760, piloted by Wing Commander Roland ‘Bee’ Beamont, the company’s chief test 
pilot, took off into clear English skies. The first flight lasted just 33 minutes, 
but long enough for Beamont to report   that the aircraft proved stable and easily 
trimmed across most of its flight envelope. While small pitch changes occurred near 
Mach 1 due to shifts in aerodynamic centre, the aircraft displayed no significant 
pitching issues, other than when the   undercarriage and flaps were raised.
On 11 August, English Electric was ready to push their radical new sixty-degree 
swept-wing creation past the Mach 1 barrier. The spot chosen for this momentous occasion 
was over the English Channel—safely out of earshot of any sensitive civilian ears.
This was after the Ministry of Supply politely told English Electric that they were 
not to break the sound barrier over land.
  The Americans had already learned the hard way 
that going through Mach 1 in level flight meant unleashing a rolling double-boom along the entire 
ground track, which tended to upset the locals. On the other hand, engineers eagerly 
anticipated the boom and were confident   that P.1 would be the first British 
aircraft to break past Mach 1 in level flight and, more importantly, be practical.
With that, Beamont again at the controls of WG760, for its third sortie, taking just three minutes 
to climb to 30,000 ft on that clear sunny day, over the English South Coast, pushed the 
throttles to the stops; it was Mach 1 or bust. However, no matter what, the Mach 
meter refused to go past Mach 0.98. Disappointed, he returned to base.
But, 24 hours later, it was confirmed   that he’d officially exceeded the speed of sound 
in level flight, the first British aircraft to achieve this distinction. It turned out that 
the Mach meter had been poorly calibrated. Although there are some accounts that, 
unwittingly, Beamont had already exceeded   Mach one on the maiden flight, but due to the same 
faulty Mach meter, it was not noticed until the flight data from the initial flight was analysed.
How much truth there is to this story is unclear, as surely there would’ve been a sonic 
boom, regardless of the faulty instrument.
  Speaking of test data, because the P.1 was far 
outside anything that had been built before, engineers were concerned about how the airframe 
would cope with excessive flutter and vibration. At the time, a new bit of kit had been cobbled 
together by the chaps at the Royal Aircraft   Establishment called the “Vibrograph.”
The idea was simple: fire off a few small explosive charges called exciters which were 
mounted on the wingtips, to deliberately shake the aircraft mid-flight, then record 
the resulting vibrations for analysis. Amusingly, this whole process was known 
as “bonking.”… focus, chaps, focus. Now, during one of these flutter test flights, 
hit the switch. The exciters went off, shaking the airframe doing their job…but the exciters were 
followed by an unexpected, much larger bang. The whole canopy was blown clean off.
Fortunately, the very startled pilot   kept his wits and managed to bring 
the aircraft down in one piece. Later investigations showed a failure in the 
canopy locking mechanism, which was duly fixed, and further bonking flights 
passed without incident.
  Later in 1954, the whole team and aircraft 
returned to Warton, where the runway had been lengthened to 7,500 feet or approx 2,300 meters, 
and is still the longest private runway in the UK and the fourth longest in good old blighty.
For the next few years, WG760 would be put through her paces, sometimes flying three to four 
times per day, ironing out the kinks and bugs. It wasn’t until the summer of 1955 that 
she was re-engined with a pair of reheated Sapphires as WG760 had pretty much maxed out the 
performance of the existing Sapphire Sa 5s’. While the re-engine work was 
underway, the second prototype,   WG763, made her maiden flight from the lengthened 
runway at Warton on the 18th of July 1955. WG763 was from the get-go earmarked as the weapons 
test airframe, and as such, was fitted with a pair of 30mm Aden cannon in the upper nose and also 
a ventral fuel tank that held 2,000 gallons, and to eke out every nook for fuel, even the flaps 
were modified as additional fuel tanks………fuel in the flaps, what next, guns in the fuel tanks?
With these guns and ventral tanks, the aircraft was officially redesignated the P.1A.
If I may add, this was one of those strange ironies: the same company that made 
its name with the Canberra—arguably one of the most versatile military aircraft ever built 
at that time—then spent the next decade slowly strangling its own supersonic aircraft by not 
sorting out the fuel system and capacity. But then, I suppose it’s essential to bear in mind 
that the Lightning was designed as a Point Defence   Interceptor, initially to guard the V-Bomber 
bases and target enemy bombers before they could reach the British mainland and, where every 
second counts, fuel consumption was secondary. It was simply not expected to get into 
a drawn-out furball fight with MiGs. One of the main findings of these flight tests, 
which extended the flight envelope up to Mach 1.52, was that the design was short of supersonic 
directional stability, and there was a persistent buzzing above a certain speed, which was 
traced to the fin and rudder assembly. Further investigation concluded that a 
major redesign would be needed to prevent   potential structural failure, naturally, 
so as not to delay the program, it was decided to fit dampeners, which apparently 
became standard on all future aircraft. If there are any Lightning engineers here? Let 
me know in the comments if this is correct. Finally, work to re-engine WG760 was completed at 
the end of January 1956, now sporting a fresh pair of Sapphires with a crude and rudimentary reheat 
system to boost the thrust to 12,000lb each. However, worryingly, they only managed 
5,500lb dry, which meant that in the event of an engine failure, the unfortunate 
pilot would need to consider putting   up the for sale sign and punch out.
It wasn’t long before these new engines proved their worth, getting to 40,000 ft in just 
over 3 minutes, but as spectacular as this was, no matter how hard they tried, WG760 wouldn’t 
push past Mach 1.56. and the buzzing had returned, now it was thought that perhaps the 
airframe had reached its limits
  At one point, WG760 was refitted with a 
new set of 55-degree swept-back wings, which increased fuel capacity and aimed to 
push the aircraft closer to achieving Mach 2. However, Freddie Page was reluctant to test this 
new configuration with the 55 degree wings to the promised land of double digit Mach, hoping 
the following prototype, the P.1B, built using the data gathered from the P.1, the SB.5 test 
aircraft and the Wind tunnel at Warton, would be the machine to achieve that magical number.
Chapter 5: English Electric Lightning: Big B and the Sandman
With the designs for the   new P.1B finalised, Freddie submitted them to the 
Ministry of Supply, which subsequently awarded a contract to construct 23 airframes, of which three 
would be used for flight and weapons testing, and the remaining twenty would be used 
as production development aircraft and   later on redesignated as the Lightning F.1
Due to the data gleaned from the extensive testing, it’s unsurprising that the P.1B 
looked different; gone was the oval nose intake to be replaced with the round duct 
centred with the iconic conical bullet that would soon be home to the AI.23 Radar.
And as much as I love your comments, specifically the ones about my inability 
to pronounce words starting with “TH”,   this was not a copy of the MiG-21 no more 
than the Tu-144 was a copy of Concorde…… Unlike the Lightning’s fixed nose cone, which 
housed a large radar for long-range interception, the MiG-21 used a movable cone that shifted 
forward or back depending on speed. This clever setup helped manage supersonic airflow 
into the engine, but the limited space inside the cone meant the MiG’s radar had to be smaller, fine 
for short-range, but limited in detection range. The Lightning, by comparison, gave priority 
to radar size and power, which suited its role as a dedicated high-speed bomber hunter.
The pilot now sat under an improved bulbous canopy that was faired into a raised dorsal 
spine, into which the engine start equipment was crammed and like the P.1A, the B was fitted 
with a pair of Aden cannon on the upper nose. Pylons were mounted on the lower forward 
fuselage to carry the infra-red homing   Air-to-Air Blue Jay missile, 
later renamed the Firestreak. Other weapons that could be bolted on included 
the Aden gun pack that could carry 240 rounds, a very basic gun sight that was difficult 
to operate and generally disliked by pilots, and a pair of drop-down Microcell pods, each 
loaded with 24 folding-fin aerial rockets. But, the most significant improvement over 
the earlier versions was installing a new   pair of Rolls-Royce Avon RA.24 Mk.210 engines.
These Avons came with variable nozzle reheat, producing 15,000 lbs of Static Sea 
level thrust each, with reheat, providing a 1:1 power-to-weight ratio, that could 
send the aircraft almost vertical at Mach 1, and many a school boy has had his life changed 
watching a Lightning taking off then immediately be stood on its tail and send its pilot the moon.
In fact, the power of these engines saw quite a few new pilots accidentally go supersonic 
in a Lightning….. accidentally, right? But this performance came at a price.
Fuel was again an issue; it had, like the P.1, inadequate capacity, holding just 6,000lb, which, 
according to Roland Beamont in his book “Testing Years”, flights were limited to around 30 
to 40 minutes only, leaving just 800 lbs of fuel in the tanks by the time they returned to 
Warton, hardly enough for one missed approach. Beamont even wrote that the Lightning 
wouldn’t stand a cat in hell’s chance of   getting export orders as a fighter unless the 
internal fuel capacity was at least doubled. But that wouldn’t happen until 1963, 
when the F.3 showed up with a 10,000lb fuel capacity—finally giving it some manner of 
legs—and only then did foreign customers like Saudi Arabia and Kuwait start showing interest.
The Avons were started using isopropyl nitrate, or AVPIN, stored in a 3-gallon tank tucked away in 
the dorsal spine, enough for about six starts. At the best of times, it was challenging 
to operate and easily contaminated by water in bad weather, where it would fail to work 
due to some valve getting stuck, forcing the ground crew to clamber up on the Lightning 
and whack the stuck valve with a mallet. Not only that, it was a nasty, toxic, corrosive, 
volatile substance that would ignite without oxygen; something that caused more than a 
few squeaky-bum moments under the blazing Middle Eastern sun, more on that later.
Despite this, the P.1B had a climb rate of 40,000ft in two and a half minutes; in effect, 
the Lightning would double the performance of Fighter Command at one step from the Hunter as had 
the Canberra from the Lincoln in Bomber Command. Not bad from a company better known for 
making household appliances and trains. Because these new Avon engines were slightly 
larger than the earlier Sapphires, the fuselage had to be deepened, which meant that the cockpit 
could be raised, which improved rearward vision, from practically non-existent to very difficult. 
Ideally, the Lightning could have benefited from a bubble canopy like the F-15 or F-16.
However, there were some plus sides to raising the cockpit in that it created 
more room for additional systems,   such as the bleed air system that directed 
airflow over the windshield to remove rain. The P.1B was quickly becoming a plumber’s 
nightmare, that many a poor technician would curse as getting to one faulty part typically meant 
having to remove many other bits and pieces. After much hard work, The first P.1B, serial 
XA857, took to the skies on 4 April 1957, without any autopilot or auto stabilisers as a time-saving 
measure and was even flown to Mach 1.2 on her maiden flight, not bad show on her first outing.
But a month later, an event took place that could have killed the project entirely, 
when Duncan Sandys issued the   now-infamous 1957 Defence White Paper.
That year, newly appointed Minister of Defence Duncan Sandys, announced that the British 
government was to make a strategic shift to place more emphasis on guided missiles—many still in 
development—as central to future air defence, reducing reliance on manned fighter aircraft.
Although, the paper didn’t explicitly declare manned aircraft obsolete but argued that the 
primary threat to the UK now came from Soviet ballistic missiles rather than manned bombers.
Consequently, new interceptor and reconnaissance aircraft projects were deemed less critical.
The consequences were immediate and severe. The White Paper led to the cancellation of most 
major advanced aircraft programs, including the Avro 730 supersonic reconnaissance-bomber, 
advanced derivatives of the Gloster Javelin interceptor, and the Hawker P.1121 supersonic 
fighter-bomber, to name just a few. The fallout reshaped the British aviation 
industry. Many historic firms, such as Saunders-Roe and Gloster, struggled without 
government contracts and were either absorbed into larger conglomerates like Hawker Siddeley and 
the British Aircraft Corporation or faded away. Contrary to some, Duncan Sandys did not 
terminate all manned aircraft programs. Projects like the English Electric Lightning 
interceptor and the V-bombers continued.
  These cuts, while pragmatic, were 
deeply unpopular and had long-term consequences for the aviation sector.
In the 1950s, Britain’s aviation industry was weighed down by inefficiencies, with nearly 30 
companies often chasing similar aircraft concepts, resulting in duplicated efforts, rising 
costs, and delayed development.
  Heaven knows, that talent here was not in short 
supply, but spreading resources so thinly made it difficult to concentrate expertise or 
maintain focused, cost-effective progress, making rationalisation all but inevitable.
Although the Lightning was spared,   narrowly escaping cancellation, 
largely because too much time, effort, and money had already been invested.
Unfortunately, that same logic or sentiment would not be extended to the TSR-2 in 1965, in 
favour, as one of my aviation friends once said, “For a flying hunk of junk called the F-111”.
I think Sir Sidney Camm, put it beautifully “All modern aircraft have four dimensions: span, 
length, height and politics. TSR2 simply got the first three right.
I’ll stop there before   I am lynched in the comments.
However, there were those in the civil service who were pressing for the P.1B project to be axed and 
many who thought that the type would be obsolete by the mid-60s, which had the effect of reducing 
funding for various upgrades over the years. But, fortunately for now, they’d not get 
their way, and in 1958, the aircraft was christened the “Lightning” in preference to 
the rather grandiose name of “Excalibur”, which would’ve been my choice.
The Lightning was a remarkable   but temperamental aircraft.
While beloved for its performance, it suffered from a high accident rate.
Many losses were due to engine failures and fires—often related to fuel leaks from 
its complex and tightly packed fuel system. These issues nearly cost the lives of 
several pilots and contributed to the   aircraft’s reputation for being difficult 
and dangerous to maintain and fly. During one flight, a hot air leak from ducting 
ignited fuel and oil pooled close to the engine. The pilot managed to land safely, but the 
incident led to the widespread addition of   under-fuselage drain points that allowed 
small amounts of fuel and other fluids to escape rather than accumulate internally..
Even with careful maintenance, the Lightning still had a habit of catching fire at the worst 
possible times, due to much of the piping in   the Lightning’s engine bays being packed 
in tighter than a rush hour Tube train. Unsurprisingly, this made the 
whole setup rather flammable.
  During one of the Red Top missile trials, a 
Lightning would become the star of what’s arguably the most iconic crash photograph ever taken.
It started as a routine post–engine change test flight.
Partway through, the pilot got dual reheat   warnings on the caution panel. Nothing else seemed 
off — instruments were steady, handling was fine — but he made the smart call to return to base.
Then, just ten seconds from landing, flying about 150 feet, the aircraft suddenly 
snapped into a violent, uncommanded pitch-up. The pilot didn’t wait to ask questions — he 
bailed out, and his perfectly-timed ejection was caught mid-air by a photographer and 
witnessed by a very confused tractor driver.
  The post-crash investigation uncovered the 
culprit: a flash fire in the rear fuselage had cooked the mounting points 
for the tailplane actuator.
  With those compromised, the tail lost 
authority, and the pilot lost control. That said, the lessons learned from these 
early scares—and the fixes that followed—did make it a much safer machine over time.
By 1958, the first of the 20 production development airframes were starting 
to roll out of the factory, but that   did not mean the three prototypes could rest.
The second prototype, XA853, was kept busy until it was grounded in 1963, and the third of the 
three prototypes, XA856, was sent to Rolls-Royce for Avon engine development work until 1967.
But it was XA857, the first P.1B prototype, that would go on to make Britain proud.
Chapter 6: English Electric Lightning:   Mach 2 of Bust
By 1958, the Lightning had   ticked off most of its handling, performance, and stability checks up to Mach 1.7, and by 
that point, it was time to reach Mach 2. But pushing further wasn’t going 
to be that straightforward.
  Officially, the Ministry had already 
got what they paid for and they weren’t exactly queueing up to take on any 
“unnecessary risks,” as they called them.
  On top of that, genuine technical 
concerns were floating around. At those speeds, some engineers were worried 
about intake instability and what might happen   to the airframe when it was being blasted with 
airflow heated to over 100°C at altitude. So, while most knew the aircraft had 
Mach 2 in it, getting the green light   to try was another matter.
Eventually, a compromise was reached after a bit of polite nagging 
from the Flight Test team at Warton.
  A flight was arranged using XA857, which was still 
fitted with a smaller fin than those that would be fitted on later models of the lightning.
To build up to the big day, a few “opportunity” flights throughout November 1958 nudged 
the envelope a little further each time,   creeping up to Mach 1.92 without any drama.
Then, on the 25th of November, XA857, Roland Beamont, and the English 
Electric team were ready to go.
  To save every drop of fuel for 
the attempt, Beamont carried out the pre-flight checks while taxiing.
Just four minutes after brakes-off, Beamont was climbing through 30,000 feet and heading for 
her supersonic run up the Irish Sea—avoiding land, of course, to spare the public the inconvenience 
of having their windows rattled by sonic booms. Reheat was lit just off the west coast of 
England, and by the time he levelled off   at 42,000 feet, the Mach meter was 
already at 1.3 and climbing fast. By Mach 1.9, the Lightning had 
entered the so-called danger zone,   where intake “buzz,” thermal stress, and 
instability had all been predicted. But Beamont and X-RAY ALPHA 
EIGHT FIVE SEVEN held steady.
  At Mach 1.95, the throttles 
were pushed to the stops. And there it was—Mach 2.0, solid and stable, with 
the Isle of Man disappearing under the wing and the RAM air temp reading a toasty 114 Celsius.
From the coast of Wales to the edge of Scotland and back in under eight minutes.
Job done.
  Although much to the annoyance of 
the locals living on the Isle of Man, who would have to put up with constant 
sonic booms for the foreseeable future.
  Roland Beamont, XA857 and the English 
Electric team had succeeded; Britain now had a Mach 2 fighter, eclipsing even the 
record set by Peter Twiss in the Fairey FD2. Not bad at all, from Spitfires 
to Mach 2 in 15 years.
  Although this was done at the cost 
of high, very high fuel consumption, Beamont reported that he had barely enough 
fuel after the run to return to base. This flight made XA857 the second European 
aircraft to do it, just a month behind the French Mirage III, who’d beaten us to it by a whisker.
Fun fact: that flight was piloted by another Roland—Roland Glavany.
Interesting anecdote about the   French. I read this in an old aviation magazine 
a while back, so take it with a pinch of salt. Naturally, English Electric were keen to 
export their creation, but in the early ’60s, potential buyers started pushing back, thinking 
the Lightning was just a “Mach 1.5” jet. It didn’t take long to find out 
where that idea came from. Back when the first Lightning squadron 
stood up at Coltishall in 1960, a few   French Mirage pilots came over on an exchange 
visit—part of a tit-for-tat deal where RAF pilots got to try out the Mirage.
Because the Lightning was still new,   it had an RAF training limit of Mach 1.5, and 
that’s what the French were told, obviously, either they chose to ignore the words “Training 
limit” or they simply didn’t understand, either way, they went home they spread the word 
that Mach 1.5 was all the Lightning had in it. The Mirage sales guys loved that—and wasted 
no time turning it into a selling point. You can imagine, Hey,   Marcel, Cet avion anglais il est très lent
How true that story is, I couldn’t say—but knowing the long and glorious tradition of Anglo-French 
rivalry, I wouldn’t put it past them. If there’s even half a chance to get 
one over on us roast beefs, you can bet   your last baguette they’ll take it.
Chapter 7: English Electric Lightning: The Most English of Machines
In all, there were ten different   production versions of the Lightning 
with the P1.B becoming the F.1 These variants were part of that 
initial production order of twenty   production development airframes.
The first production Lightning F.1, XM129, was rolled out for its first flight 
on 29th October 1959 with combat ready F1s entering squadron service with R.A.F. Fighter 
Command on 30th July 1960, with No. 74 Squadron, the “Tiger Squadron” of World War One and Two 
fame being the first unit to receive them. The F.1 variant, was fitted with a pair of 
Rolls-Royce Avon 210 axial flow engines, that could produce 11,200lb of thrust 
dry and 14,400lb with full reheat. These could get the F.1 with a 
ventral tank and missiles up to   Mach 1.7 or 650 knots, whichever came first.
And if pilots were not attentive, they could find themselves going supersonic, in next to no time, 
especially as acceleration was smooth and rapid. Even the prototype P.1 WG760 went 
super sonic without the help of reheat, just to give you an idea how much power it 
had, even with the unsophisticated Sapphires. Although the F.1 and F2 variants which had 
smaller horizontal tail could exceed Mach 1.7, it was advised against due to 
longitudinal handling issues. Although some efforts were 
made to improve yaw stability,   with a single fin under the ventral tank.
The Pilot sat in a Martin Baker Mark 4 ejection seat, in an relatively snug cockpit kept 
cool with an air-supply to prevent him from   being cooked as the outside air temperature 
exceeded 100 celsius due to air friction. At his disposal avionics wise he had a TACAN 
system as the main nav aid, backed up by an ILS for landings and an Elliot 
auto-pilot, such refinements. From the start the F.1 had a VHF radio and an IFF 
system to tell friend from foe, but it didn’t have any defensive countermeasures—no radar warning 
receiver, to alert the pilot of a locked-on missile, nor any chaff or flares—nothing.
On takeoff, the pilots would release the brakes, apply full power and after 14 seconds of 
ground roll, lift the nose at 160 knots and were generally advised to allow the speed 
to increase to around 220 knots before lifting the nose to begin their climb, although many 
would climb a little more enthusiastically. In dry thrust the pilot could climb 
at Mach 0.9 that could easily exceed   40 degrees, with the reheat being engaged 
at 25,000ft, but without any additional fuel the range was limited to around 850 miles.
Speaking of altitude, the pilot notes clearly state that the F.1 couldn’t be operated above 
60,000ft due to the limitations of the onboard oxygen regulator, but with a pressure suit 
and helmet, they could go up to 66,000ft. Armaments were just two Firestreak missiles 
that could be fired provided the pilot didn’t   exceed Mach 1.3 or pull more than 3 G. Each 
missile had an armed time of 15 minutes, the total time of the onboard 
missile IR refrigerant would last.
  The Firestreak missiles could be 
replaced with a pack of 44 unguided rockets or an additional pair of ADEN cannons.
Although, the F.1 did have two 30mm Aden cannons, firing from the top of the nose in front of 
the pilot with 120 rounds per gun, tended to blind the pilot with the muzzle flash and were 
thus not fired often, and were usually blanked off on the British Isles-based Lightnings.
The guns had more or less the same limitations as the Firestreaks: no firing above 
Mach 1.3, above 3 G, or above 45,000ft. When the F.1 finally entered service 
pilots loved the power of the Lightning,
  However, she was a handful for the unaware, 
having a very high stall and fast approach speeds, which gave rise to one of the Lightning’s 
many sobriquets, the Frightening.
  A remark from one Lightning pilot has gone down 
in lore, when asked how his first flight had gone, his response was, “No sweat, I was with it all 
the way, until I let the wheel brakes off!” At this time, English Electric’s aviation division 
merged with several other British aerospace firms to form the British Aircraft Corporation 
(BAC), but for the sake of continuity,   I will continue to refer to English Electric.
Naturally, any new type will come with its fair share of teething troubles, and 
the Lightning was no exception.
  One of the first real headaches was a serious 
defect in the pipework linking the ventral tank to the rest of the fuel system.
Cracks had developed from fatigue,   allowing pressurised fuel to leak 
into the engine bays—never ideal. The fleet was swiftly grounded while a fix was 
thrashed out. In typical British bodge-it fashion, the interim solution was to simply disconnect 
the ventral fuel system and carry on flying   with an empty tank—or, in some cases, without 
a tank at all, severely limiting its range. Despite all that, the pilots still loved 
the sports car performance of the F.1,   as a Quick Reaction Aircraft (QRA), they 
could go from cockpit readiness to engine start in less than two minutes and from 
brake release have their Aluminium Death   Tube sitting on the tail of a curious Soviet 
Bear at 40,000ft in 150 seconds later. Here’s a question for you guys: Could the 
Lightning have made a better frontline   interceptor for NATO than the Lockheed F-104—a jet 
that came wrapped in political backhanders and, frankly, claimed more European pilot 
lives than the Russians ever did?
  What do you think? Let me know in the comments.
The F.1 stayed with 74 Squadron until 1963, when they moved to Leuchars and handed the F.3.
Only 19 F.1s were built. At the time, they were considered 
very sophisticated aircraft,   but they were difficult to maintain compared 
to the more straightforward Hunters. One major issue was those ventral fuel 
tanks, which caused a lot of problems.
  It very quickly became apparent that a dual 
control Lightning would be needed. and work began on the Lightning T.4, the only supersonic 
side-by-side trainer in the world at the time, and built to a similar spec to the F.1A with a 
detachable refuelling probe under the left wing. The forward fuselage, which is only just 
large enough for a single pilot in the   fighter variants,, was widened for the T.4 by just 
under one foot with the ADEN guns being removed. It was no doubt a very cosy place to be, and was 
the aircraft in which Flight Officer Jean Oakes became first British woman to break the sound 
barrier flying an RAF jet, in September 1962. The next single-seater was the F.2, considered 
the ultimate Lightning of all the types,   having the best power-to-weight ratio, 
before the bloat started to set in. The upgrades included a standby DC electric 
generator and a liquid oxygen breathing system, which replaced the older gaseous oxygen setup.
A major addition was the new OR.946 integrated flight control system, which connected 
the navigation avionics to an automatic   flight control computer and introduced a 
significantly revised cockpit layout. Powering the aircraft were Avon 210R 
engines, now featuring a slightly   improved afterburner control scheme.
Some 44 were built, the first XN723 making its maiden flight on 11 July 1961.
Deliveries took place to the Leconfield wing, Nos 19 and 92 Squadrons, around the end of 1962.
Visually, the F2 was identical to the F1 except for a small intake on the upper 
fuselage to cool the DC generator.
  British Lightning’s never fired a shot in 
anger, but it holds the unique—and somewhat dubious—honour of being the first 
aircraft to shoot down a Harrier.
  This happened in 1972 when a British Harrier 
pilot ejected after engine failure. Strangely, the ejection force restarted the 
engine, and the now pilot less jet kept flying, heading straight toward East Germany.
A lightning was scrambled to prevent a diplomatic   incident, and it was tasked with intercepting 
and shooting down the runaway Harrier. Now, this story has been doing the rounds 
for donkeys’ years, whether there’s any   truth in the story, I’ll leave that to you.
Much later, 31 of these aircraft were converted to F.2A standard, with a large angular fin, 
a cranked and cambered wing leading edge, and provision for a ventral 610-Imp gal 
(about 732 US gal) tank in place of the   earlier 250-Imp gal (about 300 US gal) design.
The F.3, visually similar to its predecessor except for the squared-off tail fin, which was 
cropped and its area increased by 15% to give the Lightning better longitudinal stability, 
introduced several upgrades, most notably the more powerful Avon 301 engines, which put out 
16,360 lb of thrust with fully variable reheat. From what I could gather, the first F.3 
development aircraft, XG310, was a P.1B converted to the F.3 prototype and first flew in 
November 1961, with the first production machine, XP693, following on 16 June 1962.
The F.3 was, surprisingly to many, a missile-only aircraft, carrying two of the Red 
Top all-aspect missiles and the A.I. 23 B radar set in the nose-cone, meaning the Lightning could 
perform a proper collision-course interception for the first time, instead of tailchase intercepts.
This radar was hand-controlled by the pilot, who could scan the sky in front of the 
aircraft, where a bomber could be spotted   within 35 nautical miles at high altitude while 
keeping out of radar contact with the target. However, the A.I. 23B radar did suffer from 
false returns from clouds, land, sea, and ships, so it’s just as well that the Soviets did 
not produce a low-level bomber force.
  By the time the F.3 rolled out, the cockpit 
had been upgraded to full OR946 navigation and attack system, complete with a Mk.2 
master reference gyro at its core. This meant the Lightning finally 
had proper inertial navigation,   plus a more capable autopilot, instrument landing 
system, and a tidier main flight display. All of it helped take some of the pressure 
off the pilot—especially during high-speed   intercepts or longer sorties—bringing 
the Lightning a bit closer to feeling like a proper 1960s interceptor rather than 
something strapped together around two rockets. So, why no guns? Well, by the time the 
F.3 came along, thinking had shifted. Guns were seen as outdated, relics of WWII 
dogfighting, and the idea of getting into a turning fight was seen as passé—especially for 
a point-defence interceptor like the Lightning, which was never meant to dogfight but 
to sprint, strike, and peel away.
  Theoretically, the pilot would spot 
the bomber, fire from miles out, and the job would be done long before anyone got 
close, so the guns just didn’t seem necessary; however, pilots were not happy with the decision.
  A total of 62 F.3s were built, 
the last—XR720—delivered to 56 Squadron in April 1965.
Some later airframes were converted to the interim F.6 standard, a few F.3s were sent 
to the Lightning Training Flight at Binbrook, some became chase aircraft, hanging until 
the very end of Lightning operations.
  There was the F.3A, an interim F.6, this was 
an attempt to extend the range of the aircraft, with a longer, larger ventral tank, that gave her 
the appearance of having a bit of a beer gut. The F.3A came with a new wing design with 
a leading-edge camber and kinked outer   panels with a bit more sweep, which 
helped improve low-speed handling. The F.6 was the final and most capable Lightning 
variant, essentially a refined F.3 with the same weapons system but much-needed improvements to 
range and handling, of which 62 were built. This new Lightning was better 
aerodynamically than the older design,   though splayed ventral fins were added to 
preserve high-speed directional stability. The first flight of an F.6 (XP697) took place 
on 17 April 1964, with the first production machine, XR752, flying on 16 June 1965.
Guns made a comeback on the F.6; events had shown that guns still had a place in air combat.
Soon, the Arab-Israeli and Vietnam wars would remind everyone that missiles weren’t always 
the silver bullet they were promised to be.
  Close-in dogfights still happened, and in those 
chaotic, high-speed turning matches, a pair of 30mm Aden cannons could make all the difference.
The RAF took note of the disgruntled pilots who lamented their guns, and by the time the 
F.6 rolled out, the guns were back—this time housed in a redesigned ventral tank… 
they put the guns in the fuel tank. It may seem a little absurd to place them 
there; however, the reason was simply this: the F.6 was never supposed to have guns, 
and in any case, there was no where else on the airframe to put them.
One benefit of this arrangement   was that there was no more muzzle 
flash to blind the pilot at night. The ventral tank held 610 Imperial gallons 
(2,773 litres) of fuel, or 535 Imp gal (2,432 litres) when the guns were fitted; even so, this 
gave the F.6 an endurance of just 60 minutes. To give the pilot a little extra time, the F.6 
could also carry two unique overwing tanks, called “Overburgers”, each holding 260 Imp gal 
(1,181 litres), giving a total fuel load of up to 1,846 Imp gal (8,390 litres) or in other 
words an additional 30 minutes in the air. But……these over-wing tanks 
produced a fair amount of drag,   which limited the airspeed to 525 knots or 
Mach 0.98 and limited manoeuvres to 4G and were therefore only meant to be used for ferrying.
But by the end, they flew more or less with   them constantly to increase sortie time and 
reduce the number of take-offs and landings, hoping to extend their service life, but 
for the pilots, it did mean no more zipping into the heavens like hooligans.
As an aside, the F.3 had also been cleared for overwing tanks, improving its 
previous 40-minute endurance. However,   I couldn’t find evidence that they were ever 
flown operationally with the overburgers Power came from a pair of Avon 301Rs’, 
each pushing out 16,300 lb of thrust with fully variable reheat. Combined with the 
new cambered wing leading edge, the Lightning could reach Mach 2.27 or approximately 
1,500 mph at 40,000ft and better handling, more legs, and a better climb rate to escort 
any errant Soviet bear out of UK airspace. The Lightning F.6 had pretty impressive 
acceleration and climb performance,   although not as good as late-model MiG-21s, but 
the Lightning’s two powerful Avon 301R engines do give it the unique capability of being 
able to fly supersonic without afterburner,   not for long, but impressive all the same, 
but then so could the original P.1s. In a close-in fight, an F.6 could still give 
aircraft like the Mirage F.1 and even the F-4 Phantom a tough time, though most Lightning 
pilots were quick to acknowledge the edge held by newer U.S. types like the F-15 and F-16.
As mentioned, the Lightning was no slouch when it came to getting to altitude, which is 
unsurprising considering her only purpose   was to get to high-flying Soviet bombers before 
they could get anywhere near the British Isles. The question everyone asks is, well, 
how fast and how high could they go?
  When flown at its ideal climb profile, the 
Lightning could rocket up to 36,000 feet in under three minutes from brake release.
If i were to sum up the Lightning,   it would be a “A reusable manned missile”
The aircraft’s true ceiling was always something of a secret to the general public.
RAF pilot notes and various official   documents noted “60,000+ feet,” but these were 
mostly due to cockpit pressurisation limits rather than the jet’s actual capability.
But within the RAF, it was an open secret: the Lightning could go much higher.
In 1962, Fighter Command ran some trials   against U-2 spy planes temporarily 
flying out of RAF Upper Heyford in the UK to monitor resumed Soviet nuclear tests.
The U2 was flying at around 60 to 65,000 feet, altitudes considered safe from intercepts.
According to some, the Lightnings were able   to reach a U2, although, the Lightning pilot 
would’ve had to very carefully time the zoom climb to altitude to intercept successfully.
All the U2 pilot had to do was adjust his course slightly, and had the U2 taken 
evasive action, the Lightning pilot   would’ve been left with an empty sky.
Former RAF Lightning pilot Brian Carroll claims to have once taken a Lightning F.53 over 
Saudi Arabia to an altitude of 87,300 feet. He recalled the Earth’s curve was 
clearly visible, the sky fading to   black, and flight controls becoming extremely 
delicate—flying “on a knife edge,” as he put it. But that wasn’t the ceiling just yet.
During a NATO exercise in 1984, Flt Lt Mike Hale pushed Lightning XR749 to intercept a U-2 at 
an altitude Americans assumed was untouchable. He reached a staggering 88,000 feet—not 
in sustained level flight, but using a ballistic zoom climb, accelerating 
hard and trading speed for height.
  Hale also took part in time-to-climb and 
acceleration trials against F-104 Starfighters in Denmark, where the Lightning bested its 
opponents in every race except one—low-level supersonic acceleration, which ended in a draw.
And here’s a fun one—during British Airways trials in 1985, Concorde was used 
as a live intercept target.
  Despite attempts by F-15s, F-16s, F-14s, 
Mirages and F-104s, only Lightning XR749, once again piloted by Hale, managed to 
catch the supersonic airliner from behind. Chapter 8: English Electric 
Lightning: Into the Blue However, as with all good things, 
everything eventually ends,
  By 1974, the RAF Lightnings were starting 
to be replaced with the F4 Phantom, another beautiful machine.
Fatigue cracks were starting   to be discovered in F.6 wings’ roots, 
which, after a program of strengthening, extended their service lives, 
but the writing was on the wall.
  The Lightning Training Flight that had birthed 
so many pilots closed its doors in August 1987, followed by a gradual phase out of Lightning 
squadrons, with the number 11 squadron   being the last to fly them in Spring 1988, 
replacing them with the Panavia Tornado. The final flight of a pair of RAF 
Lightnings in Britain was out of Binbrook   to Cranfield on the 30th of June 1988.
However, the lightning was not yet done, South African company Thunder City bought 
three of these aircraft, one T5 and a pair of single-seat F.6es, which flew until a fatal 
crash which grounding the fleet by 2010. Although the Lightning may one day take to the 
sky again, thanks to the Anglo-American Lightning Organisation, which, from what I can gather, is 
currently restoring a two-seat Mark T.5 that they estimate will be flight-ready by 2026.
There is much more to the Lightning,   than I could possibly reasonably add to the video 
and do it justice, such as the time Taffy Holden, an engineer, accidentally took off in an Lightning 
during routine maintenance at RAF Lyneham, or the Lightnings in Germany during the Cold war.
I am currently working on the next Lightning story right now, those who know, will know what 
that story will be as I have mentioned the   Type F53 a few times in the story.
I really hope you enjoyed this story on the development life of the Lightning, 
it’s been a long time in the making,   so please, if you could, leave a like or even 
a comment, to feed the YouTube algorithm. Until the next time, thank you so much for 
watching,…..………now time to put the kettle on..