He then gazed at the publicity illustration of the aircraft next to the text. ‘She sure has got some class, hasn’t she, sir?’
Swan looked up at his companion, smiling in admiration. ‘She certainly has, Arthur.’
He left the page open in the paper and rose from his desk, walked over to a grey filing cabinet in the corner of the room and opened the top drawer. Rifling through the dividers, he pulled out a green file. He took up the newspaper from the desk and handed it to Gable. ‘Arthur. We’re going to take a trip to Brinton’s next week. Hopefully during our shoot on Saturday, I can persuade Higgins to get us a couple of passes. Maybe we can pose as a couple of Ministry officials or something.’
Gable sat down and stared at the newspaper. ‘Do you think something’s going on up there then, sir?’
‘Not sure yet, old chap. But being closer to it all may prove to be a good move. What time are you collecting Miss Townsley this morning?’
Gable looked at his watch. ‘I told her I will be there for eleven thirty’
Swan rose from his chair. ‘Righto. Good, that gives us two hours. So, I’ll take a walk around to the Ministry and have a quick chat with Air Commodore Higgins and arrange our shoot. Be a good chap and bring the Sapphire around and pick me up, and then we will both visit Miss Townsley. I think that instead of bringing her back here, we will have a spot of lunch in a pub that I know on Hampstead Heath.’
On the only region of flat plains just west of the Lake District National Park lies the village of Ellenborough. To the south, the A594 winds its way from Maryport towards the great lakes. Five miles from Ellenborough sandwiched on a vast site between the villages of Dearham and Tallentire, it is hard not to notice an establishment through the bordering high fence adorned with barbed wire and the yellow painted Crash Gate № 2.
A row of four green structures with hard standings before them state their presence with taxiways leading out to a six-thousand foot service runway. This is the site of Brinton Aviation.
Founded by Sir Ronald Brinton just after the First World War, Brinton saw an opportunity to build passenger aircraft which would put Britain in the forefront of civil aviation. The R-21 Rangoon, a four-engine tri-plane, was the first of its kind anywhere in the world and broke several speed and endurance records.
This was followed by the even bigger R-31 Rutland, a huge, six engine monster. When war broke out in 1939, Brinton began to produce military transport aircraft and, following the tradition of thinking big, the R-51 Ramesses four engine monoplane was built and pushed into service. Impressed with this design and the next model on the drawing board, the R-55 Rochester flying boat transport, the Air Ministry approached Brinton to design a new bomber aircraft using the new concept in propulsion, the jet engine.
Towards the end of the war, the massive four jet engine R-71 Raven flew on its first flight and the Air Ministry soon commissioned it into mass production, to not only serve in the European theatre, but also in the Far East. Tragically, shortly after the order was signed, the Raven prototype crashed during a test flight at RAF Pembridge, killing the crew of four who were evaluating the machine in a simulated Toss- Bombing demonstration. Almost immediately, production was halted as the investigation into the crash went ahead. The conclusion was that the aircraft was simply too powerful at low level altitudes and handling in dives was difficult at attack speeds. With no need for a high level bomber, the Raven was cancelled; the second prototype had been scrapped while only half complete.
However, Brinton was not defeated by this unfortunate mishap and already had a future design on the drawing board. This would lead to a later re-design for a proposal to meet the Air Ministry requirement ORR-531 for a multi-role supersonic combat aircraft, which eventually became the BR-101.
Howard Barnett sat in his office, holding a large white mug of tea in one hand, while in the other was a gold plated pencil scribbling some equations on a writing pad. The specially commissioned gold pencil was part of a set of six set in a highly polished oak case. He had been presented these as a gift by Sir Ronald himself, for his services leading up to and during the last war. The six pencils represented the six designs that Barnett had created into successful production aircraft. ‘HB’ as he was known at Brinton’s, due to his characteristic gold pencil tucked behind his ear, had joined the company as an apprentice to the man himself, and had in a short time learned a lot from his senior mentor. At the age of forty-two, he had become Brinton’s Chief Designer and now was at the helm of the combined BR-101 production team. The founder’s first son, Henry, had since taken over following his father’s fatal stroke to continue as the head of the company, and with all the confidence in his father’s former apprentice, allowed HB a virtual free reign.
HB looked out of the windows that spread from wall to wall at the front of his office. From here, he had a clear view of the hangars and beyond in the distance were the lights forming the runway in front of a currently overcast backdrop. The opposite wall of the office was also glass. It looked out over the assembly plant, and the neatly set out jigs with four partially assembled production samples of his new warplane perched upon them.
He checked his watch and realising the time, moved over to a microphone and switched on a button on the stem. ‘Attention all Brinton personnel. Please make your way to the dispersal area. The BR-101 naming ceremony will commence at twelve noon. Thank you.’ He raised his head from the microphone and stood listening to the radio transmissions from the control tower.