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Concorde back in the air?

I think the fact that the american sour grapes and them kicking up a fuss about it flying supersonic over land put pay to supersonic travel

Remember being at Filton (BAC & RR plants) in Bristol in early '70s.

As we were heading to our car to leave for home Concorde left on a test flight. The roar as it took off a couple of hundred yards away and flew quite close over the top of us was unbvelievably loud - alnost deafening.

My colleague turns to me and says something which I (obviously) can't hear. "What ?" I say and still can't hear is reply. After the noise has died down I ask him to repeat what he said.

"I don't know what the Yanks are moaning about" he says with a grin "That's not very loud"

It was ! Very, very loud !
 
I remember working security for one of the horse races; ascot or epsom (something like that anyway) and watching it come across the sky over the crowd. Couldn't help but stop and smile a little bit. A wonderful piece of engineering whatever it's ethical conotations might be. :)
 
Nice piece on the BBC site. Shame this beautiful plane is unlikely to ever fly again.

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He is modest about it, but Jock is part of an elite club. There are more US astronauts than there are Concorde pilots.

Jock then recalled the time he was chatting to some pilots of the super-secret American spy plane, the SR71 Blackbird.

Now, the whole point of that amazing aircraft was that it flew way beyond the reach of other planes. Faster and higher, hidden away.

But one day, these guys said that their air traffic controller told them to get out of the way because there was a Concorde coming through. They couldn't believe it.

Peering out of one window, two American military pilots wearing spacesuits.

Peering out of the other, perhaps Joan Collins guzzling champagne - I'm guessing she was on the plane as she often was. I wonder if they waved?

Technically, Concorde was revolutionary.

It was the first aircraft to have computer-controlled engine air intakes. This may not sound much but it was one of the most significant leaps in aviation technology at the time.

In any technology, in fact.

It meant that they could slow the air down by 1,000mph in the space of about 15ft (4.5m). Without that, the engines would have blown apart.

Concorde had carbon-fibre brakes. Again, the norm now, but back in the 1960s a technological marvel - and it was fly-by-wire decades before Airbus made that a mainstream technology.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-24629451
 
no, it was a disgusting status symbol for the elite that offered nothing for the rest of us except deafness. It should never have flown, not once, and it's absolutely right that its been melted down. Nostalging about its beauty misses the point by miles.
 
no, it was a disgusting status symbol for the elite that offered nothing for the rest of us except deafness. It should never have flown, not once, and it's absolutely right that its been melted down. Nostalging about its beauty misses the point by miles.

It was fucking beautiful, and an amazing technological achievement. Developing tech at the extreme end means lessons are learned that can be applied across the board (hence why normal car companies get heavily involved in motor sport). If you're going to condemn a plane because it's too expensive for the masses, I'd have to point out that for the majority of the worlds population that applies to every passenger craft.
 
your idea of 'beauty' overrides everything else? fur coats, ivory chesspieces, blood diamonds all good because they're 'beautiful'? that's an obviously ott point but you get the drift? I suppose tbh I have little concept of why anyone could think 'beauty' is an appropriate word: it was no different to any other lump of machinery in the sky except it was at least 10 times as loud, 10 times as intrusive, and 10 times as wrong. All I can think is that you didn't live underneath the poxy, horrible thing and get deafened daily because there was sure nothing 'beautiful' about that.

we're not going to agree on this, and I guess I'm in a minority, I was the only one on the bridge cheering when the fuselage went off downstream, but cheer I did, really happy to see it with the wings sawn off. The thing was an absolute disgrace on every level, whatever technological marvels, or aesthetic appeal, you claim for it.
 
Conveniently ignoring the points about any form of air travel being out of reach for the majority of the planet, or the role that extreme environment development plays in improving an entire field.

There's no achievement in blood diamonds or fur. There's something pretty amazing in making a passenger plane that can break the speed of sound. I hate to think just how much revulsion the moon landings must provoke in you.
 
Conveniently ignoring the points about any form of air travel being out of reach for the majority of the planet, or the role that extreme environment development plays in improving an entire field.

There's no achievement in blood diamonds or fur. There's something pretty amazing in making a passenger plane that can break the speed of sound. I hate to think just how much revulsion the moon landings must provoke in you.
the concorde's over. so are rising living standards, free education, an unspoilt environment, honest banking, warm living rooms for many, decent interest rates, social housing, etc…

thinking of it that way, however, i don't give a shit about whether a few hundred people a day get to barney's or bergdorf goodman's in just a few hours, pissed on champagne.
 
Concorde gave pleasure to millions of people, most of whom never got to fly on it.

I remember pointing it out to my infant school teacher during break in the playground. I was five at the time and it must have been around 30,000ft. She was like "nah you can't tell from here....oh...actually I think you may be right...hey children look there's Concorde wow!"
 
I remember pointing it out to my infant school teacher during break in the playground. I was five at the time and it must have been around 30,000ft. She was like "nah you can't tell from here....oh...actually I think you may be right...hey children look there's Concorde wow!"
Sounds familiar :D Lots of jumping up and down, pointing to the sky and shouting 'CONCORDE!! CONCORDE!! CONCORDE!!' when it went over the playground.
 
no, it was a disgusting status symbol for the elite that offered nothing for the rest of us except deafness. It should never have flown, not once, and it's absolutely right that its been melted down. Nostalging about its beauty misses the point by miles.


Load of bollocks! Is a 747 better with the first class folks sitting up front with everyone else squished into the back?
 
Is it possible to be impressed with the genius engineering, the many lives dedicated to making the project a reality and the awesome beauty of the plane in flight whilst also decrying the environmental impact and the fact that it became a play-thing of the wealthy?

That's where I stand, really.
 
To me, the Concorde is one of the symbols of the "future" I imagined growing up in the 80s. However, as time went by, it looked progressively less the "future", and more a cumbersome relic of the past.
 
(SR-71 anecdote from BBC)

The SR-71 pilots have some of the best stories in modern aviation. There's a book, Sled Driver, that has some great anecdotes.

http://b.johnwurth.com/edinburgh-day-1-2/

There were a lot of things we couldn’t do in an SR-71, but we were the fastest guys on the block and loved reminding our fellow aviators of this fact. People often asked us if, because of this fact, it was fun to fly the jet. Fun would not be the first word I would use to describe flying this plane. Intense, maybe. Even cerebral. But there was one day in our Sled experience when we would have to say that it was pure fun to be the fastest guys out there, at least for a moment.

It occurred when Walt and I were flying our final training sortie. We needed 100 hours in the jet to complete our training and attain Mission Ready status. Somewhere over Colorado we had passed the century mark. We had made the turn in Arizona and the jet was performing flawlessly. My gauges were wired in the front seat and we were starting to feel pretty good about ourselves, not only because we would soon be flying real missions but because we had gained a great deal of confidence in the plane in the past ten months. Ripping across the barren deserts 80,000 feet below us, I could already see the coast of California from the Arizona border. I was, finally, after many humbling months of simulators and study, ahead of the jet. I was beginning to feel a bit sorry for Walter in the back seat.

There he was, with no really good view of the incredible sights before us, tasked with monitoring four different radios. This was good practice for him for when we began flying real missions, when a priority transmission from headquarters could be vital. It had been difficult, too, for me to relinquish control of the radios, as during my entire flying career I had controlled my own transmissions. But it was part of the division of duties in this plane and I had adjusted to it. I still insisted on talking on the radio while we were on the ground, however. Walt was so good at many things, but he couldn’t match my expertise at sounding smooth on the radios, a skill that had been honed sharply with years in fighter squadrons where the slightest radio miscue was grounds for beheading. He understood that and allowed me that luxury. Just to get a sense of what Walt had to contend with, I pulled the radio toggle switches and monitored the frequencies along with him.

The predominant radio chatter was from Los Angeles Center, far below us, controlling daily traffic in their sector. While they had us on their scope (albeit briefly), we were in uncontrolled airspace and normally would not talk to them unless we needed to descend into their airspace. We listened as the shaky voice of a lone Cessna pilot asked Center for a readout of his ground speed. Center replied: “November Charlie 175, I’m showing you at ninety knots on the ground.”

Now the thing to understand about Center controllers, was that whether they were talking to a rookie pilot in a Cessna, or to Air Force One, they always spoke in the exact same, calm, deep, professional, tone that made one feel important. I referred to it as the ” Houston Center voice.” I have always felt that after years of seeing documentaries on this country’s space program and listening to the calm and distinct voice of the Houston controllers, that all other controllers since then wanted to sound like that, and that they basically did. And it didn’t matter what sector of the country we would be flying in, it always seemed like the same guy was talking. Over the years that tone of voice had become somewhat of a comforting sound to pilots everywhere. Conversely, over the years, pilots always wanted to ensure that, when transmitting, they sounded like Chuck Yeager, or at least like John Wayne. Better to die than sound bad on the radios. Just moments after the Cessna’s inquiry, a Twin Beech piped up on frequency, in a rather superior tone, asking for his ground speed. “I have you at one hundred and twenty-five knots of ground speed.”

Boy, I thought, the Beechcraft really must think he is dazzling his Cessna brethren. Then, out of the blue, a navy F-18 pilot out of NAS Lemoore came up on frequency. You knew right away it was a Navy jock because he sounded very cool on the radios. “Center, Dusty 52 ground speed check”. Before Center could reply, I’m thinking to myself, hey, Dusty 52 has a ground speed indicator in that million-dollar cockpit, so why is he asking Center for a readout? Then I got it, ol’ Dusty here is making sure that every bug smasher from Mount Whitney to the Mojave knows what true speed is. He’s the fastest dude in the valley today, and he just wants everyone to know how much fun he is having in his new Hornet. And the reply, always with that same, calm, voice, with more distinct alliteration than emotion: “Dusty 52, Center, we have you at 620 on the ground.”

And I thought to myself, is this a ripe situation, or what? As my hand instinctively reached for the mic button, I had to remind myself that Walt was in control of the radios. Still, I thought, it must be done – in mere seconds we’ll be out of the sector and the opportunity will be lost. That Hornet must die, and die now. I thought about all of our Sim training and how important it was that we developed well as a crew and knew that to jump in on the radios now would destroy the integrity of all that we had worked toward becoming. I was torn. Somewhere, 13 miles above Arizona, there was a pilot screaming inside his space helmet. Then, I heard it. The click of the mic button from the back seat. That was the very moment that I knew Walter and I had become a crew. Very professionally, and with no emotion, Walter spoke: “Los Angeles Center, Aspen 20, can you give us a ground speed check?” There was no hesitation, and the replay came as if was an everyday request. “Aspen 20, I show you at one thousand eight hundred and forty-two knots, across the ground.”

I think it was the forty-two knots that I liked the best, so accurate and proud was Center to deliver that information without hesitation, and you just knew he was smiling. But the precise point at which I knew that Walt and I were going to be really good friends for a long time was when he keyed the mic once again to say, in his most fighter-pilot-like voice: “Ah, Center, much thanks, we’re showing closer to nineteen hundred on the money.” For a moment Walter was a god. And we finally heard a little crack in the armor of the Houston Center voice, when L.A.came back with, “Roger that Aspen, Your equipment is probably more accurate than ours. You boys have a good one.”

It all had lasted for just moments, but in that short, memorable sprint across the southwest, the Navy had been flamed, all mortal airplanes on freq were forced to bow before the King of Speed, and more importantly, Walter and I had crossed the threshold of being a crew. A fine day’s work. We never heard another transmission on that frequency all the way to the coast. For just one day, it truly was fun being the fastest guys out there.
 
SR-71 New York to London: 1 hour, 54 minutes, 56.4 seconds
London to Los Angeles: 3 hours, 47 minutes, 39 seconds (inflight refuelling over Hudson Bay)

:cool:
 
There's also another you can find from that link, about flying over Libya, being shot at with a SAM, and simply speeding up to outrun it.

The whole book costs insane money now but you can find a PDF scan with a little piratey Googling.
 
Boy George not turning up at the studio for 'Do They Know It's Christmas' because he was on a bender and still asleep in New York. Geldof gets him on the phone and has him flown over on Concorde and he's back in Notting Hill and recording at 6pm.

The there was Phil Collins doing Live Aid in Philadelphia and London on the same day. Courtesy again of Concorde.

Those sort of rock n roll antics just couldn't happen now.
 
Boy George not turning up at the studio for 'Do They Know It's Christmas' because he was on a bender and still asleep in New York. Geldof gets him on the phone and has him flown over on Concorde and he's back in Notting Hill and recording at 6pm.

The there was Phil Collins doing Live Aid in Philadelphia and London on the same day. Courtesy again of Concorde.


Yeah, put it like that and I guess it's good riddance to the rusty heap of junk.
 
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