Classic Aircraft profiled every issue -

Issue 10 - de Havilland Mosquito: Editor's introduction

A lot of people listen to music when they write. I listen to The Goon Show and Monty Python. There is something about the absurd constructs and lunatic juxtapositions that seem to free the mind. The Gumby Theatre was playing and there, right at the end of the sketch, was inspiration. “Adapted… by putting it on a piece of wood and banging a few nails through it”. Admittedly, the Monty Python boys were talking about Anton Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard, but they could have been talking about the Mosquito.  Suddenly, I got it. I understood the legend.

Adaptable was what the aircraft was all about, and often those adaptations came about by little more than the Python method, new mission equipment simply screwed, glued or nailed into the slim wooden airframe. This is not to say these adaptations were rushed or ill-considered, but the nature of the airframe lent itself to simple, effective and – most of all – speedy, configuration to many roles.

There were many excellent aircraft built during the Second World War, but only one in this league. A Spitfire would not have made a heavy bomber or a good night-fighter, although it was an excellent fighter, fighter-bomber and photo-reconnaissance aircraft. A Lancaster would have not excelled as a fighter. The only two aircraft that come close are the Ju-88 and P-38 Lightning, but the Lightning did not have the payload of the Mosquito and the Ju-88 lacked its agility as a fighter. Only the Mosquito excelled in every single one of its roles, with the performance each required.

The key to the legend, then, is its adaptability, but that key came from skill, dedication and genius. Officialdom was initially very suspicious of the concept, applying an often outmoded understanding of air warfare and aircraft and seeing only problems in an unarmed bomber. Geoffrey de Havilland did understand aircraft, particularly the safety that came with speed and in Eric Bishop he had a chief designer who could give him the performance he needed for the new design. Even in the face of official rejection, their belief in the concept was unshakeable. This belief was only the beginning of the Mosquito story.

The construction techniques required for the airframe were complex and required great skill, but created a beautifully simple and efficient airframe. The materials were available, being considered non-strategic, and the skills were available as de Havilland had foreseen, there was not much call for pianos and furniture in wartime. These skilled woodworkers took to the task with a will, and the aircraft benefited enormously from their feedback. What resulted from these many layers of skill, dedication and genius was a lightweight, strong airframe with performance to spare, even from the very beginning. Looking down the inside of the fuselage of a Mosquito, there was also a lot of empty space for equipment.

This last factor was the remaining piece of the legend. You could put what you needed inside the airframe, maintaining its streamlining and therefore performance, and you could put it there with relative ease. Mounts for cameras, racks for radar equipment, all could be designed and mass produced quickly, then glued or screwed on to the wood internally. Even the bomb bay was extended greatly without real penalty. Weapons, aerials and drop tanks were the only externally mounted items that ever changed the basic shape. That was the real genius of the Mosquito. There were 7,781 built in 37 versions, but aside from engines and the odd bulge, it actually changed very little. A late model Mosquito could be parked next to the prototype and you still wouldn’t mistake it for anything else. Like the Spitfire and the Mustang, it remained true to its form, because that form was right first time. Maybe that’s what genius is, the creation of perfection. It certainly is the stuff of legends.

All best,

Tim