Warbird Information Exchange

A piece of history flies home
It's the story of a classic RCAF plane, two pilots who love it and a museum that regrets selling it. And it has a happy ending
PETER CHENEY

From Monday's Globe and Mail

May 5, 2008 at 4:02 AM EDT

Thousands of aircraft buzzed through the skies of Southern Ontario last week, but it's a safe bet that none had a story quite like C-FPOW, a yellow De Havilland Chipmunk that flew its way into the hearts of two pilots from different generations.

One is Hannu Halminen, a 58-year-old flying buff who considered the Chipmunk the crowning glory of his private airplane collection. The other is John Weir, an 88-year-old Second World War Spitfire pilot who helped dig the tunnels for the Great Escape after being shot down over France. Mr. Weir bought the airplane nearly four decades before Mr. Halminen did, and gave the Chipmunk its distinctive call sign to commemorate the years he spent as a prisoner of war.

Both men love the airplane. Mr. Halminen babied it, waxed it and kept it in a hangar next to his house. But last week, he gave C-FPOW back to Mr. Weir.

"I've had my sad moments about this," Mr. Halminen said as he prepared to fly the Chipmunk from his private field west of Oshawa. "But I know it's the right thing to do."

Mr. Halminen's destination: The Canadian Warplane Heritage Museum in Hamilton, where Mr. Weir will be able to see (and possibly fly) his beloved Chipmunk yet again.

"I'm glad it's coming back," Mr. Weir said last week. "It has a lot of memories."

The return of C-FPOW is the culmination of a years-long institutional saga that saw the airplane donated to the museum, sold to raise money during a fiscal crisis, and finally recovered.

De Havilland built the Chipmunk in 1956, and the Royal Canadian Air Force used it for flight training. Mr. Weir bought it in 1970 for about $7,000, at the height of a successful career as a Bay Street broker. Piloting Spitfires and Hurricanes in the RCAF had given Mr. Weir an abiding love for fine flying machines, and the Chipmunk is noted for its smooth, sensitive controls - many pilots fly it with just two fingers on the stick.

Mr. Weir flew the Chipmunk for years, often heading to the airport before dawn to enjoy the smooth, early-morning air before the winds picked up. For a while, the Chipmunk was based at Buttonville airport, but Mr. Weir moved it to Hamilton after Buttonville's owner lit into him for making a high-speed, fighter-style pass by the control tower.

Mr. Weir recalled the exchange with the owner: "He said: 'You can't do that at a public airport!' And I said: 'It isn't a public airport. You own it.' "

Mr. Weir's wartime experiences shaped and defined him. He joined the service the day after war was declared, and became a member of 401 Squadron. He was noted for his unusual metabolism, which allowed him to survive on very limited oxygen - a quality that ended up saving his life. In November of 1941, when his flight was jumped by German fighters over France, he was forced to bail out of his burning Spitfire at 26,000 feet, leaving his oxygen mask behind. Most pilots would have passed out within seconds due to the thinness of the air at this near-Everest altitude, but Mr. Weir remained conscious and managed to deploy his parachute.

After landing, Mr. Weir was taken prisoner by the Germans. He had suffered heavy burns when his Spitfire was attacked - his eyes were so badly burned that the lids were welded shut, leaving Mr. Weir completely blind. His eyes finally opened after an operation by German doctors, but his vision remained marginal for some time.

Mr. Weir was imprisoned at Stalag Luft 3, where he took part in the famous Great Escape (which later inspired a blockbuster Hollywood movie). Mr. Weir helped plan and dig the tunnels, but didn't go on the escape because he couldn't see well enough. (Mr. Weir later escaped on a forced march from Bremerhaven to Lubbecke by bribing a German guard.)

When he returned to Canada after the war, Mr. Weir had an unexpected surprise: His military pay, which had continued through his years as a PoW, added up to more than $12,000, giving him a financial head start.

"It was a forced savings plan," he says.

In the early 1970s, Mr. Weir helped found the Canadian Warplane Heritage Museum, which started operation with a single aircraft. (Since then, the museum has expanded to include dozens of airplanes, including a Spitfire, an F-104 jet fighter and a massive Lancaster bomber.) Mr. Weir added C-FPOW to the collection because it offered the best of two worlds - the public could see it, and he could still fly it on occasion.

In the early 2000s, the museum underwent a financial crisis, and the board decided to sell an aircraft to raise money. Mr. Weir was no longer active on the board, and was unaware of the discussions. Because the museum had two Chipmunks, C-FPOW was chosen to go on the block. Mr. Halminen got wind of the sale, and began negotiations. He liked C-FPOW for a number of reasons. Mr. Weir's wartime exploits and the airplane's POW registration gave the Chipmunk historical cachet. The aircraft was exceptionally well maintained, and had the "long service" Gypsy Major engine, which is considered more reliable than other versions.

In May, 2004, Mr. Halminen flew C-FPOW from the museum to his private airfield. Mr. Halminen has owned 22 airplanes since he got his pilot's licence in 1970. (He has nine at the moment, including a Waco aerobatic biplane, two Piper Cubs, and a twin-engine Beechcraft Baron.) He and his wife live at Hawke Field, a property that is nothing short of a pilot's dream: Next to their home is a 4,000-foot grass runway with a special drainage system, and an immaculate hangar that is decorated with aviation paintings and stocked with many of his favourite aircraft.

The Chipmunk was particularly important to Mr. Halminen, because it completed his collection of Canadian Second World War era training planes. The RCAF used three key machines as trainers - the Chipmunk, the De Havilland Tiger Moth light biplane, and the North American Harvard, a solid, powerful airplane with a supercharged radial engine that makes it sound like a flying Harley Davidson.

Mr. Halminen already owned a Tiger Moth and a Harvard, so getting the Chipmunk was the finishing touch. "It was the ultimate," he says. "I had all three."

Mr. Halminen installed the Chipmunk in his hangar, where it joined the Tiger Moth and the Harvard, completing his flying dream set. Mr. Halminen flew it regularly, wearing a blue RCAF-style flight suit and a leather helmet like the one Mr. Weir wore in combat over Europe more than 60 years before.

The campaign to get C-FPOW back began about two years ago. Mr. Weir missed his airplane, and the museum realized that it had been a mistake to let it go. "We knew it should be back here," says museum CEO Dave Rohrer. "We're glad that Hannu could see it our way."

"I was mad as hell when I found out," Mr. Weir says. "They never should have sold the damned thing."

Mr. Halminen flew the Chipmunk back last week. He carefully assembled C-FPOW's log books, did a preflight inspection, then fired up the Gypsy Major one last time. After taking off at Hawke, he cruised around the field, then dived down for a high-speed pass over his grass strip, in a scene that would have been entirely familiar to Mr. Weir and his fellow Spitfire pilots in the Second World War. Then Mr. Halminen flew west along the shore of Lake Ontario, savouring the Chipmunk's perfectly balanced flight controls. Off his wing was his ride home - a two-seat Bellanca Citabria flown by a friend.

Forty-five minutes later, Mr. Halminen made a greaser landing at Hamilton airport, and taxied to the museum, a grey building with walls that look like the riveted metal skin of a vintage airplane. There, he was greeted by a phalanx of museum staff, including Mr. Rohrer, who heralded the return of C-FPOW. "It was a long time coming," he said. "It's great to have it here."

The museum plans to reunite Mr. Weir with his airplane in June at a gala event. Mr. Weir, who has been undergoing medical treatments, said he wants to see his airplane, but wasn't sure if he felt like being the guest of honour at the upcoming ceremony: "I'm 88," he said. "Eighty-eight and through the gate. When you're that old, you've seen everything and done everything."

As he prepared for his last flight in the Chipmunk, Mr. Halminen was philosophical about giving up his Chipmunk. "It was his first, and I know he loves it. I love it, too. But here, only I get to see it," he said. "I guess that's selfish."