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Early one Sunday morning in September 1949, throngs of people started to gather around the runway of the Bristol Aeroplane Company factory in the west of England. Curious Bristolians occupied every available vantage point, while workers and their families crowded into special enclosures alongside the airfield. The ten thousand or so bystanders were joined by two hundred and fifty reporters from all corners of the globe, all present in anticipation of an historic event. The message had gone out: “It’s going to be today!”

A huge contraption lay poised on the threshold of the runway: a flying machine far larger than any that the ordinary onlooker would have seen before. With elegant curves and a smooth stressed-metal skin, she looked impressive enough, but there may have been doubts among the spectators regarding the aircraft’s ability to leave the ground. Many had watched the giant plane incessantly track back and forth along the runway over the last two days, with no sign of a take-off. But now the taxi-trials were complete.

At ten o’clock their patience was finally rewarded. To the throaty roar of eight powerful Centaurus piston engines, and the delight of the crowd, the Bristol Brabazon– the largest and most advanced airliner of its day– sped down the runway and took to the air for the very first time. As the graceful behemoth slipped the surly bonds of the Earth, it’s said that the captain, test pilot Bill Pegg, uttered the words: “Good God- it works!” But for all of the splendor surrounding its maiden voyage, the massive aircraft was soon relegated to the scrap heap of aviation history.

Back on the ground, it’s likely that a group of increasingly disgruntled British government accountants watched the flight with a somewhat blunted sense of euphoria– for as well as being vast, the aircraft was proving vastly expensive, and the joyous occasion of its first flight was at least two years overdue. Yet when the Brabazon took to the air, the hopes and expectations of an exhausted and war-shattered Britain were lifted with it.

Absurdly ambitious in concept and execution, the Bristol Brabazon was designed to carry more people faster, further, higher and in greater comfort than any plane that had flown before. Its most obvious feature was its size⁠— at the time of its first flight it was the largest land-based aircraft in the world, dwarfing all other airliners. Comparisons with typical transport aircraft of the time are revealing: the Brabazon had well over twice the wingspan, nearly three times the length, and eight times the weight of the well-known Douglas DC-3. The “Brab” also flew higher and faster, with an unparalleled range and carrying capacity. While newer variants of pre-existing planes (such as the Lockheed Constellation) had already brought advances such as pressurized cabins to the airlines, the Brabazon was the first passenger aircraft purpose-built to incorporate such features. Its unique combination of complexity, performance, high technology and unheard-of size was to remain unrivalled for nearly two decades.

The Bristol Brabazon design, like most large-scale projects of its era, was born out of the Second World War. In 1942 the British and American governments decided to divide responsibility for Allied aircraft production; The Americans would focus on building air transports, while the British would concentrate on delivering large numbers of combat aircraft. Even as the conflict raged in Europe, it soon became clear that this plan would leave Britain at a post-war technological disadvantage, as highlighted by a 1943 British Air Ministry committee chaired by Lord Brabazon of Tara. The committee’s farsighted report urged the development of a large transatlantic airliner to secure the needs of postwar British commerce and industry. In response, the Bristol Aircraft Company reworked a previously abandoned design for a long-range heavy bomber to produce the imposing Brabazon concept. The company benefited from this apparent head-start by eventually receiving £12,000,000 of government money for the project. Much was riding on the endeavour: the future of the company, the livelihoods of the factory workers and suppliers in Bristol, Britain’s reputation as a technological leader in aeronautical design, and ultimately– many believed– the renaissance of the nation’s civil aircraft manufacturing industry.

An aircraft as ambitious as the Brabazon demanded novel construction techniques and a flurry of technical advances. Such a large airplane risked a serious weight problem, so engineers went to unprecedented lengths to strip excess metal from the design without sacrificing its structural strength. This foreshadowed the fine tolerances and optimal manufacturing processes standard in the aircraft construction industry today. A new hangar had to be built; with its 230ft wingspan⁠— greater than that of any modern airliner apart from Airbus’ new “superjumbo” A380⁠— existing facilities at the factory were hopelessly deficient. The eight coupled contra-rotating propellers were driven by eight paired engines, buried in the wing close to the fuselage to improve drag and allow space for the outboard fuel tanks.

Like many later aircraft, the Brabazon featured technologies such as electric engine controls, high-pressure hydraulics to operate the flying surfaces, and cabin pressurization. The aircraft was initially designed to accommodate 80 passengers with sleeping berth accommodation, or 150 people for daytime flights, in considerably more luxury than most modern aircraft can offer. Proposed cabin designs included provision for lounges, cocktail bars and cinemas. Although the prototype had old-fashioned piston engines, the turboprops on the anticipated production version could maintain a top speed of 330 miles per hour. This would allow a transatlantic flight time of about twelve hours, which was not unreasonable compared to its contemporaries.

As it turns out, test pilot Bill Pegg’s surprise during the maiden flight was misplaced. The Brabazon did indeed work: its performance comfortably matched specifications, and although some strengthening was deemed necessary around the propellor mountings, the design was free of serious problems. Test pilots delighted in the aircraft’s pleasant flying characteristics while test passengers enthused about the smooth ride and spacious interior. The experience was a far cry from the buttock-numbing bumpiness of the older generation of piston-engined airliners. It seemed certain that the Bristol Aircraft Company had a hit on its hands. But despite an impressive run of displays on the international airshow circuit, no airlines were interested in buying the design. The second prototype never made it off the production line, and in 1953 the world’s first and only Bristol Brabazon⁠— the high-flying luxury liner of the future⁠— was unceremoniously scrapped.

Big aircraft: the Brabazon, Spruce Goose and Boeing 747

In terms of size, expense and commercial success, the aircraft invites comparison to another giant post-war aeronautical creation: Howard Hughes’ magnificently misconceived monster, the H-4 Hercules or ‘Spruce Goose’. But whereas the Hercules flying-wooden-boat was a collection of dead-end technologies that seemed destined for failure, the Brabazon embodied anything but backwardness. A more appropriate comparison could be made with the comparably-sized, ultra-successful Boeing 747. It shared the Brabazon’s lightweight all-metal construction, pressurized cabin, and hydraulic flight controls, yet this archetypal modern ‘jumbo jet’ was not to fly for another twenty years.

Today, most commentators trace the Brabazon’s failure to the British aircraft industry’s poor understanding of post-war market conditions. Despite its cutting-edge technology, the Brabazon was outfitted in the style of a luxurious 1930s ocean liner with pre-war air passengers in mind: wealthy industrialists, super-rich tourists, or civil servants on urgent government business demanding high levels of comfort. Although it was approximately the same size and weight as the modern 747, the Brabazon was designed to carry only 100-odd passengers compared to the Boeing’s 300-plus capacity. All this combined to make the type profoundly uneconomical. At the same time, smaller but faster turbojet-powered airliners were in development, and it was felt that passengers would readily sacrifice the extra space and comfort of the Brabazon for a quicker journey.

With better marketing and an increased passenger capacity the Bristol Brabazon might have been successful. Yet the concept of mass air travel was alien to populations on both sides of the Atlantic in the late 1940s. One or two British airlines flirted with the aircraft, but ultimately deemed her too costly and high-maintenance for their purposes. Europe was too impoverished, while America was busy developing her own advanced airliners such as the Boeing 707. Aircraft procurement tended to take place along national lines, and it was crucial that the Brabazon gained orders from a British airline if it was to succeed. When this failed to happen, its fate was sealed.

It seems likely that the Brabazon’s futuristic features and large size were an integral part of its undoing. When the 747 took to the skies at the end of the swinging sixties, the travelling public were earning more and aspiring to join the jet-set– in short, the world was waiting for such an aircraft. The immense aircraft offered technologies and amenities which were simply not in demand. The world was not yet ready.

Passengers enjoying the high life in the Brabazon's spacious cabin

Today, of course, many more people appreciate the comfort and convenience of modern air travel, and passenger numbers are increasing year by year. New aircraft such as the A380 are even beginning to reintroduce luxuries such as sleeping berths, cocktail bars, and casinos. Yet few from these ever-growing throngs of flyers are even aware of the plane that pioneered many of the technologies they enjoy and depend upon– the plane that demonstrated what was possible.

Complex yet chic, gargantuan yet graceful, the Bristol Brabazon was a spectacular and larger-than-life girl of the sixties, sadly fated to fly out her days in the austere setting of postwar Britain– at least a decade ahead of her time.