Shutting Down History


Late August 1983 in Winnipeg proved hot and muggy. Stretched out on a lawn chair in my backyard I studied condensation droplets dribbling down the side of the tankard holding my first ice-cold beer of the day. The phone rang. It was my good friend Gerry Norberg.

“Jim” he said, “have you still got a Viscount endorsement on your licence?”

“Yes I do Gerry. What’s up?” I replied.

Gerry breathlessly explained. “The Western Canada Aviation Museum now owns the former Trans Canada Air Lines hangar at Winnipeg and will use it for the home of their historic aircraft. Their Vickers Viscount, the largest aircraft in the collection, is stored in a former RCAF hangar up at Gimli.”

He continued catching his breath, “The plane was flown up there from Montréal last year but now two of the four engines are time expired and to make it airworthy for a flight to Winnipeg they need to swap two engines with Beaver Industries.”

“And?” I interrupted.

“They need someone to fly it to Winnipeg.” He blurted out and added, “They don’t have the money to pay anybody.”

“Hmm,” I mumbled, stalling while I mulled over the possible consequences of the oblique request.

Back in the days when cars had fins, an aircraft endorsement was not required to act as co-pilot and restrictions like recency and currency did not exist yet so I countered to Gerry, “How about coming along for the ride?”

Without hesitation, he answered, “Sure.”

“That settles it then. Let’s do it but when?” I enquired.

“Oh but by the way,” he hesitated before adding “they had to take the rudder off to get it into the hangar so as soon as they finish changing the engines and put the tail back on … probably three weeks.”

Gerry and I drove up to Gimli to have a look. Seeing the aircraft, my heart sank. The forlorn scene looked hopeless. Sundry bits of airplane scattered over the hangar floor, two of the four engines missing and the silly looking Viscount with half its tail feathers missing. I had second thoughts.

CF-THS rests at Gimli, Manitoba after her arrival there in October 1982. Though she would fly one more time the following year, this image of a prairie sunset silhouetting one of her Rolls-Royce Dart engines symbolizes the end of a grand, yet transitional, era in Canadian (and indeed the world’s) airline history. Photo: Robert Arnold Collection via

Vickers Viscount CF-THS has her tail removed at Gimli, Manitoba after her arrival from Winnipeg, in late October 1982, in order to facilitate getting her inside the maintenance hangar. Photo: Robert Arnold Collection via

Another angle on the tail removal. We can also see that the former CF-THS now sports a new format Canadian serial for her ferry flights to Gimli and from Gimli to Winnipeg. Her Air Canada livery is in pretty poor shape at this time. Photo: Robert Arnold Collection via

We would have to test run the engines at full power so we would need to blast down the runway to take off speed, check the power, especially the two swapped ones, then stop before we rattled off the end. Two problems with that; if there was a wind it had to be right down the runway for without a rudder we would have insufficient directional control and after years of sitting how reliable were the brakes?

Two weeks later, we returned to find all the bits back in their proper places … except the tail. There is nothing worse for a pilot than going without tail. However, the weather and maintenance gods smiled and the test run proved satisfactory at full power with no overheats. What a weird feeling rolling down a runway well beyond rotation speed fighting a pilot’s natural instinct to pull back on the control column and become airborne.

Not something you see every day. Captains Jim Griffiths and Gerry Norberg light up all four of THS’s Rolls-Royce Dart turboprops and get her rolling at higher speed than her normal Vr (Rotation Speed) down the runway at the former BCATP base which once housed No. 18 Service Flying Training School. This was the summer of 1983, and Gimli made world headlines just the month before when an Air Canada Boeing 767 forced-landed there when it ran out of fuel at altitude. The story of the “Gimli Glider” was made into a feature length motion picture. Photo: Robert Arnold Collection via

With the tail at last in place, the day of the big event, 17 September 1983, dawned bright and clear with a strong south wind that blew straight down the departure and arrival runways but trouble lay ahead. Gerry arrived at my door at 10 a.m. to drive up to Gimli. My Dad was lurking around the house, as he liked to do on Saturday mornings to hang out with our four kids. We had a problem. If we drove to Gimli in my car, we’d have to leave it there and drive back up to get it after the flight.

My wife Joyce had things to do that day and said, “Don’t look at me. I don’t want any part of that airplane nonsense.”

Dad chirped in, “I’ll drive you up, drop you guys off and be back in Winnipeg in time to photograph your grand entrance.”

Gerry and I exchanged worried glances. We both knew driving to Gimli with Dad in his eighties was likely to be the riskiest part of the adventure. We did our best to appear grateful as we reluctantly accepted his offer. I noticed all four kids declined the outing.

The trip up was uneventful. Not one motorist noticed Dad had left a turn signal on for the entire journey or if they did, had suppressed the urge to blow their horns, give Dad the finger or wave their fists as they passed us at our sedate 45 mph speed.

We arrived early deciding to lunch at a popular café near Gimli’s waterfront. I can’t remember what Gerry or I ordered but I had good reason to remember that Dad ordered a salmon sandwich. He took the first bite and began to choke. He stood up. I stood up. Gerry sat immobilized. I felt every eye in the crowded place upon us. I quickly reached over Dad’s head from behind, clasped my hands together balled them into a fist and gave a tug. Nothing happened. Dad was still gasping for breath trying vainly to speak. Now desperate, I gave my mightiest possible heave. Out popped first the offending salmon bone then his dentures. Neither misguided missile struck other diners. Dad reached down, picked up his teeth, sat back down and calmly resumed eating his sandwich while Gerry and I sat leaving our plates untouched and tried to look as if nothing had happened.

On the ride to the hangar Dad complained of a pain in his side but bravely said, “I’ll be okay I think you’ve only broken my rib. Don’t worry I’ll meet you in Winnipeg.”

Just before climbing aboard, the museum’s maintenance chief warned “Look boys, I’d rather you didn’t bring the gear up after takeoff. I’m not one hundred percent sure they will come down again for the landing at Winnipeg.” He grumbled, “I think the down locks are a bit dodgy.”

Disappointed, I graciously agreed to his request. I could not risk the hundreds of volunteer hours he and the museum team had done to restore this aircraft to flying condition for the sake of my ego to do a high speed, victory flypast on arrival at Winnipeg. The homecoming epitaph of THS would have to be like the dedicated service the venerable Vickers Viscounts had performed for Air Canada, its flight crews and mechanics over its active lifetime… steadfast, reliable, and unpretentious.

I climbed into the left seat and with difficulty overcame a sense of nostalgia for the five years I had spent flying this airplane and its sister ships west across the Canadian Prairies and Rocky mountains to the coast and east paralleling the Laurentian Shield spanning Ontario and Québec. I didn’t realize it at the time but these were the best years of my flying career. There was an eerie, alien strangeness in the cockpit layout that I had not anticipated. As Gerry clambered into the right seat and began reciting the liturgy of the checklists the old black magic came back and by the time we taxied out to the runway I was at home again at last.

The takeoff was nothing like I remembered nor were the control responses. Thirteen years of hydraulically augmented controls and positive takeoff rotations on the DC-9 and 727 left me unprepared for the seemingly strange liftoff. We had a strong wind right on the nose, that and the resulting low ground speed gave the sensation of rising horizontally similar to an elevator so unlike the pitched up, nose high attitude of a jet. In the climb and cruise, there was not much attitude difference. My one regret was that the museum, with its limited financial resources, meant I dare not, with a clear conscience, waste their valuable fuel to allow Gerry much time at the controls on the forty minute flight. A couple of short turns either way and that was it. We made a staid low pass over the meager welcoming crowd… the speed governed by the gear extended limits. The approach speeds and landing attitude were not unlike those of a jet and we landed smoothly.

We taxied in; I set the brakes, reached over and pulled all four HP cocks to “Fuel off.” There is something about the shutting down of engines after a flight. It has a death like finality about it like putting an exclamation mark at the end of a sentence. As the ear-splitting whistle of the Dart engines winding down echoed off the surrounding buildings into the inevitable deafening silence that follows the cacophony of flight, nothing stirred in the empty aircraft. These last few precious moments of complete silence before the clanging and clashing of opening doors and hatches by interloping groundlings were a time for reflection.

After her short flight from the former RCAF Station Gimli. Jim Griffith and Gerry Norberg taxi THS on her last ride before taking centre stage at the Western Canada Aviation Museum (WCAM). Photo: Robert Arnold Collection via

Griffith and Norberg prepare to shut down THS for the very last time in front of the hangar at WCAM. Standing by the nose is John Davidson who was the President of the museum at that time. Anyone knowing the ear-splitting howls of those four Darts would consider him either a brave man or an already deaf man for not wearing sound attenuators! The museum building is on the right and was formerly used for maintenance by Air Canada and before that, Trans Canada Airlines. Photo: Robert Arnold Collection via

It was short, but (bitter) sweet. After the short hop from Gimli, the three members of the ferry crew stand for a photo. Left to right: Captain Gerry Norberg, WCAM engineer Robert Palmer and the author, Captain Jim Griffith. Photo via Jim Griffith

True to his word, Dad had made it back in time to photograph our sedate wheels down flyby. A professional RCAF photographer during WWII, the out of focus photo injured Dad’s pride.

He later said, “You know Jimmie that picture would not be blurred if you hadn’t broken my rib.”

The last photograph ever taken of CF-THS in flight... wheels down, making a stately pass over the Winnipeg airport. Photo: J. Owen Griffith

After our rather anticlimactic arrival, Gerry and I stood around with our hands in our pockets trying to stay out of trouble. One of the museum people who was in charge of towing THS into its new hangar home mentioned that they were going to have to suck the remaining JP-4 fuel from the tanks otherwise it would be a fire hazard.

I guess I had been too frugal with the museum’s fuel not only robbing Gerry of some pole time but also creating a further problem.

I don’t remember who the bright spark was that said, “Hey why don’t we start up THS and burn off the fuel instead by running the engines?”

Some other genius piped in with, “Yeah lets taxi the thing around the field and… hey let’s take everyone who wants to go… for a ride.”

It was all right for them but it was going to fall on my not-overly broad shoulders to execute the Uber ride, after all, I was the only one around qualified to do it. First, the ferry permit only stipulated one nonstop flight from Gimli to Winnipeg without passengers. Second, taxiing on the ground with passengers was not prohibited. Third, it would depend on whether Air Traffic Control in the tower would allow it and if airport emergency services would be available. In today’s litigious environment, I would never have dreamed of doing it but back then I was starting to get a headache from over-thinking all the possible negative outcomes from unexpected circumstances so I said, “Sure. Why not?”

The duty supervisor from the tower must have been on his lunch break. In 1983, it couldn’t possibly have been a her. I guess whoever was in charge up there must have been as gaily cavalier as we were because they gave us clearance with free range over the entire airport. My sidekick later said I was taxiing pretty fast but I can’t imagine myself engaging in such risky behaviour.

I can’t speak for Gerry but I had a sense of intense sadness that this aircraft would never again share with its crews the ecstasy of a minuet with the gods of flight. Instead, it’s destiny was to be poked, prodded and groped by the sweaty hands of curious strangers. My one hope was for THS to be the queen of the Royal Aviation Museum of Western Canada’s historic fleet and as such be cared for with the diligence befitting such an honour.

Aviation historians continue to understate the contributions made by the Viscount, in particular to the economy of Winnipeg’s aviation industry and to Canada’s transportation system. While it is true that the many smaller bush planes did much to open the north, it fell to the turbine powered Vickers Viscount to gift multitudes of westerners fast, efficient, comfortable and above all, safe travel throughout the west and beyond. Indeed the Viscount connected many small cities within Canadian regions and in turn linked those regions to the larger centres, Vancouver, Toronto and Montréal, and to the USA. There is evidence that the Viscount significantly altered the travel patterns of businessmen and everyday Canadians. The Viscount’s hippedy-hop route structure improved intercity commerce and connected economically separated families more than any other aircraft in the dramatic shift from piston driven power sources for aircraft to turbines.

I am gratefully proud to have my name as the last entry in the logbook of CF-THS and to have had Gerry Norberg as my co-pilot.

Years later, as Dad walked me to the elevator in the former Winnipeg Veteran’s Hospital, Deer Lodge, now a seniors residence, where I was visiting him from our home in Niagara, he suddenly grabbed my elbow and said, “Jimmie, remember the time you broke my rib?”

“Yes Dad, I remember.” I replied and continued, “I think you, me and Gerry had a fun day. I’m really sorry I broke your rib.”

“It’s okay Jimmie, it wasn’t really broken anyway… only cracked.”

We hugged, said goodbye and that was the last time I saw him.

Jim G.


After a few years at the hands of the volunteers at the Western Canada Aviation Museum, CF-THS stands in the sunshine once more in the summer of 1986 with her paint freshened and livery reapplied. Photo: Richard Vandervort

The history of CF-THS in photos

In June of 1960, well-known aviation photographer Richard Dumigan (father of Eric Dumigan, one of Canada’s finest aviation photographers) captured THS about to touch down at Dorval Airport in Montréal. Photo: Richard Dumigan via

CF-THS in her original Trans-Canada Air Lines livery is seen parked at the TCA maintenance ramp at Montréal’s Dorval airport, 31 July 1963. Photo: Robert Arnold Collection via

A superb colour photograph of Vickers Viscount CF-THS in her first generation Air Canada livery, at Montréal’s Dorval Airport (YUL) in 1974. Photo: George Hamlin

By 1979, CF-THS was languishing in the punishing cold of a Montréal winter. She had her Air Canada logos and wordmarks removed and a Zaire civil registration applied, awaiting sale to that country. The sale fell through and she was ferried to Winnipeg for long-term storage. Photo: Mike Ody Collection via George Trussel and 

Though she will never fly again, CF-THS’s fate is that of a very tiny fraction of historic aircraft types. The vast majority met the salvor’s torch as did her sister ships like CF-TIE, seen here being eviscerated at Winnipeg in 1989. Photo: Robert Arnold Collection via 

CF-THS lives on in the flesh at WCAM, but also in miniature form as a 1/200 scale diecast model from HobbyMaster. You know you are an important part of aviation history if you are so honoured. Photo: HobbyMaster


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