A Visit to RAF Fylingdales
On a warm July evening, 25 of us visited the Fylingdales radar station. I don’t propose to give a detailed account of our tour, but rather to explain just what Fylingdales does, and to some extent how it does it; but it would be churlish not to acknowledge the pleasant hospitality and general friendliness of all the staff we met, and the lively introductory talk given by the station commander, Wing Commander Nicky Loveday.
The primary purpose of Fylingdales is to give warning of a missile attack on us - “us” being Britain, NATO and the United States, who are all linked together by various treaties. An important secondary purpose is to keep track of the many thousand objects in orbit round the earth, ranging from big things like the Space Station, to the odd lost scraps like the camera some astronaut accidentally released (you don’t “drop” things in orbit - there’s no gravity there!)
Like all radars, Fylingdales sends out brief but beefy bursts of radio power in a narrow beam, and listens for any echo of power reflected from an object in space. The beam repeatedly swings round the horizon, so in effect there is a “disc of sensitivity” centred on Fylingdales - think of a penny resting on a marble - and if anything enters that disc, the radar will see it. This disc is 6000 miles across, so at the edge the earth has curved away beneath it to make the sensitive region 1000 miles up; this is higher than any likely missile, so they don’t look any further. Fylingdales is unique amongst the half-dozen Early Warning stations around the world in that it scans all round the horizon, rather than just a sector.
If something enters that disc of sensitivity from below, the main computer (which is really what watches the radar) usually says something like “OK, I know that one, it’s an old Russian meteorological satellite, not to worry” and no action is taken. However, if the computer doesn’t recognise it amongst the nearly 30000 objects in its memory(!), it sounds a warning and the radar beam is immediately swung to peer more closely at the target. This is where the Phased Array radar has an enormous advantage over the old Golf Balls, as it isn’t necessary to physically move the aerial to swing the beam about: it’s all done very quickly by subtle physics. The close peering results in a trajectory for the object - once something has been launched into space and its rocket has stopped firing, its course is inexorably fixed (“In short, not a bus but a tram”) - and therefore the spot where it will fall to earth can be calculated, as well as where it came from. If for example it is predicted to come down on, say, New York, things become hectic: the radar crew have one minute to check that everything is working correctly and the track is genuine. Then they send a warning to the US, to NATO, and to our government.... and we hope it never happens. It was interesting to learn that most countries, if they plan a missile test, will tell us first - just in case! In short, Fylingdales is technically fascinating, staffed by cheerfully competent British men and women, and about as sinister as cold rice pudding: and it must have a very potent deterrent effect on any missile-happy megalomaniacs. We should be pleased to have the RAF with us - not least perhaps because of their concern for the local Site of Special Scientific Interest environment: whoever heard of an RAF station where the grass was unmown and the weeds encouraged to grow? How things have changed in the 55 years since I was a National Service RAF Radar Mechanic!
Dennis
Wort
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