R. K. Pierson was a great man, not least physically. I can still see those huge shoulders, the hands thrust into the coat pockets, the magnificent head, and the aggressive chin. It is not for me to deliver a eulogy of R. K. P. and his work at Vickers—that has already been well done. But I must say how honoured I feel at being asked to give, on this occasion, the lecture which you arrange annually in memory of an outstanding designer.

My recollection of him goes back to 1933. In the long vacation of that year, as an undergraduate, I crept into the flight sheds at Weybridge for an eight weeks indoctrination from Industry. Rigging Virginias, Victorias and Vildebeestes was the main occupation, with some analysis of flight tests if you showed willing, and banishment to the main shops across the airfield— knocking rivets into Vildebeeste wireless containers— if you were naughty. I enjoyed it so much that I came back for a similar period in 1934 just after graduating. The family atmosphere and team spirit were very marked —Pierson used to rush into the flight office with his pipe and tear through the test flight reports with Mut. Summers; he was quite willing to deal kindly with some diffident and probably idiotic remark put forward by a vacation apprentice clutching a bundle of grubby graphs prepared for Radcliffe—who in those days was the mainstay of the flight test Department (he was outnumbered by the test pilots—there were two of those).