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H i s t o r y of T e c h n o l o g y
History of
Technology
Volume 11, 1986
Edited by
Norman Smith
Bloomsbury Academic
An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
LON DON • OX F O R D • N E W YO R K • N E W D E L H I • SY DN EY
Bloomsbury Academic
An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
50 Bedford Square 1385 Broadway

London New York
WC1B 3DP NY 10018
UK USA
www.bloomsbury.com
BLOOMSBURY, T&T CLARK and the Diana logo are trademarks of
Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
First published 1987 by Mansell Publishing Ltd

Copyright © Norman Smith and Contributors, 1987
The electronic edition published 2016
Norman Smith and Contributors have asserted their right under the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the Authors of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission
in writing from the publishers.
No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or

refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted
by Bloomsbury or the authors.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
History of technology.
11th annual volume: 1986
1.Technology – History – Periodicals
609 T15
ISBN: HB: 978-1-3500-1847-1

ePDF: 978-1-3500-1846-4
ePub: 978-1-3500-1848-8
Series: History of Technology, volume 11

C o n t e n t s
Preface vii
HANS-JOACHIM BRAUN
Technology Transfer Under Conditions of War: German
Aero-technology in Japan During the Second World War 1
VERNARD FOLEY, with SUSAN CANGANELLI,

JOHN CONNOR and DAVID RADER
Using the Early Slide-rest 25
J. G.JAMES
The Origins and Worldwide Spread of Warren-truss Bridges
in the Mid-nineteenth Century. Part 1. Origins and Early
Examples in the UK 65
ANDREW NAHUM
The Rotary Aero Engine 125
DALE H . P O R T E R
An Historian's Judgments About the Thames Embankment 167
JOHN H.WHITE
More Than an Idea Whose Time Has Come: The Beginnings
of Steel Freight Cars 181
IAN R. WINSHIP
The Acceptance of Continuous Brakes on Railways in Britain 209
The Contributors 249
Contents of Former Volumes 250

P r e f a c e
One of the more interesting things about the history of technology is that
approaches to it are not confined to the conventional sorts of evidence —
documents, pictures and objects. Such source material does of course consti-
tute the bulk of the subject's foundations — as this year's collection of
papers exemplifies — but in addition appeal can sometimes profitably be
made to retrospective analysis and replicas. Both are very proper tools of the
historian of technology although it would be wrong to imagine that there is
yet an established methodology for either or even a general acceptance of
their potential. The problems are numerous and the risk of reaching a faulty
conclusion, or even a ridiculous one, are ever present (see Volume 1, p. 68).
This year the paper by Vernard Foley and his colleagues at Purdue Univer-
sity is a very welcome exposition of how replicas should be used and what
can be achieved. It is an interesting companion to his earlier (1982) paper on
'The Origin of Gearing' which similarly demonstrated the role of replicas.
The rest of this year's collection groups itself neatly into pairs of subjects.
It is very pleasing, albeit unexpected, to have two articles on aero engines.
Hans-Joachim Braun writes on the surprising extent of German-Japanese
collaboration in aeroplane technology during the Second World War while
Andrew Nahum of the Science Museum, London, sets out his original
analysis of the success and demise of that most intriguing of all internal
combustion engines, the aircraft rotary.
Civil engineering this year is represented by Dale Porter's assessment of
the historical problems posed by a variety of aspects of the Thames Embank-
ment and John James' long and definitive paper on the Warren truss. The
complex global history of this most fundamental of bridge forms we hope to
pursue further in a second part in Volume 12.
Railways are the subject of the last pair of papers. John H. White's study
of the prosaic freight car reveals what an array of considerations affected the
transition from wooden to metal construction. Ian Winship has written
about one aspect of a most fundamental feature of nineteenth-century engi-
neering: the problem of safety and differing perceptions of it. There had
been a time when an engineering failure was looked upon essentially as bad
luck. In the Victorian era such accidents came to be regarded as bad design
for which someone must be responsible. The issue emerged in a number of
quarters in construction, industry and transport but the railways were the
focal point and the braking of trains was a critical problem. To study the
history of such safety issues is particularly timely given the current mis-
conception that engineering systems can be made 100 per cent safe with
certainty.
NORMAN A. F. SMITH
T e c h n o l o g y T r a n s f e r U n d e r
C o n d i t i o n s o f W a r :
G e r m a n A e r o - T e c h n o l o g y i n
J a p a n D u r i n g t h e S e c o n d
W o r l d W a r
HANS-JOACHIM BRAUN
I
Almost all historical work on technology transfer deals with transfer pro-
cesses during periods of peace with technology transfer in wartime as the
exception.1 Although there are several studies of German and Japanese
aviation shortly before and during the Second World War, 2 and while some
research has been done on German-Japanese economic and technological
relations during the war,3 there is no study which centres on aero-
technology transfer. Apart from presenting short case studies on several
transfer processes in this paper, I shall also deal with more systematic
questions relevant in this context, namely incentives to and means of tech-
nology transfer and barriers to it, as well as the problems of modification and
adaptation of the transferred technology and possible 'retransfers' of
improved technologies.4 Conditions in Japan will be compared to those in
Germany, especially as they relate to aircraft production.
There are some limitations in this article. First, it is meant as a contribu-
tion to the history of technology and not so much to military or political
history, although there are, of course, some interconnections. Second, the
problem of technology transfer from one country to another, in this case
from Germany to Japan, is in the forefront rather than the issue of the
diffusion of aircraft technology in Japan. Third, the article is based mainly
on archival material in Europe and the United States, particularly
the Imperial War Museum, London, the Bundesarchiv, Koblenz, the
Bundesarchiv-Militararchiv, Freiburg, the National Air and Space
Museum and the National Archives, Washington, D.C. I have not done
research in Japanese archives and it is quite possible that material is avail-
able there which might supplement or even modify the picture presented
here and the arguments put forward. Perhaps, and hopefully, Japanese
scholars will take up the topic.
II
The beginnings of the Japanese aircraft industry date back to the First
World War, when the aircraft division of the Kawasaki Shipbuilding Com-
pany began the construction of French Salmson aeroplanes and engines.5
2 Technology Transfer Under Conditions of War
Later, there were close links with American aircraft companies, especially
Douglas, Lockheed and Boeing, and also with British firms. Although in the
1920s connections with the German civil aircraft industry were not very
close, there were some contacts. From 1923 to 1932, Dr Richard Vogt was
engaged in the designing of aircraft at Kawasaki and later went to the
Hamburg firm of Blohm & Voss.6 While working with Kawasaki, Vogt built
the KDA-5. The Type 92 was the Army's first air defence fighter and it was
powered by a 500 hp BMW Type V engine. Between 1930 and 1934, 385
aircraft of this type were built. From this machine, Kawasaki later devel-
oped the Type 95 fighter.7 Kawasaki also had associations with Dornier
while Mitsubishi sought the help of Junkers who sent Alexander Baumann,
one of their engineers, to the Japanese firm. At the end of the First World
War, the Japanese Army evaluated the German Hansa Brandenburg W29
which had been quite successful during the war. It was adopted as the
Navy's standard sea scout and built by the firms of Aichi and Nakajima.8
In 1931, Japanese forces invaded Manchuria and in 1932 the Japanese
satellite state of Manchukuo was founded, which soon became interested in
trade with Germany. Before 1932, when Manchuria had been part of
China, Germany had always had a trade deficit with China which had,
however, been offset by a favourable trade balance with Japan so that a
commercial triangle had come into existence.9 In the course of the 1930s, the
Kwantung Army decided on a large-scale industrialization of Manchukuo,
which accelerated after 1937. Manchukuo had considerable attractions for
Germany, because there were extensive coal and iron ore deposits and, what
was even more important for German armaments, there were also supplies
of non-ferrous metals, especially manganese, copper, antimony, tungsten
and molybdenum.10 In the late 1930s there were prospects of Manchukuo
becoming the largest industrial centre in East Asia.11 On 30 April 1936, a
commercial treaty was signed between Germany and Manchukuo, the pur-
pose of which was an extension of trade.
It is not surprising that China disapproved of these commercial links
between Manchukuo and Germany. Already in the 1920s, the Chinese had
tried to induce Hans von Seeckt, the founder of the Reichswehr, to come to
China as military adviser.12 Seeckt was in close contact with the arms dealer
Hans Klein from Berlin, who in 1934 founded the HAPRO 13 and planned to
build an armament factory in Canton. The Klein-HAPRO agreement of 9
April 1936 between Germany and the Nanking government provided for
the exchange of armaments from Germany and raw materials from China,
of which tungsten was of particular interest to Germany, especially in con-
nection with aircraft production.14 At that time China was the chief source of
this ore.15 To prevent a complete estrangement between Germany and
China, General von Reichenau was despatched to China in mid-1936. This
was the start of a tight-rope act of National Socialist foreign policy towards
China, which aimed at intensifying the relationship between Germany on
the one hand and Japan and Manchukuo on the other, without losing China
as a trading partner. At the beginning of 1938, Adolf Hitler opted decisively
for Japan. 16
Germany's rearmament after 1933 implied that the German government
Hans-Joachim Braun 3
— in the case of aircraft exports the German Air Ministry — was rather
reluctant to grant export licences to German aircraft manufacturers. After
1936, this policy was partially altered because of the need for foreign
exchange and for additional markets, especially for trading partners, from
whom raw materials vital for rearmament could be imported. A permanent
problem was to keep the latest research in aircraft development secret. As a
result, restrictions on foreign visitors to German aircraft plants were tight.
To deter foreign importers of German aircraft technology, the German Air
Ministry priced German equipment considerably above domestic prices.17
Of course, some German aircraft manufacturers were opposed to the
German Air Ministry's attitude in this matter, although they considered it
in their interest, too, to keep the latest findings of research and development
in German aviation to themselves. In a memorandum of 15 August 1938,
Ernst Heinkel, the German aircraft manufacturer, who had close associa-
tions with Japanese aircraft firms, listed his unfortunate experiences with
aeroplane export plans.18 He mentioned the case of the Yugoslavian govern-
ment, which had wanted to buy the He 112 with which Ernst Udet had set a
world air-speed record of 635 km/h. The Reichsluftfahrtministerium did not
grant an export licence for this aircraft fitted with the DB 600 engine, but
only with the Jumo 210 G engine, which gave a top speed of only 475 km/h.
This attitude of the Air Ministry, which tried to hold back the best and
allowed only the 'second best' for export, was quite typical. The Yugoslavs
therefore turned to Britain which was only too willing to oblige with a
suitable aircraft. A similar case was reported from Switzerland, where
Heinkel lost a contract to French aircraft manufacturers, and from
Hungary, where the Italians were successful, although Heinkel had been
approached first.19
However, the most extensive order came from Japan. In 1937, the Japa-
nese ordered 70 He 111 bombers, of which they wanted ten as soon as
possible. The German Air Ministry declined to grant an export licence and,
as a consequence, the Japanese turned to Italy, where Mussolini personally
intervened on their behalf. The Italians delivered the ten bombers, sent
pilots, engineers and instruction material, and were very obliging as far as
the price charged for the planes was concerned.20 According to Heinkel, a
contract worth 80-100 million Reichsmark was lost. And what was impor-
tant too, the Italians had set a foot into the Japanese market.
The debate on German foreign trade with Japan in general and the export
of sophisticated technology in particular had a long tradition. Even before
the First World War, in 1911, German merchants complained about the
Japanese overreaching themselves and infringing on German patents. Even
earlier, in 1905, we can read in the Bonner Generalanzeiger that 'the yellow
peril can best be fought, if Europe and America close their factories and
laboratories to any foreign visitors'.21 It was notoriously difficult for Ger-
man manufacturers to be granted access to Japanese firms. On the other
hand, the Japanese market had great attractions for German industrialists
and merchants.22 In 1928, J. Witte was of the opinion that it would be a mis-
take not to admit Japanese engineers to German factories or let Japanese
students study at German institutes of technology. They would get a good
impression of German technological know-how, order goods from Germany

or have plants built in Japan by German engineers.23 Besides, if Germany
was to shut her borders, the Japanese would turn to other countries. In the
1930s, racial arguments were added to the debate, but there were still those
who had a more pragmatic approach to this question, like Johann von
Leers, who wrote in 1934: 'We cannot expect that in politics all our friends
will do us the favour to acquire blue eyes and blond hair for our sake. Politics
is a matter of real, popular interests and has little connection with the ideas
of racial community. '24
As far as aircraft exports to Japan were concerned, political arguments
supplemented economic ones. Ernst Heinkel, an aircraft manufacturer and
not a politician, stressed the aim of strengthening German political influ-
ence in Japan by exporting aircraft. He tried to refute in advance possible
reasons against export. In the event of war, aeroplanes destined for delivery
to foreign countries could always be held back and used by the home Air
Force; the fear that recent developments in aircraft manufacture could be
made available to an enemy was unfounded, because the Japanese were
even more discrete in those matters than were the Germans. He tried to
allay another fear and one which is often still voiced today in technology
transfer. The Japanese, he argued, would never catch up the German tech-
nological lead in aircraft manufacture by importing German aircraft or
obtaining licences, because it always took one to two years between receiv-
ing foreign orders for aircraft and their completion, i.e. from granting a
licence to actual licence production in the foreign country.25
The problem of German aircraft technology transfer to Japan was also
discussed during the Second World War. In the Generalluftzeugmeister-
Besprechung on 9 October 1942, Field Marshal Erhard Milch deliberated on
this question and came to the conclusion that except in the case of 'wonder
weapons', which should be kept secret, Germany should be generous with
her East Asian ally, because this would also be beneficial to Germany; a
strong ally would augment the chances of winning the war. Besides, there
was also the possibility of the Japanese obtaining the desired information
through unofficial channels. There had been cases in which Heinkel had
disclosed information to the Japanese without the consent of the German
Air Ministry.26
Ill
With the loosening of regulations after 1938, which might also have been an
effect of Heinkel's memorandum mentioned above, German aircraft exports
were intensified. From the beginning of 1939 onwards, American firms
stopped sending aircraft and aircraft parts of Japan 27 so that Japan turned
mainly to Germany and Italy for assistance. In spring 1938, an Italian
Economic Commission visited Japan, and plans were made to build an air-
craft factory there with Italian technical and financial assistance.28 This plan
failed mainly for financial reasons. Something similar happened to a plan
for the foundation of a Japanese-German aircraft company. General Nagao,
who was the mastermind behind the foundation of the 'Nichidoku Hikoki
K. K.', planned to invite German engineers to Japan to train Japanese

engineers; they should bring with them machine tools and instruments. In
the beginning, aircraft parts imported from Germany should only be
assembled in Japan. After five or six years, the Japanese engineers would
be, according to Nagao's plan, sufficiently advanced technologically to be
able to produce the complete aircraft from start to finish. This plan was,
however, doomed to failure from the beginning, because the Japanese Army
and Navy, who could seldom agree on air force matters, did not want to take
part in the project. Also, Japanese currency restrictions prevented a success-
ful undertaking.29
From the beginning of 1937 onwards, there were negotiations between
German and Japanese officials to come to a trade agreement between the
two countries with the purpose of stimulating foreign trade. On 28 June
1938, a draft was agreed upon which had to be ratified by the Japanese state
council.30 Minor alterations were demanded but, in October 1939, the
Japanese state council refused to ratify the treaty because of the German-
Soviet Pact. In spite of this, contacts between German and Japanese aircraft
firms continued.31 After the outbreak of the Second World War and the
British blockade, Germany continued to trade with Japan via the Siberian
route which proved difficult and ultimately not very successful because
railway gauges in Siberia were different from those in Germany. Locomo-
tives and railway carriages had to be provided by the Soviet Union and this
rendered the business rather costly.32 Also, the amount of raw materials,
especially rubber, tin and tungsten, which the Japanese side shipped to
Germany, was not as ample as the Germans had hoped for because the
Japanese needed these materials for their own armament effort. Besides, as
hinted at above, the Japanese were notoriously short of foreign currency.
There were other problems. In 1939, Dr Ludwig Weissbauer was prob-
ably sent by General Georg Thomas, head of the Economic and Armament
Office of the High Command of the Armed Forces {Wirtschafts- und
Rustungsamt), to China, Japan, Manchukuo and Korea to investigate trade
and technology transfer possibilities. In Japan he found that 'the unbroken
military victories of the Japanese in past decades and the undignified
attempt of the white race to make friends with them have generated a
completely unjustified arrogance of the Japanese towards white people, and
thus make cooperation with them more difficult' .33
Negotiations for a German-Japanese commercial treaty dragged on from
April 1941, when Helmuth Wohlthat, who headed the German economic
delegation to Japan, arrived in Tokyo towards the end of 1942.34 The Japa-
nese were dissatisfied with the current exchange arrangements and, besides,
there was a structural problem in German-Japanese foreign trade, which
was particularly severe under wartime conditions: the finished goods
exported from Germany to Japan had, compared with the raw materials
exported from Japan, a much higher value — the relation was about three
to one — so that in view of the limited cargo space and the risk of shipping
goods during the war, Germany's foreign exchange situation vis-a-vis
Japan had to be favourable.
During the period from October 1941 to March 1942 only 11 Japanese
ships arrived in Europe with fat and non-ferrous metals while as few as five
ships made their way from Europe to Japan. After the battles in South-East
Asia in mid-1942, trade was even more difficult, because the Japanese
harbours had been partially destroyed and there was lack of transportation
facilities.35 In spite of these problems, Japanese couriers were still in a
position to do a round trip to Japan after June 1941 via the Turkish-
Siberian and Trans-Siberian railways, carrying smaller items as part of
their diplomatic bag. Models and blueprints of German weapons and also
German engineers were transported by submarine.36
From 1941 onwards, the Japanese sent iists of wishes', in which they
asked for the delivery of German weapons, particularly aircraft material.
This list of July 1942 contained another request for a complete aircraft
factory and two aero-engine factories to be built in Japan with German
assistance. Hitler and Albert Speer, Minister of Armaments and War Pro-
duction, approved the list, probably because the German Wohlthat delega-
tion in Tokyo was promised 60,000 tons of rubber, 100 tons of tungsten and
170,000 tons of victuals.37 It is almost needless to say that neither the Japa-
nese wishes nor their promises materialized.
The statement that the more grandiose plans did not become reality does
not mean that there was no aero-technology transfer from Germany to
Japan at all. Already before the beginning of the Second World War, the
Japanese Army and Navy had been interested in Messerschmitt aircraft,
particularly in the ME 109. The Nakajima fighter bore some overall resem-
blance to the ME 109 although it differed on points of detail. The Japanese
ideal of a fighter was an aircraft which was light, extremely manoeuvrable
and had an excellent climbing power. At the beginning of 1940, a ME 109
was supplied to Japan, but comparative trials showed that the difference
between this fighter and the best Japanese models was not very great.38
However, several Japanese officers, like Colonel Iizima, were of the opinion
that much could be gained if, with German assistance, an aircraft factory
would be built in Japan, a plan which was new in so far as it did not envisage
the building of aircraft under licence but, together with German engineers,
aimed at designing new models according to Japanese ideas.39 As Iizima
realized that it would be most difficult for German aircraft companies to send
a large number of their engineers to Japan, he proposed to send ten Japanese
engineers from Kawasaki, Mitsubishi, Nakajima and Ishikawashima to
Augsburg. They would stay in Germany for five to seven years and do
research and development work there in a Japanese engineering bureau
which was to be associated with the Messerschmitt works. Its main purpose
was the development of a new long-range fighter, something which was of
particular importance to the Japanese because of the comparatively long
distances in Japan compared to the European continent. Kawasaki was
willing to pay 3 million Reichsmark at the beginning of the project and
1.5 million thereafter at the beginning of each year.40
Although there were, in the following two or three years, various Japa-
nese delegations in Germany and particularly in Augsburg, this plan, too,
did not materialize. At the end of 1941 and the beginning of 1942,
Messerschmitt and the other German aircraft companies had orders to
increase their output of airplanes dramatically and also develop new and
more efficient types.41 It was not in Messerschmitt's interest to have to
devote part of their capacity to the development of an aircraft to suit the
particular requirements of the Japanese. As the German officials, especially
the relevant staff in the Air Ministry, had always been rather lukewarm to
Japanese requests nothing came of this plan either.
The association of the Junkers firm with Japan was more successful than
Messerschmitt's. In mid-1937 the Japanese Army bought two Ju 87s with
the Jumo 210 engine41a and a year later, two Ju 86s arrived in Mukden.42
The Japanese were generally satisfied with the aircraft, although they had
some problems with the BMW 132 dc engines.43 Junkers had an engineer in
Japan, Apel, who was available if any problems occurred. Junkers' techni-
cians also gave technical assistance in the Mitsubishi works44 and this per-
sonal contact led to an order for three Ju 88s which, however, was later
cancelled for lack of currency.45 At the beginning of 1941, four further
Ju 86s were supplied to Japan. Junkers sent four of their employees, a pilot,
an assembly specialist, a technician and an electrician, to Japan to assist the
Japanese with assembly.46 These and the other Junkers aircraft mentioned
above were sent on a train via Siberia in a disassembled state, packed in
large boxes. The case of Junkers shows that aircraft exports to Japan in the
Second World War were possible, if the German firms cared enough and
also sent aircraft personnel too. However, even Junkers had to decline
Mitsubishi's offer to build an aircraft factory in Japan in association with
Junkers. 47
In the case of the Fieseler Storch, the Japanese improved the imported
aeroplane so much that it was superior to the original in comparative tests.
In July 1939, the Japanese expressed their interest in obtaining a licence for
building the Fi 156 in Japan. Fieseler would have agreed to this proposal if
the Japanese had bought 10 aeroplanes together with the licence.48 This the
Japanese declined for financial reasons. They were willing to purchase three
Fi 156s together with the licence, but the price demanded seemed to them
too high. Besides, the Russians did not want to give a transit permit.49 At
least, at the beginning of 1941, a Storch was sent to Japan, where it was
bought by the Japanese Army. In 1940, the Japanese Army had instructed
Nippon Kokusai Koku Kogyo to build a machine similar to the Fi 156 for
artillery spotting and liaison duties.50 The result was the Ki-76 which in
some features differed from the Storch: it had Fowler flaps, for instance,
instead of the slotted flaps used in the Fi 156. These Fowler flaps were
synchronized with the variable-incidence horizontal tail surfaces and
offered a higher lift coefficient. The machine was first flown in mid-1941
and, at the beginning, proved somewhat unstable. But compared with the
Fi 156 it demonstrated a superior performance with the exception of landing
distance, which was larger than that of the Storch.
With the export of Focke-Wulf aircraft to Japan, the firm of Fokkes &
Koch had a lot of trouble and little success. In March 1939, the 'Deutsche
Mitsui Bussan Company' in Berlin, which acted as agent for the Manchurian
Airways in Germany, ordered five FW 200 'Condor'. These machines were
not delivered, because Focke-Wulf did not receive the first instalment in due
time.51 In the following year, the Japanese Army was interested in the
FW 200 as a long-range bomber. They applied for a licence to have the
machine built by Mitsubishi. Focke-Wulf demanded 3,100,000 Reichsmark
for the licence, a sum which the representative of the 'Association of German
Aircraft Manufacturers' in Japan, Dr Kaumann, found much too high. He
was of the opinion that 1.5 million Reichsmark would be sufficient.52 The
Japanese definitely agreed with him, changed their minds, and asked Focke-
Wulf to supply machine tools instead of the FW 200s, a proposal which the
firm could definitely not accept.53 In May 1941, the Japanese Military
Attache in Berlin offered 1.25 million Reichsmark for the licence.
Mitsubishi suggested it send a team of Japanese engineers to Focke-Wulf to
get acquainted with the manufacturing and assembly processes.54 The
Reichsluftfahrtministerium, which was in charge of visas for foreign engineers,
did not want to antagonize the Japanese, but nevertheless did not consent to
Japanese experts visiting the Focke-Wulf plant at Bremen because it was
there that the firm's research and development centre was situated. The
Ministry therefore suggested that the Japanese engineers chose another
Focke-Wulf plant, but they refused. Apparently there was no further con-
tact between the Japanese Army and Focke-Wulf.
IV
In the preceding remarks it has been stressed that technology transfer from
Germany to Japan was beset with problems. Often the German side was to
blame for these difficulties due to differing interests between firms on the
one hand and government on the other. But often the Japanese Army,
Navy, or both, created difficulties by not being able to come to a decision to
order a particular aircraft or by not making sufficient currency available.
The difficult transport problem could be solved by neither party. In many
instances, however, especially before the war, things went without diffi-
culty. In the period 1937 to 1939, for example, 20 Biicker Jungmann trainers
were imported from Germany. The Japanese Navy procured the licence for
the production of this trainer, adding some improvements and a Japanese-
built engine.55
The Japanese were always wary of being sent obsolete planes and engines
from Germany and their fear was not unfounded. Another perennial prob-
lem was the mode of payment. In the case of the Siebel FH 104 reconnais-
sance plane, for example, the Germans demanded a substantial part of the
price as a first instalment, although the Japanese could never be sure
whether they would, under uncertain wartime conditions, receive the planes
at all.56 Also, while some dependence on advanced German aero-technology
was inevitable, the Japanese engineers wanted to be independent wherever
possible and it was often difficult not to hurt their pride. And although
German engineers were badly needed in Japanese plants they often felt
rather uncomfortable there.
The lack of currency and the wish to import as little technology from
Germany as possible sometimes led the Japanese to make requests which
seemed rather strange to German engineers. In the case of the Siebel
FH 104, the Japanese asked for a modification to increase the aircraft's

range.57 This was quite understandable in view of the comparatively long
distances in Japan and Manchukuo. What was peculiar, however, was the
wish to provide the plane with a slower engine. The reason was that with a
speed of more than 180 km/h the visual angle of the Japanese cameras,
which were intended for use in the FH 104, was too small so that there
would be gaps between the snapshots and blurs. With the German Photo-
grammetrie cameras, produced in Munich, these problems did not exist.
However, the Japanese tried to do without these cameras because of their
high price and the uncertainty of knowing if and when an export licence
would be granted by the German government.58
In most of the cases of aero-technology transfer from Germany to Japan,
adaptation of the imported technology to Japanese requirements played a
role. As was hinted at above, the Japanese favoured light and extremely
manoeuvrable aeroplanes at the cost of armour protection.59 Similar ideas
prevailed in aero-engine construction. In the Kawasaki fighter or fighter
bomber Ki Hien (Swallow) the Ha 40 engine was a lightweight construction
of the German Daimler Benz DB 601 engine.60 With the D4 Yl, which had
been inspired by the Heinkel He 118, the Japanese engineers produced an
airframe which was lighter, smaller and also aerodynamically improved.
Even in the 1930s, Aichi had imported a single example of the He 66, a
single-seat dive bomber biplane powered by a 715 hp Siemens SA M-22B
nine-cylinder air-cooled radial from Heinkel. In order to meet the require-
ments of the 8-Shi specifications, the under-carriage had to be redesigned
and strengthened to withstand the pounding of carrier landings. The
Siemens engine was replaced by a 560 hp Nakajima Kotokubi 2 Kai 1
nine-cylinder air-cooled radial. This new aeroplane proved superior in
comparative trials with Nakajima and Yokosuka aircraft, and in 1934 the
Navy gave Aichi a production contract.61
A major problem was the shortage of raw materials so that Japanese
engineers tried to substitute materials in short supply or redesign imported
aircraft. In 1940, engine production began to suffer from an acute shortage
of nickel due to America's embargo policy then in operation against Japan.
Japanese engineers were forced to design engines with a minimum content
of nickel alloy.
Later in the war, wooden or partly wooden aircraft seemed to offer a way
out of raw materials problems. In late 1942, an artificial wood-pressing
process developed by the DynamitA. G. was released to Japan. In September
1944, members of the Japanese Naval Office in Berlin visited one of the
Messerschmitt plants to study the manufacture and use of Tegofilm, an
adhesive used in the manufacture of wooden aircraft. They also studied the
construction of the wooden parts of the ME 163B.
In February 1945, the Japanese Army wanted to buy the manufacturing
rights for Kaulitfilme, an urea resin composition sheet used as a bonding
material for plywood and the laminated material used in wooden aircraft.
The negotiations over the price were unsuccessful. In this month, however,
a contract was concluded between the Japanese Navy and the Schwdbische
Formholz, Ulm, for the transfer of patent rights for the Belis process for
constructing aircraft from plywood. This process was developed by the firm
of Erwin Behr, Wendlingen, and Messerschmitt, and the aim was to
strengthen wood by moulding veneer strips glued with Tegofilm. A Com-
mission of Japanese technicians was trained in the Belis process at
Wendlingen. It is probable, although there is no definite evidence, that this
process was used in Japan to manufacture aircraft with rocket and jet
propulsion.62
Examples of successful modifications of German aircraft engines have
already been mentioned. A further instance is the Kawasaki K-78. This
plane was powered by an imported 1,175 hp Daimler Benz DB 601 twelve-
cylinder inverted-vee liquid-cooled engine which was modified to incorpo-
rate a system of water-methanol injection to boost its power to 1,550 hp. A
fan, driven by a 60 hp turbine, was used to improve cooling. Of course, not
all attempts at modifications, especially when they had their origin in raw
material difficulties, were successful. Sometimes they were particularly
annoying for those German firms or German engineers in Japan who had to
take the blame for an aero-engine not functioning properly. This was the
case with the imported Ju 86 with its BMW 132 dc engine, on which Japa-
nese engineers experimented with newly developed lubricating oils and fuels
with lead ethyl additives. As a result pistons and cylinders corroded so that
BMW speedily withdrew their guarantee.63
Some Japanese aircraft during the Second World War were of high quality
and their output increased fast. All the same they still tried to import German
aeroplanes or produce them under licence. The reason for this is to be found
to a large extent in the working conditions of the Japanese aircraft industry
and this we shall briefly examine and compare with its German counterpart.
There are certain similarities in these two industrial branches in both
countries, especially before 1942 when mass production was hardly used in
German aircraft production.64 Generally, the use of capacity was inefficient.
When, in 1942, Speer and Milch made further changes in the organization
of production and improved rationalization methods, the German aircraft
industry could produce 40 per cent more aircraft with roughly the same
amount of labour and even less aluminium than the year before.65 In Japan,
rationalization was even more difficult to put into effect than in Germany,
because of the lack of a sufficiently strong machine-tool industry, suffi-
ciently well-trained labour and the reliance on too many small suppliers with
differing standards. There was a lack of qualified engineers in the Japanese
aircraft industry66 and there were tensions between the regular staff and
those people drafted to work in the factories.67 In Germany as in Japan,
there were too many models produced. During the Second World War, the
Japanese Navy developed 53 basic models in 112 variants, while the Army
had 37 basic models with 52 variants.68 Many design changes to aircraft
already in production caused constant interruptions of the production pro-
cess.69 The 'Fuhrerbefehle' are particularly relevant here. Furthermore, the
inability of the General Staff to state clear-cut technical objectives for the
aircraft industry in Germany meant — at least until 1941/2 — a substantial
loss of engineering skills, time and materials.70
There are several reports by German engineers, who stayed in Japan
during the latter part of the Second World War, on the conditions of Japa-
nese aircraft production. Kurt Schmidt, a Heinkel production engineer sent
to Japan in June 1943 and attached to the Hitachi Aircraft Company, was
commissioned by the Japanese Naval Air Force to build a new aircraft plant
in association with the Hitachi-Kokuki K.K. factory and equip Hitachi
plants for mass production;71 and engineer Pohl was sent to Japan by the
Henschel Aircraft Company in mid-1943 to conduct static tests and to
introduce aircraft mass production into Japan. In October 1944 the Japa-
nese Navy became interested in the Henschel Company's method for the
mass production of aircraft used in Germany by Dornier and Heinkel as
well as Henschel, and Navy technicians compiled detailed reports on the
process. In November 1944, Japanese Naval representatives in Berlin
began negotiations to buy the manufacturing rights for the process and to
arrange to send an engineer and the necessary drawings to Japan. In late
November, films describing the production of spars for the ME 109 and
ME 410 and the production of wings for the ME 109 were delivered to
Japanese representatives in Germany. In January 1945, manufacturing
rights for the Henschel process were released to the Japanese Naval Air
Force, but drawings and films were acquired too late for shipment to Japan.
However, Henschel engineer Pohl did have a general knowledge of the mass
production process.72
Kurt Schmidt made a long report on production processes and working
conditions in the Japanese aircraft industry, in which he complained that
every component requiring light metal alloys in its production was either in
short supply or, if available, of such poor quality as to be almost unusable.73
He pointed that the greatest bottleneck in the increase of aircraft production
was due to the fact that the yen-block was completely dependent on bauxite
imports from Malaya and the Dutch Indian colonies which had come to a
complete stop after the embargo ofJuly 1941,74 as well as in shortages of steel
and alloys like chromium, nickel, cobalt, tungsten, vanadium and molybde-
num, which were indispensable in aircraft, especially aircraft engine, pro-
duction. Schmidt reported that there was a lack of special-purpose machine
tools in Japan and that there were practically no automatic tools. This
resulted in a comparatively inefficient use of labour. He estimated that three
times more workers were required in Japan for the same amount of output
than in Germany. There was also a lack of adequate shop supervision. In
Germany a Meister, or foreman, supervised about one hundred employees
whereas in Japanese works there was one foreman for about two thousand
men. Too few skilled workers, poor interchangeability of parts, much
wastage and poor cooperation between the Army and Naval Air Force
compounded the problem.75
It seems that Schmidt's report on Japan was quite objective, although he
probably saw conditions in Germany in a too favourable light. The latter is
definitely true of Pohl's report which was even more critical of Japanese
conditions than Schmidt's. 'Conditions in plants in this country are beyond
comprehension for German minds. Everyone wants to give orders, no one
will assume responsibility for fear of' 'losing face''. This also applies to plant
engineers and foremen. Therefore, in contrast to Germany, suggestions for
improvements to save time are accepted with extreme hesitation, even when
the necessity of such measures is realized by the plant management', he
wrote.76 Pohl, however, took into consideration that the Japanese aircraft
industry developed in an extremely short time. According to him, 'the
Japanese worker is industrious, learns quickly, and has a great manual
ability. However, he is unable to act for himself and lacks initiative. The
latter causes serious production losses where factory organization is
lacking.'77 Pohl was of the opinion that despite intensive study of recent
foreign methods their use in Japan had not been carried out with sufficient
understanding. Tt appears that Japanese engineers do not understand
modern production properly. In addition the Japanese mind is opposed to a
workers' card system, before and after calculating a piece-work system,
assembly lines and belt production. '78
Pohl's observations may have been correct as far as the firms he was
attached to are concerned but they definitely cannot be generalized.
Dr G. Kaumann, Chief Engineer of the Heinkel Aircraft Company, visited
various aircraft companies in Japan and Manchukuo. Although he also had
some criticism about production rates, his other observations create a rather
different picture.79 In his opinion, the Nakajima plant he visited was about
equal to a modern aircraft factory in Germany. The same was true of the
Mitsubishi works which were 'in every respect first class' .80 It seems that we
have here a problem in the interpretation of historical sources. The German
engineers Schmidt and Pohl had obviously been sent to Japanese firms with
a considerable backlog and these were not necessarily representative of the
Japanese aircraft industry as a whole. Although the general impression
German observers had of the Japanese aircraft industry — lack of speciali-
zation and special-purpose machine tools, of qualified engineers and of raw
materials — seems to be correct, there were many differences between the
various companies. It should not be forgotten that several Japanese aircraft
plants proved to be very efficient with, under the circumstances, an
astonishing output of aeroplanes as far as quantity, but also quality, is
concerned.
One of the reasons why several Japanese aircraft had a good reputation
was the emphasis Japanese designers put on aerodynamics. There was a
close cooperation between the leading aircraft companies and the
Aeronautical Research Institute of the University of Tokyo, where exten-
sive wind tunnel tests were done with equipment of a very high technological
level. The Mitsubishi Ki-46, for example, had perhaps the most graceful
lines of any fighting aircraft of the Second World War. It even captured the
attention of the Luftwaffe, which in vain tried to acquire a manufacturing
licence.81 The Mitsubishi Ki-65 was, from the aerodynamic point of view,
one of the most advanced aircraft of all the planes participating in the
Second World War.82 During competitive trials against prototypes of the
Nakajima Ki-43-II and Ki-44-I, an imported Bf 109 E and a captured
Curtiss P-50, the Ki-61 was judged to have the best overall performance and
this was, to a large extent, due to its superior aerodynamic qualities.83
Apart from the wind tunnel tests mentioned above, the Japanese were
quite advanced in supersonic wind tunnel research. The Army and Navy
realized at an early date the importance of supersonic research and planned

and constructed a system of supersonic wind tunnels to carry on this research
in both the aeronautical and ballistic fields. In 1933, W. Margoulis, former
director of the Eiffel laboratories in Paris, was called to Japan to take charge
of the Navy work and to supervise the construction of a tunnel at the Naval
aircraft factory at Taura Yokosuka. This tunnel was of the closed return
type, with a 30-cm working section and counter-rotating propeller type
fans.84
V
Although the preparations to come to a German-Japanese economic agree-
ment were beset with numerous difficulties, such an agreement was reached
on 20 January 1943. It provided for the mutual exchange of raw materials,
military equipment, manufactured goods, technical assistance and draw-
ings, although this exchange had been in practice for some time without a
formal agreement.85 But there were problems, which had their main cause
in the prevailing war conditions. For 1942, the Japanese had promised to
deliver 1,000 tons of tungsten ore but only 400 tons were delivered.86 At the
end of December 1943, the blockade runner Osorno succeeded in entering
the Gironde; three other blockade runners were, however, lost. Still, the
quantity of rubber shipped from Japan to Europe was sufficient to cover
German demand until November 1944,87 although the German production
of artificial rubber (buna) has to be taken into consideration.88
A major problem in German technical liaison with Japan was the con-
stantly changing German policy in regard to granting export licences. In
1942, the German High Command expressed the intention of being generous
in that respect. In February 1943, Hitler commanded that only those
machines, tools, drawings etc. should be made available to the Japanese
which they could not build for themselves and which were vital for them in
warfare.
Excluded from export, however, were those items which revealed a new
line of development.89 On 2 March 1944, Germany and Japan came to an
agreement which resulted in the sale to Japan of various manufacturing
rights and processes.90 The German government promised to make avail-
able to the Japanese even the IG Farben hydrogenation process.91 But
because, in March 1944, the Japanese Naval Air Force asked for details of
the ME 163 and ME 262, Hitler declined the request.92 The official reason
given was that these two models were not yet fully developed technically,93
implying that the Japanese would not benefit from the transfer at that stage.
On 24 October 1944 there was a new order from the German High Com-
mand, which reversed the previous ones and allowed the Japanese access to
all materials and processes in Germany, even those which were still at an
experimental and developmental stage.
A perennial problem concerned the payment for the goods delivered. In
the autumn of 1943, the Germans put forward demands that the Japanese
paid for capital goods purchases in gold, which could be easily transported
and would enable Germany to buy goods from the European neutrals. By
14 Technology Transfer- Under Conditions of War
1944 the Japanese owed roughly 50 tons of gold to the German Reich which,
according to the Germans, the Japanese could readily afford taking into
consideration that the Philippines were believed to have an annual gold
production of 80 tons. In 1944, about two tons of gold were placed aboard a
Japanese ship, but this was sunk off the Cape Verde Islands in June 1944.94
When it became clear in 1944 that German armament materials ready for
despatch to Japan could not be shipped there, the Japanese Army and Navy
agreed to make temporarily available these materials — also aircraft — to
the Germans, if the Germans agreed to compensations later.95 However, the
Japanese insisted on the delivery of machine tools, which is another indica-
tion of how badly they needed them.
It is not surprising that the Japanese were particularly interested in those
aircraft developed by Messerschmitt, which showed significant progress in
aircraft technology. For a licence to build the ME 209 and ME 309 in Japan,
the Japanese offered a sum of 800,000 Reichsmark, whereas Messerschmitt
demanded 4 million. The firm also had the strange idea of making available
only one-fifth of the know-how related to the ME 209 and ME 309 if the
Japanese did not want to pay the full price.96 Needless to say this intended
deal came to nothing.
The two Messerschmitt aircraft which were of most interest to the
Japanese were the ME 163 and the ME 262. The arrival of the B-29-
Superfortress over Japan suddenly created the need for a fast-climbing
interceptor fighter. The Japanese Military Attache in Berlin had been
aware of the ME 163 B, the rocket-powered fighter, and, in late 1943, in
spite of reluctance by German officials, probably obtained a licence to
manufacture the machine in Japan with its Walther HWK 109-509 engine.
This rocket-propelled aircraft probably had another feature which stimu-
lated Japanese interest. The use of chemical fuel would have offered some
relief from fuel supply problems, which threatened to become serious when
the Empire was isolated from her mineral oil-rich southern possessions.97
However, only one of the two submarines carrying technical data to Japan
arrived, the other one being sunk en route, and only incomplete data were
taken back by Cdr Eichi Iwaya. In July 1944, the Japanese Navy issued a
19-Shi specification, covering the development of a rocket-powered inter-
ceptor fighter after the model of the ME 163. The development of the
aircraft was put into the hands of Mitsubishi and became a joint Navy-
Army project.98 Mitsubishi had to make modifications of the ME 163 design
because of Japanese inexperience with German production methods, lack of
skilled workers and lack of certain materials, of which steel was out-
standing.99 However, the aircraft developed by Mitsubishi, the J8 M l , was
not successful. The first prototype was finished in June 1945, and its first
flight was scheduled for 7 July. The engine failed soon after takeoff, and the
J8 Ml was destroyed. Although production had started and other J8 Ml
aircraft were available, no more flights were made before the Japanese
surrender.100
The success of the ME 262 programme aroused Japanese interest in a
twin-jet fighter, and the Navy issued an order to Nakajima for the develop-
ment of a fighter based on the ME 262, but smaller. As far as propulsion was
concerned, the technological gap between Germany and Japan was not as
wide as one may think. Already in the 1920s, Rear-Admiral Kohicho
Hanajima had realized the advantages of jet propulsion. A lieutenant at that
time, he brought back from France two superchargers which had been
designed by the famous French engineer Auguste Rateau (who played an
important role in the development of steam and gas turbines) for the
Hispano Suiza engine. Around 1937 Hanajima took up research on his own
with the assistance of Tokyo Imperial University and Mitsubishi. Aurel
Stodola, the eminent Professor of Mechanical Engineering and a specialist
in thermodynamics at the Zurich Institute of Technology,101 advocated the
use of free piston compressors for gas turbines, which the Japanese engineer
Tanega Nima developed for the Imperial Navy. In early 1940 a free piston
compressor of the Junkers principle was designed and constructed with the
assistance of the Mitsui Seiki Kogyo Co. The attempt was, however,
unsuccessful for the intended purpose, but many specimens were manufac-
tured as compressors for portable oxygen-producing plants.102
Eichi Iwaya, who had studied the ME 163 in Germany and returned to
Japan with plans and drawings, also obtained some information on the
ME 262. All he had with him when he returned to Japan in July 1944 was a
photocopy of the general design layout of the BMW 003 axial-flow
turbojet.103 Even before that, the Naval Air Technical Arsenal, Kugisho,
had developed its own version, the Ne 20, a scaled-down BMW turbojet
with only 12 burners instead of the original 16. By the end of January 1945,
after the design phase, fabrication of the models began, of which the first ran
on 26 March 1945. During acceleration the fuel supply was switched to a
fuel distilled from pinewood and containing only from 20 to 30 per cent
gasoline. As nickel was not available the turbine blades were made of a
manganese-chromium-vanadium steel alloy.104
A captured Japanese technician's notebook, dated March 1944, stated
that the main problems encountered with the turbojet power unit were poor
cooling and 'turbine blades flying off. The Germans had come across the
same problem earlier, namely the production of metals capable of with-
standing the high temperatures involved which could at the same time be
easily machined and worked to the required form for turbine blades.
The German firm of Krupp met this turbine-blade problem with the
development of two high-duty steel alloys, Trinidur and Chromadur. Japa-
nese representatives in Germany were made aware of the existence and use
of these alloys during the negotiations for manufacturing rights for the
Jumo-004 engine. Negotiations with Krupp began in mid-1944. At the
beginning, the firm was extremely reluctant to release the required data
because of doubtful financial compensation. Besides, the firm feared that
the release of such information would enable the Japanese to apply it
throughout the field of stainless steels. Only on 12 February 1945 was the
necessary agreement between Krupp and the Japanese representatives
signed. In the meantime, however, the Japanese had acquired considerable
information on the composition and manufacture of the alloys in question.
Engineer Tarutani of the Japanese Navy and R. Schomerus, aMesserschmitt
engineer, who assisted the Japanese in producing jet-propelled aircraft,
visited the Krupp plant in Essen in October 1944 and gathered the required
information. Krupp consented to pass on the information 'for purely
patriotic reasons'.105
In September 1944, representatives of the Japanese Army in Berlin were,
as a result of a conference with Messerschmitt company officials, ready
for an agreement to take three Messerschmitt engineers, Rolf von
Chlingensperg, R. Schomerus and August Bringewald, to Japan for two
years. Chlingensperg and Schomerus were to direct the design of short-
range fighters and long-range bombers, while Bringewald would have the
main task of directing manufacture of the ME 262. Bringewald was particu-
larly qualified to assist the Japanese because he had been associated with the
mass production of aircraft at Henschel and, from 1938 onwards, had been
assistant to Willy Messerschmitt.106 However, in the event only Bringewald
and Franz Ruf, a Messerschmitt expert on procurement of industrial
machinery, left for Japan in the submarine U234 in March 1945 and they
were captured after the U-boat surrendered to Allied forces. They carried
with them blueprints and plans for setting up factories in Japan adequate for
the production of 500 ME 262s a month.107
Although these plans and blueprints could not be used for the con-
struction of Kikka, the Japanese version of the ME 262, development work
on the aircraft went on. The first Kikka, constructed by Nakajima, was
completed in August 1945 and made its maiden flight on 7 August. On the
second flight, four days later, the pilot had to abort during take-off run
because of engine failure. A second prototype was almost ready for flight
trials and a further eighteen prototypes and pre-production aircraft were in
various stages of assembly when on 15 August 1945 the development of
Kikka was terminated.108
VI
It can be said in conclusion that 'hardware' aero-technology transfer from
Germany to Japan did not play a large role during the Second World
War,109 whereas in the years immediately preceding the war it was quite
important. On the other hand, the transfer of 'software' — drawings,
plans, films, photos — played a large role during the Second World War
but was not so important in the years before. This has, of course, to do with
the fact that aircraft and aircraft parts were difficult to transport in the war
over such a long distance; but it also shows that Japanese engineers rapidly
caught up in aircraft technology. The fact that they were no longer so
dependent on 'hardware' transfers is evidence of this. It is significant too
that the imported technology was, as a rule, modified, adapted to local
circumstances and quite often also improved, as in the case of the K-46II, an
aircraft which the Germans were interested in retransferring.
In view of the spectacular technological developments which occurred in
Japan after the Second World War, the question arises if, and to what
extent, technology transfer from Germany during the Second World War
played a role. Here fields other than aero-technology have to be considered
because the Japanese have excelled in such things as optics, electronics and
mechanical engineering, car manufacture and production engineering and

not specifically in aircraft engineering.
There is no evidence that any significant items of advanced electrical
technology and electronics were transferred from Germany to Japan during
the Second World War. However, the transfer of optical equipment was
quite significant. In the days of surface blockade-running, extensive pur-
chases of optical glass were made through ordinary commercial channels.
Later, especially after 1944, optical glass retained a high priority for trans-
port to the Far East, something which was also due to its being a particularly
suitable submarine cargo.110
On 11 January 1945, a commercial agreement was signed between the
Japanese Army and IG Farben on the hydrogenation process for producing
liquid fuel from coal. Drawings, technical descriptions and other relevant
materials for building a hydrogenation plant in Japan are said to have been
sent there by submarine, but they did not reach their destination.111
At the end of the Second World War and in the immediate post-war
period, world powers such as the United States and the Soviet Union
learned much from German technological know-how and innovations.
Probably the Japanese learned even more, and this at a very low cost, by
importing know-how under war conditions, know-how which otherwise
would have been very expensive indeed.112 It is very likely that during the
Second World War the Japanese economy experienced a significant push in
economic and technological development which was of vital importance to
post-war growth. This hypothesis, which cannot be investigated further,
does, of course, not imply that the Japanese war economy in particular and
war economies in general were a necessary procondition for rapid economic
and technological growth. I do not subscribe to the notion that war is the
'father of all (technological) things'; the 'spin-off or 'fall out' thesis is highly
complex and leads to such a variety of empirical results that its application is
highly problematical. Besides, there is often an ideological component
attached to it. We do not know how economic and technological develop-
ments would have been without a preceding war, but there are good reasons
for assuming that technological development might have been even more
rapid if the relevant interests could have concentrated on technologies with
applications to peaceful purposes.113
Appendix
German Exports of Aeroplanes to Japan and Manchukuo, 1936-44
Tech
1936 1937 1938 1939 1940 1941 1942 1943 1944
2Ju 160 3 He 118 1 He 116 14 Bu 131 2 He 100 lju88 2 Me 210 2 Me 109 2 Me 109 ss
lju86 4Hell2 26 He 112 10Ju86 1 Me 109 2Hell9 5Ju88 2 Me 210 1 FW 190 0
lju 108 5Bii 131 1 Bii 133 2 Me 109 1 FW 190 2Do217 3 Me 210
Tra nsfer
lju86 2Ju86 1 Fi156 1 FW 190 2 Do 217
2Ju87 4Ju86 1 Ar 196
6 Me 108
s
German Exports of Aero-Engines to Japan and Manchukuo, 1936--44
ider Con
1936 1937 1938 1939 1940 1941 1942 1943 1944
8Jumo210 6Jumo205 16DB601 2DB601 3 DB 601 10DB605 1 BMW 801 2 DB 601 ^
4DB601 7 Jumo 210 13HM564 1 DB 606 4 Jumo 207 4 DB 603 8 DB 603
3Jumo211 3 BMW 801 3 Jumo 213
s of Wa
10 As 100 8 BMW 132 D ljumo207 3 As 411
3 HM 504 2 Jumo 211 2 As 411
12 BMW 132 D 1 BMW 801
i
Source: BA-MA RL 2 HI/645, RL 2 III/646; Speer Collection IWM. Sometimes the information given in the BA-MA and the IWM differ so that the above list should be taken
with a grain of salt. It is not in all cases completely certain whether the aircraft and engines listed above all reached Japan, but apart from singular instances this should have been the
case. The number of aircraft given above exceeds that of the official German Air Ministry list, because in several cases, aircraft were exported without the knowledge and consent of
the Reichsluftfahrtministerium.
Notes
1. I am particularly grateful to Dr John W. M. Chapman, University of
Sussex, and Dr Erich Pauer, University of Bonn, who provided me with many useful
hints; to Mr Philip Reed, Deputy to the Keeper of Documents, Imperial War
Museum London, who was most helpful during my several visits to the IWM
archives; to Dr Lenz of the Bundesarchiv Koblenz and Herr Albinus and Dr
Ringsdorf of the Bundesarchiv-Militararchiv Freiburg, who made available to me
German governmental source material covering the period shortly before the Second
World War and the war itself; and to Mr Robert C. Mikesh and Mr Jay Spencer of
the National Air and Space Museum, Washington, D.C., who set me on the track of
the extensive collection of German and Japanese aviation during the Second World
War. Robert Mikesh has also done substantial research on the Japanese 'Kikka'. I
especially want to thank the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft for a travel grant, without
which the research on which this article is based would not have been possible; and
Mrs Heidi Windeit for typing the manuscript.
2. Among others, Edward L. Homze, Arming the Luftwaffe. The Reich Air Minis-
try and the German Aircraft Industry 1919-1939, Lincoln, Nebraska and London, 1976;
William Green, The Warplanes of the Third Reich, London, 1970; Heinz J. Nowarra
and Karlheinz Kens, Die deutschen Flugzeuge 1933-1945, Mimchen, 1977; R. J.
Overy, The Air War 1939-1945, London, 1980; Rene J. Francillon, Japanese Aircraft
of the Pacific War, London, 1970; Eiichiro Sekigawa, A Pictorial History of Japanese
Military Aviation, London, 1974.
3. Erich Pauer, 'Die wirtschaftlichen Beziehungen zwischen Japan und
Deutschland 1900-1945', in Josef Kreiner (Hg.), Deutschland-Japan. Historische
Kontakte, Bonn, 1984, pp. 164-210; J. W. M. Chapman, 'The Transfer of German
Underwater Weapons Technology to Japan, 1919-1976', in Ian Nish and Charles
Dunn (eds), European Studies on Japan, Tenterden, Kent, 1979, pp. 165-71, 341-2;
J. W. M. Chapman, The Origins and Development of German and Japanese Military
Co-operation 1936-1945, Unpubl. Diss. Oxford, 1967; Bernd Martin, Deutschland und
Japan im Zweiten Weltkrieg. Vom Angriff auf Pearl Harbour bis zur deutschen Kapitulation,
Gottingen, 1969. Erich Pauer is preparing a study on the transfer of synthetic fuel
technology from Germany to Japan.
4. For recent studies dealing with the time after the end of the Second World
War, see G. R. Hall and R. E. Johnson, 'Transfers of United States Aerospace
Technology to Japan' in R. Vernon (ed.), The Technology Factor in International Trade,
New York, 1970, pp. 305-58, and Daniel L. Spencer, 'An External Military Pres-
ence, Technological Transfer, and Structural Change', Kyklos, Vol. 18, 1965,
pp. 451-74.
5. Information Related to Japanese Aeronautical Industrial Activities and to Japanese
Military Aircraft as Reported by German Representatives Stationed in Japan, 1944, National
Air and Space Museum (NASM), p. 99.
6. Homze, as note 2, p. 66; Kenneth Munson, Die Weltkrieg II-Flugzeuge,
Stuttgart, 1982, p. 19.
7. Sekigawa, as note 2.
8. As note 2.
9. Ernst Presseisen, Germany and Japan. A Study in Totalitarian Diplomacy,
1933-1941, The Hague, 1958, p. 91.
10. Deutsche Bergwerks-Zeitung Nr. 225, 25.9.1941, also: Nachrichten fur
den AuBenhandel Nr. 80, 15.4.1942, Bundesarchiv Koblenz (BA) R7/974 fol. 1.
11. BAR7/974fol. 1(1939).
12. Bernd Martin, 'Die deutsche Beraterschaft — ein Uberblick', in Bernd
Martin (ed.), Die deutsche Beraterschaft in China 1927-1938. Militdr — Wirtschaft —
Aufienpolitik, Dusseldorf, 1981, pp. 15-53, p. 30.

13. 'Handelsgesellschaft fur industrielle Produkte', 'industrial products'
meaning 'arms'.
14. John P. Fox, 'The Klein Project' in China: Arms, Economics and Foreign Policy
in the Third Reich, in Martin, as note 12, pp. 216-35.
15. William Kirby, 'Development Aid or Neo-Imperialism? German Industry
in China, 1928-1938' in Martin, as note 12, pp. 201-15.
16. Presseisen, as note 9, p. 91.
17. Homze, as note 2, pp. 204-5.
18. The memorandum is in the Bundesarchiv-Militararchiv Freiburg
(BA-MA) RL3/52, pp. 1392-1401. See also Homze, as note 2, p. 208.
19. Heinkel-memorandum in BA-MA. There is no indication for Homze's
statement (Homze, p. 208) that Heinkel was allowed to deliver the first ten planes.
20. Report from Dr G. Kaumann, representative of the German Aircraft
Industry in Japan, 2 February 1938. Betr.: Exportlage Japan (Imperial War
Museum London = IWM FD 135/84, Speer Box 155).
21. Pauer, as note 3, pp. 165-74.
22. In 1923, for example, the Fuji denki seizo KK was founded, in which
Siemens held 30 per cent of the shares (Helmut Wilhelms, 'The German Electrical
Industry and Japan. A Historical Sketch' in Hans Pohl (ed.), Innovation, Know How,
Rationalization and Investment in the German and Japanese Economies
1868/1871-1930/1980, Wiesbaden, 1982, pp. 59-73); from 1926, Krupp delivered
high-pressure hollow bodies to Japan for ammonia synthesis (Pauer, as note 3,
p. 169).
23. J. Witte, Japan zwischen den Kulturen, Leipzig, 1928, pp. 30-1 (see Pauer, as
note 3, p. 176).
24. Johann von Leers, 'Japanische Neuformung', Die Tat, Vol. 24, Sept.
1934, p. 419, quoted in Presseisen, as note 9, p. 66.
25. Heinkel, as note 18.
26. BA-MA RL3/16.
27. Note from Fokkes & Koch (F&K), Tokyo, 30 Jan. 1939, IWM FD 137/77.
28. Letter from Wirtschaftsgruppe Luftfahrtindustrie to F&K, Berlin,
31.3.1939; IWM FD 135/84.
29. Letters from F&K, Tokyo to Ernst Prieger, their representative in Berlin, 5
Dec. 1938 and 20 Dec. 1938, IWM FD 137/77.
30. IWM FD 135/84, Speer Box 155.
31. J. W. M. Chapman, 'The "Have-Nots" go to War. The Economic &
Technological Basis of the German Alliance with Japan' in The Tripartite Pact of 1940:
Japan, Germany, and Italy, 'International Studies', 1984/III, International Centre for
Economics and Related Disciplines, London School of Economics.
32. Pauer, as note 3, p. 201.
33. Chapman, as note 31, p. 35. Weissbauer's findings were submitted on
6Jan. 1940.
34. Chapman, as note 31, p- 52.
35. Martin, as note 3, pp. 158-64.
36. Chapman, as note 31, p. 52.
37. Martin, as note 3, p. 165.
38. Letters from F&K, Tokyo to Ernst Prieger, Berlin, 16 Feb. 1939 and 22
March 1940 (IWM FD 137/77).
39. Letter from Prieger to Director R. Kokothaki, Messerschmitt Augsburg,
24 Jan. 1941 (IWM FD 137/77).
40. Aktenvermerk Graf Thun, 21 May 1941. IWM FD 137/77. Also: Entwurf
eines Abkommens iiber die technische Zusammenarbeit zwischen der
Messerschmitt AG Augsburg und der Kawasaki Flugzeugbau AG Kobe, ca. Sept.

1941.
41. Report Kaumann, 'Exportlage Japan', 2 Feb. 1938, IWM FD 135/84,
Speer Box 155.
41a. As note 41.
42. Letter from F&K, Tokyo, to Wirtschaftsgruppe Luftfahrtindustrie, 2 Feb.
1939, IWM FD 135/84.
43. Letter from F&K to Junkers, 27 Feb. 1940, IWM FD 146/66, Box 202.
44. Letter from F&K, Tokyo to Prieger, 20 Dec. 1940, IWM FD 135/84, Speer
Box 155.
45. From F&K, Mukden to F&K, Tokyo, 11 Feb. 1941, IWM FD 146/66,
Speer Box 202.
46. Report Kaumann to Reichsverband der deutschen Luftfahrtindustrie, 15
March 1941, IWM FD 146/66, Speer Box 202.
47. As note 42.
48. Letter from Prieger to Fieseler, 17 July 1939, IWM, Speer Box 154.
49. Letter from Prieger to F&K, Tokyo, 23 April 1940, IWM FD 143/39,
Speer Box 153.
50. For this and the following, see Francillon, as note 2, pp. 147-8.
51. Letter from Focke-Wulf to Prieger, 21 Jan. 1941, IWM FD 137/80, Speer
Box 153.
52. Letter from F&K, Tokyo to Prieger, 14 Jan. 1941, IWM FD 137/80, Speer
Box 153.
53. Letter from F&K, Tokyo to Prieger, 30 Jan. 1941, IWM FD 137/80, Speer
Box 153.
54. Letter from Prieger to F&K, Tokyo, 30 May 1941, IWM FD 137/80, Speer
Box 153.
55. Sekigawa, as note 2, p. 107.
56. Letter from F&K, Tokyo to Prieger, 17 Jan. 1940, IWM ADI(K) 136/50,
Speer Box 155.
57. Letter from F&K, Tokyo to Prieger, 1 May 1940, IWM ADI(K) 136/50,
Speer Box 155.
58. Letter from Prieger to F&K, Tokyo, 1 July 1940, IWM FD 5714/45, Speer
Box 209.
59. Overy, as note 2, p. 94.
60. Munson, as note 6, p. 159.
61. Francillon, as note 2, p. 268.
62. War Department, Military Intelligence Division, Washington, German
Technical Aid to Japan, prepared by Military Intelligence Service, NASM, p. 230.
63. Letter from Engineer Mohr to Engineer Apel, Mukden, 28 Jan. 1939,
IWM 135/84, Speer Box 155.
64. See, for example, Alan S. Milward, War, Economy and Society 1939-1945,
Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1979, pp. 184-91 ('Production Technology'), and
Overy, as note 2. On war production in Germany see, also among others, Alan
Milward, The German Economy at War, London, 1965; Gregor Janssen, Das Minis -
terium Speer. Deutschlands Riistung im Krieg, Berlin, 1968; Edward R. Zilbert, Albert
Speer and the Nazi Ministry of Arms. Economic Institutions and Industrial Production in the
German War Economy, London, 1981; Friedrich Forstmeier and Hans-Erich
Volkmann (eds.), Kriegswirtschaft und Riistung 1939-1945, Diisseldorf, 1977.
65. Overy, as note 2, p. 170.
66. In Germany, the situation was better, but there were still problems in this
respect (Karl-Heinz Ludwig, Technik und Ingenieure im Dritten Reich, Diisseldorf,
1974).
67. Here, too, are similarities with the German situation. See, for example,
Edward L. Homze, Foreign Labor in Nazi Germany, Princeton, N.J., 1967.
68. Jerome B. Cohen, Japan's Economy in War and Reconstruction, Minneapolis,
1949, p. 212.
69. Overy, as note 2, pp. 177-8.
70. Homze, as note 2, p. 258.
71. Information, as note 5, NASM, p. 144.
72. German Technical Aid, as note 62, pp. 224-5.
73. His report 'Aircraft Production Facilities and Methods at the Hitachi
Aircraft Co.', Air Technical Intelligence Review, Report No. F-12-51-RE, Tokyo, 27
June 1946, is in the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. There is a summary in
Cohen, as note 68, p. 225.
74. Bernd Martin, 'Japan's Kriegswirtschaft 1941-1945' in Forstmeier and
Volkmann (eds.), as note 64, p. 276.
75. Cohen, as note 68, p. 228.
76. Information, as note 5, pp. 19-20.
77. Information, as note 5, p. 108.
78. Information, as note 5, p. 140.
79. Bericht von Dr Kaumann an den Reichsverband der deutschen Luftfahrtindustrie,
15 March 1941, IWM 137/77.
80. Letter from F&K, Tokyo, to Focke-Wulf, 30 Oct. 1940, IWM 137/89,
Speer Box 155.
82. Munson, as note 6, p. 204.
84. Japanese Supersonic Wind Tunnels. Ordnance Technical Intelligence Report
No. 16, IWM, London.
85. NASM, German Technical Aid to Japan, as note 62, p. 15. For details of the
agreement see BA-MA RW 19/1537. There is also some information on this in
Martin, as note 3, p. 169.
86. BA-MA RW 19/1537 Wi.Ausl. VI c. 8 Feb. 1943.
88. On buna see F. A. Howard, Buna Rubber. The Birth of an Industry, New York,
1947.
89. BA-MA RL 2 III/177, Chef OKW, 12 Feb. 1943.
90. 'Vereinbarung iiber die gegenseitige Zurverfugungstellung von
Nachbaurechten und Rohstoffen zwischen Deutschland und Japan.'
92. BA-MA RL 2 III/177, Chef OKW, 12 Sept. 1944.
93. 'noch nicht ausgereifter technischer Entwicklungsstand.'
94. Chapman, as note 31, p. 66, footnote 63.
95. 'Aktion Irma.'
96. Letter from Prieger to F&K, Tokyo, 3 August 1944, IWM, Speer Box 154.
97. German Technical Aid, as note 62, pp. 27-8.
98. Francillon, as note 2, p. 404. The V-l was a weapon which appealed to the
Japanese, too. The Argus propulsion tube in particular was subject to detailed
investigation by Japanese representatives in Germany. There is evidence that Japan
intended the use of a piloted version of the V-l as a suicide weapon (NASM, German
Technical Aid, as note 62, p. 7).
99. NASM, German Technical Aid, as note 62, pp. 38-9.
100. Air Power. A Modern Illustrated History, New York and London, 1979,
p. 153.
101. On Stodola, see my introduction to the reprint of his 'Dampf- und
Gasturbinen', Dusseldorf, 1986.

102. Robert C. Mikesh, Kikka, Bolyston, Mass. 1979 (Monogram, Close-Up
No. 19), pp. 7-8.
104. Mikesh, as note 102, pp. 7-9.
107. Mikesh, as note 102, p. 7.
108. Francillon, as note 2, p. 443. Milward's remark (Milward, as note 64,
p. 176) that the Japanese aircraft industry was unable to get a plane like the ME 262
even into the prototype stage is incorrect. There was also a Japanese Army adapta-
tion of the ME 262, the Ki-201, which was to be an attack fighter with performance
equal to or better than contemporary jet fighters (Mikesh, as note 102, p. 28).
109. To see German aircraft technology transfer to Japan during the Second
World War in perspective, it has to be made clear that German aircraft deliveries to
other states exceeded those to Japan by far. Whereas, for example, 9 aircraft were
delivered to Japan in 1944, 280 German-produced aircraft were sent to Bulgaria,
which was, of course, much more dependent on German aircraft. Of these 280
planes, 123 were ME 109, whereas of the 9 aircraft delivered to Japan only two were
ME 109 (BA-MA RL 2 III/646).
110. NASM, German Technical Aid, as note 62, p. 11.
111. Pauer, as note 3, p. 205.
112. Chapman, as note 31, p. 55.
113. On this general problem see also Milward, as note 64, chap. 6.
U s i n g t h e E a r l y S l i d e - R e s t
V E R N A R D FOLEY, WITH
SUSAN CANGANELLI, JOHN C O N N O R
AND DAVID RADER
Machine tool histories with any claim to comprehensiveness have routinely

discussed the slide-rest and its origins.1 Certainly from Nasmyth onwards,
this device for enabling the transfer of skill and precision from the users of
the machine to its designers and builders has attracted attention and
apreciation. Usually the slide-rest is defined as including a cutting tool
clamp-piece which can slide within closely-fitted guide ways on the machine,
under the control of a lever or, more especially, a feed-screw. In this way, as
Nasmyth2 put it, mankind gained 'a mighty triumph over matter', and a
great step forward in industrial technique. For Nasmyth's very dissimilar
contemporary, Karl Marx, 3 the slide-rest helped to symbolize the transition
from preindustrial to industrial conditions.
The earliest previously known slide-rest has accordingly usually merited
discussion in the literature. Until the publication of the discovery by some of
us of a slightly earlier machine, it was presumed that the oldest mechanical
controlling system for a lathe tool was found on a screw-making device
described in the Mittelalterliche Hausbuch, a manuscript by an artist known
only as the Master of the Amsterdam Cabinet, and dating to the middle-
early 1480s.4 This device is shown in Fig. 1. Strictly speaking, the tool is
controlled by a cross-slide rather than by a slide-rest having full two-axis
adjustments.5 However, since the work is moved past the cutter by the
mandrel screw, performance equivalent to the more modern slide-rest,
carriage and lead-screw system is obtained. Thus we will follow the lead of
such sources as Woodbury and Rolt in designating this system as originating
the slide-rest idea.
It can be seen that the arrangements of the newly found machine (Fig. 2)
are functionally equivalent. There too the mandrel-screw feeds the work
past the cutter and into the tailstock or steady-rest bore, while the cutter feed
toward the work is controlled by a guide-piece fixed to the lathe-bed, con-
taining a sliding block driven by a screw. This device is found in the manu-
script of gunnery expert Martin Mertz (also Merz, Mercz), 'Kunstaus
Buchsen zu Schiessen', dating to 1471-5,6 and thus about a decade earlier
than the Mittelalterliche Hausbuch example.
It seems obvious from comparing the two machines in detail that the
Mertz design is indeed the earlier and less sophisticated of the two.7 Its
carpentry is less thoughtful, as it requires, for instance, reinforcing at the
ends of the main plank by nailed-on iron bands. Note also how the dovetail
of the right-hand leg-piece must come close to breaking through the top of
the recessed area which runs along the back of the bed. This recess provides
clearance for the base of the fixed block of the slide-rest. Again, from the
standpoint of rigidity, the Mertz machine with its long, doubly-slotted bed,
26 Using the Early Slide-Rest
Figure 1. The oldest example of mechanical cutting tool control previously known
comes from the Mittelalterlich Hausbuch, by an anonymous artist and dating from the
1480s.
Figure 2. A newly-found example of mechanical tool control, from the manuscript

'The Art of Shooting Out of Guns' by the artillerist Martin Mertz, dating from the
early 1470s. The crank handle tip is missing in the original.
must be inferior to its Hausbuch counterpart. From the standpoint of user

comfort, the raised bed of the Hausbuch machine must have offered less
stooping and bending than the Mertz design. Both are obviously, from their
legs and other hints of scale, meant for bench top rather than floor use. One
must make some allowance for differences in skills on the part of their
designers and makers, but it appears overall that the Hausbuch example takes
good advantage of a decade of experience gained.
Vernard Foley, with Susan Canganelli, John Connor and David Rader 27
Thus, even if we ignored the comparison of the two slide-rests themselves,

we could say that the Mertz machine merits its earlier manuscript date. If
these are included, we can see that the Mertz tool appears to be excessively
large for the job, and that its sliding block is seated in its groove in the fixed
block merely by weight and the pressure of a downward-turning cut, while
the Hausbuch slide moves in a tee-shaped slot and thus is controlled much
more positively. The size of the Mertz cutter may imply its descent from a
machine for making the large wooden screws of oil, wine or printing
presses.8
The content of the Mertz manuscript is severely practical. Thus one is
predisposed to accept the sketch as representative of an existing machine,
rather than a figment of someone's imagination, or drawn from memory by
someone having a limited understanding of the operation of the contrivance.
These criticisms apply more strongly to the Hausbuch device, as its artist, for
instance, has put the stripe where the thread will go running the wrong way
around on the work piece, given the handedness of the mandrel screw. But
with the Mertz device, such constructional details as the appropriate orien-
tation of the grain of the wood, the plausibility of the chisel marks used to
true up the bed slots, and even the chipping done to hollow out the cavity in
the prow of the tool, appear to have been sketched with fidelity.9 It is true
that both drawings are defective in their perspective, but at least in the case
of Mertz, we have from his gravestone (Fig. 3)10 the excuse of the loss of an
eye. Moreover, it is his right. If he suffered extensive right brain hemisphere
impairment in the incident, he may well have been unable afterwards to
conceptualize spatial relationships properly.
Thus the Mertz machine appears not to have been a merely fanciful
construction. This impression is reinforced by adjacent realistic material in
the manuscript. For instance, a sketch on a facing folio of a firearm called a
Hackenbuchse shows a barrel very close in design to a surviving example in the
Hermitage Museum outside Leningrad. If this gun is not the same one as
depicted in the sketch, it would at least appear to be from the same shop.
If the Mertz machine actually existed, then what was it used for? In an
earlier discussion, some of us advanced the argument that it was a military
device, used for shaping the breech plugs of gun barrels.11 A number of
points will be adduced below towards this end. Commentary on the possible
uses of the closely related Hausbuch machine is very slender, but Rolt, at
least, thought that it was used to make clock screws.12 This alternative
interpretation is problematical for at least two reasons. First, the clocks of
the time were assembled with wedges, not screws, and it was not until about
two decades later that screws began to be used in horology.13 Second, the
Hausbuch manuscript has only one illustration of a clock, and that a very
small one on a crowded page depicting all the arts enjoying the patronage of
Saturn.14 By contrast, there are several detailed illustrations in the manu-
script of small cannon having carriages with screw-controlled elevation and
traverse.15 The screws depicted on these carriages are so sized and threaded
that they could have been made on the Hausbuch machine.16
In developing our thesis that the Mertz machine was used for making
firearms' breech plugs, let us consider first the specific form of the nose of its
Figure 3. The gravestone of Martin Mertz, Amberg, West Germany, showing his
association with firearms and his damaged right eye (photograph courtesy of Rudolf
Meckl of the Amberg Museum organization).
cutter. A close examination will show that its nose cavity begins a few
millimetres to the rear of the cutting edge. In between, the tool top is flat.
Thus, its edge angle is something like 60 to 80 degrees, much more suitable
for working metal than wood, and clearly in contrast to the design of the
Hausbuch cutter, whose greater acuity is evident. (The Hausbuch gun carriage
screws appear to be of wood, though there is room for uncertainty.)
The coarseness of the threads on the Mertz mandrel-screw makes it most
unlikely that one could cut a suitably proportioned thread of the same pitch17
on a work piece of the diameter shown. This is also a problem with the
Hausbuch device. However, the Hausbuch sketch, for all the wrong-
handedness of its work piece threads, gives us a clue to the solution of this
problem. It is often necessary to use coarser threads in wood than in metal
because of the differing strengths of these two materials. But if that is so,
then some way must be found, as it were, of dividing the pitch of the coarse
wooden mandrel threads.
The Hausbuch machine shows that the end of the work piece was squared
off before plugging it into the mandrel. A little thought will show that this
will help us appreciate the function of both machines for, as is the case with
the Mertz machine, the thread shown being made on the Hausbuch device is
of excessively large pitch for any practical conventional screw-making appli-
cation. (Rifling for guns uses very slow pitches, but appears to have been
still some decades away.)18 If, however, we lay out one such spiral on the
Hausbuch work piece, then unplug the work, turn it a half turn and reinsert,
we can lay out a second thread between the turns of the first, giving a
double-start screw. If the work piece-mandrel connector area is square in
cross-section, we can do the same thing four times rather than twice, giving
a set of four-start threads. In this way, the coarse mandrel threads can be
reduced to a workable size and one, moreover, in consonance with the
pitches commonly used on Renaissance metal screws, whose threads were
usually coarser than those which have been standard since a century or so
ago.19
The method of connection between mandrel and work piece in the Mertz
machine is not shown clearly, but we have chosen to assume that was the
same as with the Hausbuch device, and will employ that assumption here-
after. In further defence of the whole approach, one can point to the use of
double-start screws on the small cannon carriages in the Hausbuch manu-
script,20 and on the conical-threading lathe of Besson, to be discussed further
below.21 That the use of mating square-section plugs and cavities, some-
times tapering, was common in those days follows from its use in the
emerging design of braces and bits for boring holes, at about this same
time.22 This usage, in turn, may have derived from the age-old technique of
driving the square-forged tang of a file, graver or other similar tool into its
wooden handle.23
The small arms breech plugs of the time had not yet reached the form
commonly used later on for muzzle-loading weapons, but they were in the
midst of a suitably interesting design change.24 Earlier barrels were either
cast solid at the breech, particularly if brass or bronze; or, if of the increas-
ingly common iron, were closed by heating the breech to red or higher, and
then driving in a conical, unthreaded plug. It was the contraction of the

breech on cooling that gripped and held this conical closure. But such a plug
could not be easily or even safely removed for cleaning or unloading a
barrel, and if the blacksmithing were marginally done, it might give way
under the shock of repeated shots, or when the barrel was heated by rapid
and prolonged firing. Hence, at just about the time the Mertz machine was
drawn, a new plug design began to come into use (Fig. 4).
Unfortunately we know nothing of the event that cost Mertz his eye. It is
usually presumed to have been firearms-related. If he was injured in con-
nection with a breeching failure, this certainly would provide the motivation
necessary to arrive at a new breech plug design, even if the effort required a
fundamental step forward in machine tool evolution to accomplish.
The new breech plugs were threaded, and turned into female threads
formed on the inside of the breech. Thus they could be more easily removed
Figure 4. Methods of closing the breeches of early shoulder arms evolved from the
use of an unthreaded iron cone, inserted with the barrel at white heat, to the
utilization of conical screw plugs. The first of these had straight tangs of square or
rectangular cross-section, for fitting a wrench. Later plugs had nearly cylindrical
threads and a tang bent upwards to lie along the top of the buttstock. Sketch by Susan
Canganelli.
for cleaning, unloading and inspection; and they were much more secure.
They had, moreover, two features which lend themselves particularly well
to production on machines of the TsAertz-Hausbuch sort. First, their threads
were cut on a taper or cone. This may have been a holdover from the earlier
design or, to put it another way, an attempt to make them seal the powder
gases better by enlarging as they entered. At any rate, their conical form
suits them particularly well for fabrication on the Mertz machine, for the
skewed alignment of its work piece with respect to its bed, which can be
deduced from several of its structural features, was in all likelihood intended
for making conical work pieces. From that time to this, the non-parallelism
of the axes of the lathe and the work has chiefly, if not exclusively, func-
tioned in order to make cones.25
From a merely casual inspection of the Mertz machine it may not be
immediately obvious that work piece and bed do not run parallel. Certainly
the top edge of the work piece rod, and the rear edge of the bed, seem to be
parallel in the original illustration. But this is an illusion, caused by three
factors (see Fig. 5). One is the view chosen to depict the machine, for it is
shown tipped forward on its front legs towards the viewer. A second is the
difference in height between the centres of the mandrel screw where it passes
through the headstock piece, and the bore for the work in the tailstock, both
measured from the common surface level of the bed. To obtain these
heights, one drops perpendiculars from the centres of the work and the
mandrel to the intersections of these lines with lines designating the surface
of the bed just below. For the mandrel this line is where bed and headstock
meet, and for the tailstock or steady rest it is an extension of the angle formed
by the meeting of bed and the tailstock shoulder area which rests upon it.
Even allowing for some inaccuracy in drawing or measurement, it is obvious
that the work-mandrel axis is about twice as high above the bed as it goes
through the tailstock as through the headstock. In a true side view of the
machine, then, the work will run at a decided slope.
Thus the discrepancy between head and tailstock centre heights is so great
that it can hardly be due to design or artist's error. If we seek for other
reasons for k, two alternatives appear. First, in modern lathes some provi-
sion for adjusting the height of the cutting tip of the tool is almost always
incorporated, for tools will cut badly or not at all unless they have the proper
orientation vis-a-vis the work piece.26 Since the Mertz slide-rest has no
such adjustment provisions, perhaps the designer thought to make the work
slope so that by moving the rest back and forth along this slope, he could
obtain an equivalent arrangement.
The other reason for the work piece slope which has emerged in our testing
has to do with ergonomics, or the study of the interaction between human
physiological characteristics and machines. In this case, it is easier to file
threads by hand accurately if one can keep the file edge, where the teeth are
cutting, and the work piece area where they act, both continually in view. If
the threads are triangular, as the manuscript shows them to be, the file will
overhang the edges of the cut when the work piece is horizontal, unless one
assumes a rather awkward posture so as to be able to see what the file's bottom
corner is doing. It is all much easier if the work is tilted. In our experience
Figure 5. Views of a reconstruction of the Mertz slide-rest device show how the
work piece is angled with respect to the bed in both top and side views. Seen from the
correct vantage, this yields the illusion of parallelism to the bed.
the work piece tilt in a full-sized replica is very helpful in this regard. There
is a simple lathe for turning jars from stone in Leonardo's Codex Atlanticus21
which has its work piece axis similarly sloped, perhaps to facilitate observing
the entry of the tool as one works inside the neck of the jar.
Taken together, the tipping of the device and the slope of the work piece
help to explain the optical illusion of bed-work parallelism. The command-
ing feature in this connection, however, is the offset of the tailstock with
respect to the main axis of the bed. From measurement it appears that the
mandrel screw passes through the headstock no farther forward than the
centreline of the headstock piece. It may even be located a little aft of centre.
In any event, the asymmetry of the tailstock piece, which appears to have a
shoulder only on the forward side, guarantees that its tailstock bore must
pass through somewhere above the separate slot made for it in the bed.
Hence neither head nor tailstock appear to have any dimensional character-
istics which can compensate for the tailstock offset. Hence the fact that the
designer of this machine went to the trouble to carve a separate offset slot for
the tailstock, even though it significantly weakened the device, strongly
implies that its chief reason for being was the fabrication of threaded cones.
Compare the single slot of the Hausbuch machine, which appears to be in line
with the tailstock bore.
Since the slope in side-view of the work piece and its skew seen from the
top are approximately the same, when the machine is viewed as though it
were tipped forward towards the viewer, the one effect can cancel the other.
Hence the work can seem to be parallel to the bed. It may be helpful in
appreciating this effect to make a simple model of the device and view it from
various angles.
Since both the newly redesigned breech plugs of Mertz's time and the
work pieces produced by his lathe appear to have been in the form of
threaded cones, we have taken a rather long step towards establishing that
his machine was devoted chiefly towards their production.
A second mechanical identity of form leads towards the same conclusion.
Unlike the breech plugs of a couple of decades later, the first screwed plugs
were of a simple axial design.28 Threaded and conical within the barrel, they
protruded straight backwards from the bore. This external portion was
given a square cross-section to enable putting a wrench on them to snug
them up. Thus, this part of the plug had just the same form as that portion of
the work piece which was plugged into the mandrel screw on the Mertz
machine (see Fig. 6).
It helps to further tighten the connection between the new breeching
technology and the Mertz manuscript, that the gun in the Hermitage
Museum, already noticed above as having a very close stylistic similarity to
its pictorial counterpart illustrated on a sheet adjacent to the Mertz screw
machine, has a breech plug of the early form, with axial, square-section
tang. Since this is the case, it becomes interesting to notice that its pictorial
counterpart shown on the adjacent folio has its stock reinforced by nailed-on
strapping, just as the Mertz machine itself has, at the ends of the bed.
Unfortunately its stock obscures the tang. Nevertheless, instances such as
this hint strongly at common origins. The specimen in Leningrad has its
stock broken away, showing the tang fully.
Before the century was out, this early plug form had given way to a plug
which had its emerging portion first bent straight upwards adjacent to the
breech end of the barrel, until it came level with its top, and then bent once
more straight backwards to form a tang lying atop the stock just aft of the
breech. The new design was stronger, as it weakened the stock less at a
critical point, and moreover made for an easier and more secure barrel
attachment. Accordingly, it became standard for the rest of the muzzle-
loading period, or until the latter part of the nineteenth century.
There are thus formal mechanical reasons for doubting that the Mertz
and Hausbuch machines had anything to do with clocks, and supposing
instead that they were intended as armsmaking tools. Certainly the over-
whelmingly military content of the Mertz manuscript inclines one towards
that same end, for it is one of the earliest treatises to consider firearms apart
from older and more traditional weaponry. It is worth noticing also that
Mertz's gravestone is apparently the oldest surviving memorial to an
artillerist.29
In order to further advance the argument that his machine was intended
for breech plug production, it is necessary to try to establish some idea of its
size, for obviously the bore diameters of small arms are not spread over an
infinite range. In general, we may characterize them at this period as lying
for the most part between half an inch and an inch, or 12 to 25 millimetres. If
the diameter of the work piece is within this range, or slightly larger to allow
for the engagement of its threads with the inside of the barrel, then the
Figure 6. A series of three illustrations showing how the non-parallelism of the

work and bed results in a progressive retreat of the conical part of the work piece from
the cutter nose as the work is fed past it in the process of putting on the stripes for
threading. This necessitates a steady but delicately controllable feed. The slight lack
of parallelism shown between the two threads was produced by warping the frame
with feeds which differed by less than 0.003 inches, or about 0.1 millimetre.
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History of Technology Volume 11 1st

Edition Norman Smith (Editor)

History of Technology Volume 28 1st Edition Ian Inkster

History of Technology Volume 1 1st Edition A. Rupert

History of Technology Volume 21 1st Edition Graham

Fortschritte der Physik Progress of Physics Band 29

Aviation Week Space Technology June 5 18 Volume 185

Anatomy of Sound Norman Corwin and Media Authorship 1st

King Rat DCI Kett 11 1st Edition Alex Smith

History of Romanian Technology and Industry Volume 1

50 Bedford Square 1385 Broadway

First published 1987 by Mansell Publishing Ltd

The electronic edition published 2016

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted

No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

ISBN: HB: 978-1-3500-1847-1

Series: History of Technology, volume 11

VERNARD FOLEY, with SUSAN CANGANELLI,

The Contributors 249

Contents of Former Volumes 250

impression of German technological know-how, order goods from Germany

K. K.', planned to invite German engineers to Japan to train Japanese

FH 104, the Japanese asked for a modification to increase the aircraft's

realized at an early date the importance of supersonic research and planned

mechanical engineering, car manufacture and production engineering and

German Exports of Aeroplanes to Japan and Manchukuo, 1936-44

Aufienpolitik, Dusseldorf, 1981, pp. 15-53, p. 30.

Messerschmitt AG Augsburg und der Kawasaki Flugzeugbau AG Kobe, ca. Sept.

Gasturbinen', Dusseldorf, 1986.

Machine tool histories with any claim to comprehensiveness have routinely

Figure 2. A newly-found example of mechanical tool control, from the manuscript

must be inferior to its Hausbuch counterpart. From the standpoint of user

Thus, even if we ignored the comparison of the two slide-rests themselves,

then driving in a conical, unthreaded plug. It was the contraction of the

Figure 6. A series of three illustrations showing how the non-parallelism of the

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S.

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