A look back at the Curtiss Seamew

Some couldn’t believe the design could even be accepted during such a crucial wartime stage. But what was so wrong with the Curtiss Seamew? 

An all-too-often forgotten observation and patrol floatplane, the Curtiss Seamew was produced in abundance during the Second World War. Primary users of the aircraft were the United States Navy (who referred to the Seamew by the same name as its predecessor, the Seagull) and the Royal Navy Fleet Air Arm. Despite a considerable number of 795 being produced, the Seamew was not without its flaws, and even suffered two particularly serious ones as early as the same month that it entered service when it encountered inflight stability problems and problems with the unique Ranger air-cooled, inverted V-shaped inline engine.  

In the late 1930s, the United States Navy was in the market for a modernised version of the Curtiss Seagull. Instead of a biplane, the specification called for a monoplane design that could fulfil the same observation and patrol role of the Seagull, but that could be specialised to operate from both land and water bases whilst performing better all round. Upon first submission, the design of the Seamew seemed conventional looking and in keeping with similar aircraft of its time. A large, centralised float ran the length of the aircraft, on top of which sat the fuselage. The wings were mid-mounted and were straight along the leading edge, whereas they tapered on the trailing edge. A two-bladed propeller was powered by a radial engine which was secured at the front of the fuselage. Behind this sat the pilot and further back in the fuselage sat the second crew member, or ‘designated observer’. Positioned in a separate cockpit, the second crew member’s position was to the rear of the aircraft near the base of the vertical tail fin. All in all, the Curtiss Seamew was no more strange to look at than any other floatplane. 

However, it soon became clear that certain aspects of the Seamew’s construction were not as brilliant or conventional as first they seemed. Lettice Curtis, an experienced pilot with the Air Transport Auxiliary (ATA), once said of the Seamew: ‘although its standard fuel tanks held 300 gallons, it would only just take off with the eighty gallons fixed as the maximum for ATA trips. In addition, the tail needed to be raised before becoming airborne, as it was possible to take off in an attitude from which it was both impossible to recover and in which there was no aileron control’. Summarising her experience with the Curtiss Seamew, Lettice continued to say, ‘it is hard to imagine how, even in wartime, such an aircraft could have been accepted from the factory, let alone given valuable cargo space across the Atlantic’. 

So, what was really so wrong about the Curtiss Seamew? It looked like any other mono-winged floatplane, it had been accepted into service – so surely there couldn’t have been too many issues? Many aircraft proposals in history hadn’t even gotten past the prototype stage, and yet the Seamew had been considered good enough to produce and allow 795 to actively serve in the most technologically advanced airborne war of all time. Well, that was just it. By the time the Curtiss Seamew began to roll off the production line and was starting in active service, technology and designs for better and more effective floatplanes had already surpassed it. A design that had originally been intended as a catapult-launched reconnaissance floatplane on Royal Navy ships ended up serving as nothing more than trainers or second-line aircraft. 

Tragically, it became clear that the reception of the aeroplane, despite high hopes originally, was lukewarm at best. It wasn’t an aeroplane loved by those who operated it. Its performance even caused it to earn the name ‘Sea Cow’ amongst crews who worked with it. As a result, in 1945 any existing orders were cancelled and the Seamew became another aeroplane confined to the unfortunate realms of history, one more victim to the ever-evolving aviation industry.