The Vulcan’s Voice: multiple meanings of a Cold War artefact

On 12 April 1984, a massive delta-winged nuclear bomber landed at an airfield in south-east Scotland. Vulcan XM597 was not on a routine journey, but its final flight; for East Fortune was not an active airport, but rather housed an aviation museum, the aircraft’s destination. This moment of transfer was a key pivot in the use and meaning of this icon of Britain’s 1960s nuclear deterrent.

Manufactured in 1963, XM597 originally sported the characteristic white flash paint of the V-bomber fleet; later, camouflage for lower flying. In 1982, on the brink of decommission, it was one of the few Vulcans to see active service, flying in the ‘Black Buck’ (non-nuclear) missions during the Falklands Conflict; on its return it almost precipitated an international incident when forced to land in Brazil.

Once absorbed into the museum collection the Vulcan did not stagnate. Conservators cared for it; curators documented it; former crew members stood underneath its wings and told their stories. It became much admired by a community of enthusiasts (and even the backdrop to a wedding). Nevertheless, XM597 is gradually succumbing to inevitable deterioration.

Museum objects’ values change during their use, arrival, and museum afterlife: XM597 means different things to crew, curator, or museum visitor. This paper will explore the contradictions inherent in this giant artefact, and what this can tell us about the changing and contested meanings of artefacts associated with the Cold War. XM597 was a bomber built for nuclear war that in two decades fought only once, with conventional missiles; a tool of death that became beloved; a highly valuable piece of technical Cold War equipment parked outside; a howling fire god silenced on a dreich Scottish airfield.