DWC 100 Women: Beatrice Shilling, The Woman Who Saved the Spitfire

In the quiet corners of Waterlooville, England, a young girl named Beatrice Shilling once spent her childhood weekends dismantling motorbikes instead of playing with dolls. She wasn’t interested in fitting into the mold the world had designed for girls in the early 1900s—she was more fascinated with how things worked, how they could be made faster, stronger, better. That curiosity became her compass, guiding her into uncharted territory for women of her time.

Beatrice went on to study electrical engineering at the University of Manchester, a bold path when very few women dared to enter the technical sciences. She later earned a postgraduate degree in mechanical engineering—a rare feat then—and joined the Royal Aircraft Establishment (RAE) as a specialist in aircraft engineering.

When World War II erupted, the skies became battlegrounds. The RAF’s prized aircraft—the Spitfire and Hurricane fighter planes—were powered by the Rolls-Royce Merlin engine. But these engines had a flaw. In the middle of aerial combat, when pilots nosedived to engage enemy planes, the engines would stall due to flooding from the carburetor. That hesitation could mean death.

It was Beatrice Shilling who offered a solution. In a workshop tucked behind war rooms and tension, she designed a brilliantly simple fix: a small brass disc with a hole in the center, which she called the “RAE Restrictor.” This device regulated fuel flow during dives, preventing engine cut-outs and restoring a critical edge to British pilots. Her invention wasn't fancy—it was ingenious. It was installed swiftly and widely, allowing pilots to fight without fear of engine failure.

She didn’t ask for recognition. Instead, Beatrice travelled from base to base herself, delivering and installing the RAE Restrictor—often with a wrench in her pocket and a firm belief that doing the work was more important than being praised for it.

Her contributions soared far beyond mechanics. Beatrice stood as a living challenge to the belief that engineering was a man’s world. In a workplace that didn’t know what to do with a woman in a leather jacket who could race motorcycles as fast as she could solve equations, she didn’t flinch. She showed up. She excelled. And she made space for others to do the same.

In her personal time, she raced motorbikes at Brooklands, earning the Gold Star for lapping the circuit at over 100 mph—another arena where women were told they didn’t belong, and where she chose not to listen.

Beatrice’s life wasn’t about grand gestures or headlines. It was about precision, dedication, and quiet acts of brilliance that saved lives and opened doors. She made the skies safer during one of history’s darkest hours—and she gave women a powerful example of what’s possible when you refuse to be told “you can’t.”

She didn’t just fix engines. She fueled belief—in machines, in progress, and in the unshakable truth that women could lead, build, and soar just as high.