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It was the 6th of September 1975, and I had just saved up enough money for the life long dream, a 20 minuet flight in a "Booker Bomber" from Booker Airfield (now Wycombe Air Park) near High Wycombe, Bucks, England. Today's adventure wasn't only my first flight in a Cessna, it was also the first flight in a plane "full stop" so as you can imagine I was a little excited, well perhaps not if your a seasoned jet setter, but I can assure you I certainly was on that day. What made it even more special was the Spitfire sitting outside the hangar in D Day markings, and the thought of the stories I was going to tell the boys that night down the pub, amazing how high the imagination can soar once it gets going. Boy, was this gonna' be a special day. |
| This is supposed to be an aerial shot of Booker, I don't have one, if you have one handy, I would be most grateful for a copy. | I had booked my trail lesson some weeks previously, after seeing and ad in the Bucks Free Press and spent the waiting period with my nose buried in what flying books I managed to find in the local library. I had built numerous model aircraft in the past with my school pals and my younger brother Bobs, so I had a vague idea of what to expect, but nothing prepared me for the thrill I was about to experience. I turned up at the airfield early that morning and made my way to the flying school where I was given a warm welcome and quickly introduced to my instructor, Mr. Macdonald. He spent some 20 minuets or so explaining the controls of an aircraft, the effects, what I can expect and I'm sure a wad of other things I simply cant remember. A lovely old chap with an air that immediately made you feel relaxed in his company. |
| As I
recall
it was chilly and a little cloudy that day as we walked out to the
Cessna
150, G-AWCJ for that first flight. By sheer coincidence the
registration
of the plane had the same letters as my initials WAJC, this must be
ominous
I thought. First item was an extremely lengthy and thorough pre flight,
well it seemed lengthy because it was taking ages, 'Mac" was explaining
wonderful things like yellow markings and tire creep while all I could
think about was getting airborne. The walk around was complete and I
was
invited to sit in the left hand seat, by now I am wetting myself with
excitement,
at last after 2 weeks of wondering what the seat of a plane felt like,
now I knew, it was great. My attention was quickly focused as
"Mac"
explained the aircraft instruments one by one, the controls etc. and at
last we are ready to start. For a brief second I suddenly realized how
small it was inside, then it was back to full attention as "Mac took me
through the start up procedure. I remember finding the primer very
stiff
but 3 or 4 strokes later it was locked, mags on, I turned the key. The
engine jumped into life and I nearly jumped out of my seat, boy, it was
a bit noisy or perhaps shaky, im not sure which but even today I still
remember the start.
I sat there with a huge grin on my face spreading from ear to ear, the envy of all Cheshire cats as "Mac" pointed out the rising oil pressure, the gyros spooling up and generally the cockpit slowly coming to life. The radio screeched out some intelligible garble which was swiftly responded to by "Mac". Oh dear I thought, the flying was one thing but the radio gabble ?, well that was something completely different but I'll worry about that later. It was time to taxi, and once clear of the adjacent parked aircraft, Mac" allowed me to experience steering the plane with the rudder pedals making sure my heels were on the floor, as he explained the toe brakes and what could happen if they get abused. It now seemed like an eternity before we taxied out to the runway and run up area, but here we were, I vaguely remember the pre take off vital actions particularly the run up which had me thinking the plane was going to go vertical at any minuet with all the shaking and banging going on. Now we are ready, nudging out with the nose is pointing down the runway, the excitement was bubbling as Mac let go the brakes, the engine roared to full power and we bumped skidded and hopped down the runway, well that's what it seemed like at the time. As the wheels left the runway and I could see the ground dropping away beneath me, I just couldn't help exclaiming a loud "WHEEE". The odd side glance from Mr. Macdonald sobered me up a little but the next 20 minuets were absolute sheer joy, as we headed vaguely in a westerly direction, passing not to closely to the famous windmill where Chitty Chitty Bang Bang was filmed, also home of one of our great movie stars. Now for the 'piece de la resistance', I was allowed to place my hands on the controls, gently moving her side to side, up and down, turning circles and staring down at those tiny specks of cars and people. I had no idea where I was at this point but I was having the most incredible feeling of freedom, I was loving it, I wanted to stay up here forever but in no sooner than a blink of an eye it was time to turn for home. The airfield came into view and before I knew it we had landed, wow the landing was cool, I was mesmerized. We taxied back to the apron, cleaned up the plane and I had a 5 minuet debriefing with "Mac". I promised he would see me again as we said our good-byes. |
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An hour or so later I was still on cloud 9 sitting in the airfield cafe sipping a hot cup of tea, staring out the windows at the occasional take off and landing, wondering how I was going to pay for the lessons I so desperately wanted, I was hooked, and for the next 2 months I scrimped and scraped the pennies from my meager wage of 7.93 pounds I was earning as a 5 year apprentice to pay for my 30 min lessons. All my savings went on pilot text books and a navigation computer, I walked the 3.5 miles to work and home each day to save the bus fare and made my own door stop sandwiches for lunch but it wasn't to long before things got desperate, ( no violins please) I had run out of shampoo, razor blades, and smellys, I needed a hair cut, I had holes in my shoes, and the cold winter weather dictated I needed a new warm coat. And so it was, after about 3 and a bit hrs of lessons, 2 months later I had to give up. It would be another 10 years before I tried again. During those brief but exciting hours I managed to fly again with the wonderful Mr. Macdonald. On the down side I was palm off with other instructors instead of old Mac, a typical Club symptom that should never be allowed. |
| One of these
instructors
boasted a walrus tash, strutted about like a WWII fighter pilot and
spent
nearly an hour of my hard earned money spinning the plane some where
beyond
Lane End, I had about 5 minuets on the controls that day, I was not a
happy
bunny as you can imagine.
While I'm in confession mood there was another story of the "young ace of the base" as he was introduced by the staff explaining away why the schedules are all to cock, why I would have to wait for hours and hours for my revised slot time etc. etc. and why Mac" was busy with some one else. I was being told this particular guy was one of their best instructors and the only one available if I want to fly that day, sounds a bit rich I thought particularly after complaining about the last incident and the fact I specifically wanted to fly with Mac, but I want to fly so it seemed I had no choice. On this occasion we were carrying out stall exercises at about 4,500 feet, I had a couple of hours logged by now and during this particular exercise, instead of pulling back after gaining enough speed I pushed forward and managed to put us into something of a nose dive. The all reverent "ace of the base" sat beside me just froze and screamed. I remember pulling back and at some point he collected himself taking the controls heading back to Booker muttering I was dangerous and would never fly with me again. He was right I never did. I didn't even get a debrief, there was some commotion in the office and some one popped out to see me , mainly take my money I guess and asked a few questions about the lesson, and that was it. It was only then I realized how dangerous it could have been, obviously this instructor was as green as they come. It would surprise me if I was his first guinea pig. I was more than a little annoyed with the attitude this school seemed to be taking. That was my last flight, of my first attempt, I would not fly at Booker again for another 20 years, but that's another story. |
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10 years later and returning flush from a long stint in Libya, I was determined to start flying again, It was early morning, Saturday the 5th May 1985, as I set off for Exeter airfield to keep my appointment with Mr. C Martin and a Cessna Areobat G-AYOZ with great expectations of eventually getting that elusive flying license. Unfortunately this was another short lived and abortive start. After 2 lessons I met the GIRL, and very shortly all of my flying money was blown on a 2 week holiday in Barbados with the same young lady that was to become my future wife and mother of my 3 children. The moral of the story here is girl friends and flying lessons don't mix. This time apart from the odd flying with a pal of mine, Tony Devery, it was to be another 11 years before I started again in more exotic climes, Fresno, California. |
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