That's more like it. Good on you dhpilot for a sensible thread
I was 19 when first learning to fly at the Kingsford Smith Flying School at Bankstown and after 8 hours of dual, did my first solo in a Tiger Moth VH-AUO on 26 May 1951 . Most dual flights were less than an hour. My instructors were: Stan Birtus (strong Eastern European accent impossible to clearly understand though the Gosport Tube intercom system), Jan Kingma (ditto difficult accent), Tas Dalton (he said SFA because he seemed bored fartless throughout the 35 minute flight) and Bill Burns (ex RAAF Hudsons and the perfect instructor who sent me solo). Bill Burns ARN was 1524. Pilots wore leather WW2 flying helmets, goggles and scarves. Black rubber stains around the cheeks and mouth was caused by the rubber of the Gosport Tubes.
Cleared to take off and land was via light signals from the tower. Or maybe it was an ATC control Van, I don't remember. We certainly had ATC Controllers in a van in the RAAF. Bankstown was all over grass field in those days. Aircraft took off and landed in parallel "lanes." Anything up to five landing and take-off's at the same time. We sure learned to have our eyes swivelling in all directions. We kept a close eye on the tower or van on final in case you got a red light meaning go-around. After landing, you turned 90 degrees and stopped, and kept an eye on approaching aircraft on mid to short finals. You waited for a flashing green light from the ATC Aldis lamp to taxi. When the green light was aimed at you it was time to taxi like the clappers across the landing "lanes" to the tarmac before someone tried to land on top of you.
When you got to the tarmac there was usually someone to grab your wingtip to help you turn in the small space. (No brakes in the Tiger Moth only a tail skid that made sparks on tarmac). If no one was there, the instructor made you get out of your cockpit and he would taxi with you on the wing tip. if you were solo you stopped at the entrance, shut down the engine and then hopped out and go to the tail, lift it up and turn the aircraft around.
I sat in a Wackett Trainer on the tarmac and thought what a hugely complicated cockpit after the Tiger Moth. I thought the same thing a year later when going from a RAAF Tiger Moth to the Wirraway.
I used to walk the one mile from Bankstown railway station (or was it the bus station in those days?) to the aerodrome with a spring in my step and one hand in my pocket feeling the bank notes and cash I had saved up for each flight and a delicious anticipation I was going flying.
If flying was cancelled due weather or no instructor available, it was a great disappointment as it could be another week or more before I got time off work to fly again. So with sadness I would hitch-hike back to the railway station to return to my bed and breakfast digs at Double Bay. It was just a village in those days, while now it is millionaires row.
Never mind, there was always dancing lessons at Phyllis Bates Dance "Academy" (a wooden hall) at Double Bay each Saturday night where this doughty lady would ensure we swains would be on one side of the hall gazing longingly at the virgins on the opposite side waiting for the music to start. The girls would knock you back scornfully after you had bravely crossed no-man's land to plead "may I have the pleasure of this dance, please?" Tall boys got the good-lookers while shorties like me missed out or only got a cross-eyed girl with glasses. Having been shamed by a giggling knock back, one would slink back to the safety of the other side of the hall until Phyllis Bates would crack the sh*ts with the choosey girls and order them in no uncertain terms to accept dance offers. I tell you, Phyllis Bates would have scared Donald Trump. There was one attractive girl called Judy Cheal. She was really friendly to everyone. She often wore a tight sweater and a pointy bra underneath. Man, she was stacked. She was sex appeal personified. Naturally the boys always rushed to ask her for a dance. One evening, Phyllis Bates told her off in no uncertain terms that she must never come to the dance hall in that outfit again and ordered her to go home. It was so cruel and unnecessary. I felt so sorry for Judy, as did most of us there. She left the room in tears and never came back again. Just think, if she is still alive today she would be 86 years old..
Thread drift - sorry.
Exciting memories? 1. Watching a Comper Swift land in the lane next to me. It was flown by former RAAF Squadron Leader "Titus" Oats DFC, who flew Mosquito fighter-bombers in WW2. The Comper Swift was a tiny high wing aeroplane with a Pobjoy engine and the cockpit was so small. The pilot had to continually weave the nose to check all clear ahead.
2. Battle of Britain Display with a large crowd watching a RAAF Mustang flashing over the middle of the aerodrome at 200 feet and releasing two drop tanks full of napalm (jellied petrol) that exploded in huge gouts of flame and roiling black smoke. That was indeed awesome in the true sense of the word.