I think I originally read about the record breaking T21 flight in an article called
Interesting that Piggott had declared Grimsby as the goal (downwind) but obviously did not expect to achieve it in such a spectacular fashion
Piggott would be taking up Red 31 with a member of 2157 (Mitcham) Squadron, newly promoted Flight Sergeant Brian Whatley, sitting alongside him in the role of co-pilot navigator. The three cadets had put their names into a hat to determine the order of flying in the championships and it was now the turn of young Whatley, whom Piggott had picked up at Hyde Park Corner the previous Saturday to give him a lift up to the championships. It had been an ignominious start because the truck Piggott was using had broken down on the way to London, and while repairs were being carried out Whatley had been kept waiting and wondering for five hours on the pavement, squatting on his bags, expecting every minute that the truck would soon be driving up. At 17, Brian Whatley was quite recently out of school and was learning to be a motor fitter like his father. In the one-week gliding course at Detling the previous summer he had gone solo after only 11 launches, a creditable performance.
Map in hand, Piggott took Whatley to one side. "We'll have one go at getting away," he told the boy. "I've been watching the wind. If we can manage to get away we shall find ourselves heading in this direction'' here he traced a path with his forefinger across the map "There's an airfield here, look, Grimsby. We'll set that as our goal." They spent some minutes attending to the formalities, reported their flight intentions to the contest officials, made a final check with the met. men and perused the equipment before preparing for the winch launch. Camphill was springing to life as one after another of the competitors decided to take a chance with the unexpected easing in the weather. Luring them on was the knowledge that valuable points were to be won; conditions were far from ideal but there was little choice when points were vital. However slight the prospects, anyone who succeeded in getting away would secure some points, whereas failure to make an attempt must mean a nil score on the tally sheets for that event. A bumpy ride was certain but Piggott and the A.T.C. cadet had only one thought, and that was to get airborne while there was any possibility of doing so that day. Red 31 was going up ... Whilst she may not have been the entrant with the highest performance, Red 31 certainly possessed some virtues all her own. She was a hefty glider, perhaps twice the bulk of the streamlined, high-performance jobs that graced the parking lots on Camphill, and it was from her size that she drew one tremendous advantage.
They were climbing fast, with the needle of the altimeter clocking up the hundreds of feet as steadily as a seconds hand sweeping around the face of a clock. It was fascinating to watch that rotating hand. Five thousand ft., 5,500 ft., 6,000 ft., 6,500 ft. The last 1,000 ft. had taken only 45 seconds. Almost in disbelief, Piggott tapped the altimeter glass with his knuckles. It was O.K. The variometer bore witness to the spectacular rise, too, for it was still clicking away vigorously "Listen to that," chuckled Piggott, "just listen to that ..." For young Whatley, at least, conditions aboard Red 31 were becoming more and more uncomfortable for one basic reason: the higher the glider rose, the lower the temperature fell. "Crikey," exclaimed Piggott, "we're bound to cop some ice at this rate. It's certain to affect the handling. Still, not to worry!''
Under normal circumstances the glider would not have exceeded 5,000 or 6,000 ft., but by now she had sailed way above this level. Whatley was not equipped for these heights, for this was an open cockpit craft and beneath his A.T.C. tunic he wore only a shirt and jumper. He had on a pair of leather gloves, Wellington boots and his beret; he had no flying helmet, nor goggles, which might have helped to keep his head, ears and nose warm. He glanced across at his officer but he was apparently unconcerned about the cold. Looking directly above his head, Whatley saw an unfamiliar sparkle along the leading edge of the mainplane. Ice! It was glistening on the smooth surface from wing-tip to wing-tip. He watched with fascination as the ice thickened. Frost was forming on his and Piggott's overalls, growing like a fungus in some science-fiction film, as the glider maintained a circling climb.
Again the officer asked if the boy felt he would pass out under these extreme conditions. Whatley tried to speak but the words wouldn't form; he tried to shake his head but he couldn't move. He felt crippled and in agony. He wanted to quit, but how could he? He couldn't let down the man at his side the man who, despite the same cold and the same shortage of oxygen, had managed to keep them flying in the face of danger without a grumble or a trace of self-pity. A man who simply said it was "damned cold" and hadn't even realised that his hand had frozen around the control column. Whether he wanted to do so or not, Brian Whatley just had to stick it out until Red 31 tottered on the top of the thermal and Piggott eased off into the homeward glide.
Piggott spotted his airfield goal at last and positioned himself for landing. It was coming up to 6.30 pm; they'd been in the air for almost three hours an hour in getting away, an hour and a half or thereabouts in the cloud on the ascent and no more than 20 or 30 minutes in the descent from the cloud cap. He was justifiably elated; a gain-of-height record in their pockets, so it seemed, and maximum points for reaching their goal. It only remained for him to find someone to clock them in for proof to satisfy the contest umpires two counties distant in Derbyshire. He saw then that the airfield he had selected was ominously deserted. "All right, son?" asked the pilot. Whatley managed a smile and a nod. "Yes, thanks, Sir. Oh, congratulations. It was a tremendous achievement. But I'm sorry I wasn't much use to you, Sir." "Oh, yes, you were!" answered Piggott. "One word from you and we would have had to pack it in!"