OK it goes like this:
The Iranian government ordered a bunch of Agusta 212s which could not be completed in the time scale, so Agusta ordered Three from Bell, to top up the order. These were basic Bells. The aircraft were delivered to Agusta, to be passed on, presumably at a mark up. In the meantime, the Iranian government collapsed, so these machines were left in limbo, and were stored at the Siai Marchetti factory in Varase, north of Milan.
With the grounding of the Wessex, the company was short of aircraft, especially at Yarmouth. Jean Dennell grabbed me and said "get over to Milan, and check these Three out", I replied " I don,t speak Italian, to which he replied "that does not matter, everyone in Milan speaks English"
I duly landed at Milan, to find that very few people there speak English, so I blundered around with my Italian phrase book in my hand, looking like the typical stupid Englishman abroad.
I got to Varase, and found the aircraft were obviously new, and just what the company needed, so I reported this back, When I got back, I collared JD and said " you conned me, nobody in Milan speaks English" to which he replied, " well if I had told you that, you would not have gone".
The decision was made to purchase the aircraft, so I went out again, with a greenie, and Three pilots, led by Dave Winter, (apologies but I cant, remember the other names)
We air tested the Three all in one morning, flying over the lakes, North of Milan, fantastic scenery, but I did not get to see much of it, as Agusta insisted on one of their pilots sitting in the left hand seat, so I had to take the readings, looking over Dave's shoulder.
We declared the Aircraft acceptable, and on the appointed day they were preflighted, and the paper work was all done, we then sat there,as Agusta would not release us. After a couple of hours, an executive jet arrived from Holland, and a guy in a suit got out, with a bulging brief case, there was a huddled conference in a smoke filled office, and then Agusta said "OK guys you can go"
Dave had not been sure what route we should take back home, as the shortest way would have been through the Alps, but he was worried that the weather might close in, and we would not be able to turn back, so he decided that we should come the pretty way. None of us objected.
So we bumbled down through Italy, turned right at the coast, and flew along the Italian, and French Riviera stopping at Nice for lunch, (it could be hard working sometimes)
We then flew up through France, to cause havoc when we landed at Gatwick, by blowing everyone around.
The aircraft were got ready to North sea standard in quick time, with the first one departing for yarmouth on Christmas Eve.
(cool tip, if you are stuck at a French provincial airport for a meal, go around the back of the hangers, and seek out the workers canteen, rough tables, and benches, but fantastic food at cheap prices)