December and a diversion.
I was sitting at my computer with Dover Castle looking me straight in the face and I thought back to a similar grey day in December 1956 when I was a Captain in Sabena and flying in the European Sector. I was qualified on D.C.3's, Convair 240 and 440, D.C.4 and D.C.6's, all of which were flying in different capacities in the sector. It was quite a problem as when you were "En Reserve", you were practically certain to be called out as not everyone was qualified on all the types. The situation was very unpopular as you had to keep up with all the different emergencies and, indeed, it was of the utmost importance that you remembered which type of aircraft you were flying if an emergency did come up. The situation was soon phased out but it was probable that you were still called upon to have at least two different types on your licence at the same time. I mention all this just to give you something to compare with things as they are now.
Anyway it was Dec 22nd. 1956 and I was scheduled to go to London in the afternoon on a D.C.6., turn around there and then back to Brussels. As this was my first flight as a Captain on D.C.6's I was being "Lache'd" on the route by my Chief Pilot, Peter Dils. Lache (I can't find any accents , grave or acute on this keyboard ) was the term meaning released or checked on that particular route but it is pronounced "lashay" and means "let loose. ". The weather was very dicey and there was fog already at London. By the time that we had done all our checks and were going out to the aircraft , Heathrow had closed down completely as had all the alternatives except Manston. I said to Peter that it was certain that we would have to divert so was it worth going ,as Brussels was also closing in rapidly and there was no hope of picking up the return load of passengers from Heathrow.? "Press on " was the reply. "All these passengers are hoping to get home for Xmas and Manston will stay open and anyway they've still probably got Fido !". This I very much doubted but he was the Big Chief so off we went into the wild blue yonder.
By the time we got over Dover there was a stack over every available beacon and it was dark by the time that we got down having been numbered about twenty three to land when we arrived overhead. To say that it was chaotic would be the understatement of the year. We were told to taxi to the nearest dispersal point available and to cut our engines and await further instructions. There were aeroplanes from every company in Europe going in opposite directions and no way of getting passengers off aircraft and no "Groups" available for ground power.
We found a vacant dispersal and cut our engines and we waited and waited and waited.. The batteries were nearly flat and I was standing with Peter Dils at the open rear door when he said "Right, Reg. You stay here and I am going to go down the emergency rope and see what I can do to get these passengers off." With that he got the rope out of it's compartment , threw it out then grasped it and disappeared out into the pitch black night. There was a muffled thud and then the scent of roasting flesh wafted up to the plane and that was the last that I saw of him for two hours.
Eventually an R.A.F. truck, complete with ladders and helpful airmen (Manston was still an R.A.F Station.) armed with torches managed to get the passengers off , no mean task with elderly people being carried down ladders. The baggage was left until a further contingent of RAF took it all to one of the Hangars where everyone, hundreds of them, were gathered. Customs had given up. They purchased the entire bar from one of the Air France planes then locked themselves in and left everyone to sort out the baggage. This had been dumped into the center of the Hangar with very little attempt to keep it in it's seperate stacks. There were no trolleys and people were picking up their suitcases and trundling them away and waiting by the roadside for the buses and taxis that were eventually coming out to the scene of chaos.
There was a representative eventually from Sabena there and we were talking when there was an announcement from a chap who was using a "Loud Hailer" as a means of getting some information over. "Would any one from the Sabena aircraft please go at once to the Guard room"
I managed to find my way there where there were two S.P.'s waiting. " We found this chap wandering around the Airfield" they said and there, lo and behold , was Peter Dils cut, still bleeding and very dazed and barely comprehensible. " He says he's a Sabena Chief pilot." said one of the S.P.'s "Can you identify him ?" I was sorely tempted, but it was not the time for Brirish humour. He obviously needed medical attention. What had happened, we later found out was that the D.C.6 had recently undergone one of it's normal ground checks and one of the ground crew had zealously greased the brand new and rather stiff "escape rope" that had been installed...hence the scent of Roast meat. Peter had been knocked unconscious and had come round not knowing where he was and had been wandering around Manston for two hours.
We were taken to London by car next day and the whole crew flew back in a D.C.4 as passengers and I was told that I was "Lache"..on London . Not one complaint was received from any of the sixty odd passengers and Peter and I remained good friends. And Manston did not have Fido any more. Regle.