Well,
here's a boring siggie stude story (in 15 chapters) then....feel free to skip it...
1) Radio (HF) trip, late 1978, I climbed aboard and found the morse key was physically broken. I have no idea why, but we continued, and I pulled the wires out of the key and sent morse by, essentially, banging them together. The Sqn Ldr screen kept passing me contact reports. Now, my morse was so ropey that I probably improved as a result, but I was a bit surprised in the debrief (I thought I'd get at least a DFM for it) to hear that the problem obviously wasn't too bad as I had been able to keep sending messages out no bother.
2) Or, more interesting (ie a 2 on a 1-50 scale) - late afternoon, we go out to fly up by Aberdeen. I get into the RHS after climbout, pilot (to my surprise - I still believed in "steely-eyed killers" back then) - has a back support and glasses. Viewed side on his glasses are clearly quite powerful, sod 'X diopter lenses' these are more like 10 x 50 Bausch & Lombs, or those 6" binos they used to sell in Exchange and Mart ex-Russian borderguards....
Anyway, 'Yorkshire ATC (or whatever) to piddly jet, air defence traffic in your 10 O'clock, call visual'...
"Can you see them yet?" Says intrepid birdman. I begin to worry...
"Err, I imagine it's that Vulcan with the two F4's trying to dogfight left and high" I reply, having previously thought "It's on his side, and you'd have to be blind no to see them, as they're about 5 miles away". He peers, nose pressed to windscreen, and says "Hmm, I think I can see them...." while I call Whitby ATCC (or whatever) to report contact, which involves a large tin triangle, two tooms, and a lot of smoke as the Vulcan keeps turning inside the F4's and, probably, calling 'Fox 2' over the radio if they were anything like Nim pilots post 1982....
A BIT LATER...
We progress up the coast (sort of). The baby navs are a bit out, my VOR fixes show us heading steadfastly towards Sweden.... The screen Nav is Canadian, he pops up to tell us he knows they are screwing up a bit and wants to allow them plenty of rope..... Eventually we get a fix, baby navs reckon we are just off Aberdeen or somewhere on the right map, and we should turn on heading whatever for home, pies, warm ale and medals. I look out of the window and see Finland close on the starboard bow (well, it seemed like it at the time) and mutter about the fuel and distance to go.
The pilot, blithely confident, chuckles and says it'll all work out okay. Alright for him, I say to myself, he's probably got paid up insurance policies.
As a bit of an anti climax, we land on the remaining fumes, after a record breaking endurance flight of 3 hr 15 in XS 739... well, back then it seemed a big deal, as my fuel calcs kept showing us getting a bit close on gas and I had no idea which way was up <g>
I flew with the same pilot 2 days later, beer is a wonderful tool for recovery.
3) Just before Christmas 1978, trip to Bruggen. Power cuts all over Germany, so we went Bruggen - Laarbruch - Bruggen... no idea what we did, but I was back in the mess completely gubbed at 8pm in time to win the cost of my duty frees and a few extras on the mess 1 armed bandit, having gone into Elmpt to watch the 'moving wallpaper' show - it's getting bad when you roll back to camp exhausted only to find out it's 7.30. Bob H**** (dry screen spent much of the night in a mixed sauna, as he detailed to us the following Monday as we flew back, lucky chap).
4) Dom intro:
I was at the back of a group of 10 or so (12?) studes when the ground instructor gave us the once over for the Dom - then tested us individually. Back then I was actually quite shy, I hadn't wanted to push folk out the way when he said 'flip this to turn the lights on' etc... looking back only an idiot would have tried to demo anything in a Dom door and cockpit to 10+ studes in one go, but screens were minor deities so it was my fault....
So, when he tested me, I had no idea which switch he'd pointed at. Frankly the only thing he'd described that I ever got a glimpse of was the toilet, which he didn't linger over.
Being a touchy feely outfit back then I was told I was slightly above the recourse line, and probably queer to boot. I resolved then and there not to trust my screens again (especially in matters of a personal nature). So I read the pilot's notes, repeatedly, excessively. I ended up, after the usual pilot/stude systems quiz one day, with the pilot saying "I bet you even know the colour of the aircraft batteries" (as my air screen later told me). Unfortunately I misheard it as a question, and thought "Christ, I've no bloody idea!" When in doubt, make it up, so I said "a sort of grey green colour, but they're usually a bit dirty". I have no idea to this day what colour Dom batteries are, but I do know that on that trip I wasn't asked any more questions about any aircraft system.
5) Finally, a whinge, for the screen who turned up 5 mins before briefing, having left me toi find and update the nav bag without supervision or help, who then complained that I hadn't waited in Flt planning for him beyond 15 mins after he was meant to be there and I was beginning to really panic about having my prep time halved, then said my flight had been pretty good so he wasn't going to put me on report but if I ever turned up with unclean boots and long hair again... D*s, you were then (at least), a complete w****r. I bought you a pint years later, and told you that, so this shouldn't come as a complete surprise.
Is it just me, or does everyone eventually find out that flying training is just a series of accidents, random events, enlivened by a few good thrashes? I bet damn near every siggie out there has had the same mix of good and bad before they ever got near the kipper fleet.
Dave