I was in a ‘Brake Check Incident’ when I was seven.
My father was a pilot on 202 Squadron flying Met. Rec. Halifaxs out of Aldergrove. Our family lived in a converted wooden building between the officer’s mess and the perimeter track; now a car park. One day my father had to do a brake bedding on a Halifax so he took me along. (Shock Horror from today’s Elfin Safety)
I was sat in the nose blister and my father, solo, started it up and we taxied onto the easterly runway. Up and down that one and then up the southerly runway. The final run was in the northerly direction and we passed the intersection still with a fair amount of speed on. This was, apparently, where the brakes went AWOL. There is not a lot of tarmac left so my father gunned both starboard engines and it swung off the runway towards the 202 Sqn dispersal in the north western corner. The spectacles were empty though I remember the odd fire extinguisher passing underneath my seat. All, including the engines, came to a halt and then what happened my father and I never agreed on for the rest of his life.
He said that he led me out through the exit and down to the ground. I remember sitting there and then this chap in an asbestos suit saw me and pulled me out.
Nobody seemed particularly worried about me being there. I certainly did it a couple of times again.