Three of the ages of aviation man:
Pulling the release knob in a glider and feeling the winch cable fall away.
Sitting in the mid-upper turret of a Shackleton on a dark, dark, arctic night and looking down on the strength of those long tapering wings, the steady glow of the Griffons' exhaust stubs and up at the millions of stars stretching right down to the horizon.
Sitting down with a Nimrod crew for a pre-dawn breakfast and realising that I hadn't put my teeth in.
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