***BOREDOM ALERT*** Take care, he's off in the clouds again
Another wonderful tale from Danny, surely the only aviator to have flown a Spitfire while sporting a cast-iron bra as part of his flying kit? It must have been as uncomfortable on the front as my (kindly donated) Sea Vixen dinghy was on the rear.
Chugalug, I agree it's wonderful to have such clear early memories especially when I can't remember where I put the item I was using two minutes ago, or when I carefully stow the biscuit tin in the refrigerator. Which, with Danny's mention of uncomfortable flights, leads me to another rambling tale ...
In 1972 the Tiger Moth and I were bound for an air display in Weston-super-Mare when the wind for once was in our favour. With a 50-knot nor-wester at 5000 feet I reckoned I could cross the Irish Sea direct to Sleap in Shropshire without my usual stop to refuel at Blackpool. (I should add that ATC at Blackpool and Isle of Man were very tolerant of my regular journeys, allowing me through their zones non-radio as long as I phoned first, and keeping a grass area trimmed for the Tiger).
After a vertical takeoff and climb into the gale I turned downwind and streaked across the coast. The Isle of Man flew past at 140 knots and clearly range would be no problem for the Tiger, but it would be for me. It's mighty cold in an open cockpit at 5000ft, even after a hearty breakfast with orange juice followed by three big cups of tea. Not for the first time I reflected on the wartime instructors who had sat in the front seat often for six hours a day in the depths of winter.
Leaving Snowdonia I began to eye up the fields with their inviting hedges. I considered the benefits of my immersion suit, which I knew would keep the water out but would be equally effective at keeping it in. After two hours I carefully turned my eyes from a sparkling river off to port, lest I should provide one myself. At 10 miles out I pushed the nose down and went flat-out for Sleap with a steep slipping turn into wind and a landing run of 40 yds, by which time I had shut down the engine, undone my straps and dived over the side.
Sleap Control, understandably concerned by this airborne lunatic, despatched the fire engine which arrived shortly after I had managed to release my immersion suit and attain a state of undreamed-off bliss. The crash crew dashed up brandishing a fire extinguisher and fell about when they saw I still had working pressure on my own.
Ah, happy days when one could rely on one's plumbing system. Today I reflect that two or three times a night when I was 21 has a totally different meaning now that I am 71. But not to worry, I've forgotten what was different about it.
Last edited by Geriaviator; 7th Oct 2017 at 17:23.
Reason: spacing