Thanks for that ATC; lovely story! Great times indeed. The Vulcan pilot told us this a while back, about his last visit to the Barton Airshow:
We were based at MAN for the weekend of the Barton Airshow, arriving Saturday after the display, leaving for base on Sunday morning. MAN ATC had sent us a tome of bumf weighing a ton which boiled down to 'don't make lots of noise and frighten our neighbours'. So I finished the display at 2,000' overhead Barton, closed the throttles, and turned towards a right base for 24. Cleared to land I squeaked it onto the runway still not having touched the power, vacated, and parked. There was a message to go see ATC.
"Why did you do that?"
"Because of this this great pile of 'keep it bleedin quiet' bumf you sent me".
"Oh, we didn't mean THAT! Tomorrow morning when you depart, could you make it a bit more exciting?"
"OK".
The crew were ferried back to Barton in a 172 and I met them at the post-display bash in the clubhouse. "Be at MAN tomorrow morning at 10:00 and you'll see an interesting departure". So next morning no.1 daughter (who was very little at the time) and me drove down to the old brickworks site (Now under the new runway) to watch. The Vulcan only had a 360 channel radio so had to use 119.4 (the then Approach frequency) for all transmissions. We watched her start up and taxi off the apron, then disappear behind Manchester's 'hump' on her way to the 24 hold.
Lined up and cleared for take off, a great pall of smoke arose from beyond the hump, followed a couple of seconds later by a mighty increasing whine of 4 Olympi winding rapidly up to full chat. Just as the that distinctive Vulcan primeval 'howl' reached our ears, she appeared over the hump with a mighty plume of black smoke billowing behind her thick wing.
Belting towards us she pitched up like some sort of giant surreal bat to about 45 degrees, lifted off, and climbed, gear coming up and pitching up further to about 60 degrees, the ground beginning to shake as she approached. By the time she got level with us she was about 1500 feet up and almost stopped, but the ground and everything around was literally pulsating to the mighty roar out of the tailpipes. We didn't hear it..... we felt it. She performed a graceful wingover to the left (what a ludicrous sight; a massive, roaring, slab of aluminium as big as a tennis court, pouring smoke, blattering us with sound and pressure waves, slowly rotating 1500 feet up in the sky). She dived a little out of the manoeuvre rolling wings level, flew off in the direction of the hills, and slowly the decibel count fell to levels where we could hear, rather than feel, that incredible thrust.
So, to continue the Vulcan captain's story...
When we got back to base there was a message to phone MAN ATC.
"Hello, Vulcan captain here"
"Bluddy 'ell.... We didn't mean THAT either!"
.