Danny Exposes Himself to Ridicule.
In my whole three years there I can recall only two weeks' "rest cure" at Manby, and only those because something memorable happened to me each time. Generally I can flatter myself that I had built up quite a reputation for my smooth and mellifluous talkdowns, apart from one malcontent, who said I sent one of his studes to sleep (or at least that was the impression gained from the said stude's flying).
And the results of my Approach work were no worse than average. There had been no (air traffic) disasters which could be laid at my door. And how can you go wrong at Manby, with about twenty movements a day ? With difficulty, it seemed, but it could be managed, if you put your back into it.
The first day I was sitting in a state of perfect peace and bucolic serenity. I had one airborne, the Chief Instructor, who was doing something or other with the (only) Hunter F6. He asked me for a steer. This was a bit below the belt, I thought. He must know that there was no CR/DF (or anything else) at Manby. Still, there was the old manual D/F to fall back on. I roused the operator and started the procedure. C.I. makes his long transmission and awaits result. A few seconds later the Op passes me the figure.
Now, looking back and racking my brains, I don't think I'd ever done a single manual D/F (outside the Link), and I don't remember their being taught me at Shawbury (CR/DF being all the rage). I'd simply forgotten that a D/F op always gives a QTE; it is for the Controller to convert it into QDM. So C.I. gets a QTE to steer. As he knew very well where he was (I think he only called to make sure I was still alert), I got a furious reaction. What was the matter with my D/F ? - What was my D/F Op doing ? - He'd given a reciprocal ! - I'd damn' well better do something about it at once ! - Wake the man up !
I could not let the poor erk carry the can. "My fault entirely, Sir", I said, and gave him the correct figure. This frank avowal of guilt seemed to mollify the C.I. Greatly to my surprise, I heard no more about it. It had been inexcusable; on the desk in front of my eyes was a circle with the QDM/QTE conversion every ten degrees, but I thought it was from QDM to QTE (as on a CR/DF).
My second gaffe some time later was really not my fault, but it was to go down in Manby legend. There was nothing on the board (ATC Nirvana !). R/T monitor pipes up: "M-ABCD on 117.9 for you, sir". What followed I will never forget.
Verbatim: "M-CD, Manby Approach, pass your message"...."Manby, CD approaching from the North at 2,000 ft, range 20 miles, request landing instructions"...."CD, 11 left, (QFE), circuit clear, call joining"....
(Manby is Prior Permission Only, we have had no advice of this visitor, but that is not my business: I cannot turn him away - but he must answer for it when he gets down)...."CD, what is the purpose of your visit ?" .... "To drop off a horse" .... "Say again" ...."Horse"...."Spell it !"...."H-O-R-S E" ....."What is your aircraft type ?"...."Anson".
My brain reeled. Reason tottered on her throne. You clutch desperately at straws. "Perhaps it's a very small horse", I consoled myself, "might a Shetland pony go in all right ?" (In my defence, I must add that only a mere dozen years before I'd seen Dak-loads of mules go off, and wished the pilots the best of British).
Now the final bitter twist in the story: Manby had an Equitation Club. My equally stupefied Assistant grabbed the Station phone book: "It's S/Ldr (x) i/c, sir"...."Ring him, tell him he's got a horse coming in in about ten minutes". S/Ldr (x) gets dragged out of Important Conference, not well pleased, organises groom and whistles up horsebox to the Tower. Anson comes in, parks, groom advances with horse-tackle at the ready. Crew see horsebox arrive alongside Tower.
Out of Anson comes a wooden hobby-horse. It appears that this was an adjunct to one of the silly games that are played at Dining-in nights. Station (x) had borrowed it from Manby for some occasion, and were now returning it. Pilots roll about Anson in mirth when they realise that they've not only fooled the Controller, but the College as well. (This will keep them in free beer for yonks). Even with door closed, Anson rocks on its oleos for some time before crew sufficiently composed to ask for taxy clearance.
Danny is Buffoon du jour. Joke is all round Manby within the hour, round Strubby by nightfall and all round Lincolnshire by weekend. Back at Strubby my Bendix crew shakes heads sorrowfully. First the HT door, then the stuck Matador, now this. Always said the poor chap must have been out in the tropic sun far too long.
Next time two more disasters, but neither of my doing.
Evenin' all,
Danny42C.
Well,you can't win 'em all.