A while ago I promised you a Post on the subject of the humble mushroom, and the important place it holds in the hearts of every true air-trafficker. It was now the "season of mists and mellow fruitfulness". Most airfields, carved out of farmland well nourished by millenia of good farm manure, usually grow a succulent crop of these dainties, and all the best spots are known to ATC. This knowledge is passed from generation to generation of Local Control staff, shared by the Crash Crews and quite rightly witheld from the lesser breeds.
So it was with Thorney. As it was a Master Airfield, open 24/7/365, the Aircraft Movement Area (pretty well the whole of the grass) was permanently under ATC control; no one (in theory) could venture on it without their permission, which permission would rarely be granted. On the other hand, the ATC Landrover is always running about on it, checking lighting, Radar Markers etc. and generally looking out for anything which might damage an aircraft. GCA Truck people are a law unto themselves and are often to be seen wandering about near their Truck for reasons of their own.
Therefore ATC effectively "owned" the airfield, and every thing which grew thereon, which put them in pole position, although poaching could never be entirely eliminated. But on "ordinary" (8/5, M/F) places, things are different, when the field is closed it's a free-for-all.
But in all cases a sort of "gentleman's agreement" was observed: you picked only enough for a good meal for your family, and left the little mushrooms alone - for "little ones get bigger every day". Any attempt to gather commercial quantities was severely discouraged (and there are more means than one of discouraging people). At Thorney ATC ruled the roost.
As I've said, it was a lovely summer and autumn. All along the South coast, the holiday crowds had been thrown out of their boarding houses after breakfast with a packed lunch and strict orders not to show their faces again till teatime. They went down to the beach: the Channel glittered invitingly. Were they not part of a seafaring race ? Did not the blood of Drake, Hawkins and Ralegh run in their veins ? They blew up their rubber rings, inflatble sea-monsters and Li-Los and put to sea.
But being totally ignorant of the exisence, never mind the effects, of tides, waves, winds and currents, it was not long before they were well on the way to Brittany. And as none of them could swim a stroke, their piteous wails grew fainter until a Policeman was found (this was quite possible in those days). He pedalled furiously to the Station. "Here we go again", said the Desk Sergeant, and rang the Rescue Coordination Centre.
Then did the noble fellows of No. 22 Squadron at Thorney gird their loins and get their whirlybird going, and soon the hapless castaways were spotted and brought ashore to the bosom of their grateful families (markedly less grateful now when their rescuers refused point-blank to go back for the Li-Lo, as their next customer was already awaiting them, bobbing about a few miles down the coast).
It followed that 22 Sqdn had to be at readiness from sunup: the DIs done at first light. It seems that the DI included a mandatory airtest (
is this true, anyone ?). This was done in an unusual way. It was flown slowly, about 10 feet above ground, the winchman sitting in the step of the open door, legs dangling, in what looked like a "creeping line ahead" across the grass areas.
Every minute or so it would land, winchman would hop off and pick up the cream of the night's mushroom crop, then the chopper would lift off, fly another few yards and down again. We could only look on in impotent fury as
our mushrooms were being filched from us wholesale before our very eyes. (I do not doubt that HRH is aware of this strategem and may even have practised it)
An accommodation was reached with the squadron: if ATC got their fair share (ie enough for all ranks in the Tower plus GCA, Crash and ambulance crews), then we would not kick up too mucn of a fuss about what we strongly suspected to be bogus "mandatory" Airtests (or was it just our nasty suspicious natures ?).
Once more, a Very Good night to you all,
Danny42C.
The Race is to the Swift.