Danny recalls a few final memories of ATC at Thorney.
A Lockheed T-33 flew in one day. Nothing strange about that. What raised the hairs on the back of my neck for a split second were the Gothic black crosses on the sides. I know we were all pals again by then, but the "Biggles" in me came to the fore for a moment or two .
And a (F1) Gnat, bearing an Indian AF green-and-brown roundel (flown by an IAF pilot with the engaging name of Flt.Lt. Pal) transited through on its way home. It was the first aircraft I'd seen in those colours, all the others had been in the wartime blue-and-white of SEAC.
As a change from the monotony, one night in autumn, a small party (6-8) of ornithologists from a local scientific society, having heard of the magic of radar, had approached Air Ministry to ask if it might be possible to have a look at waterfowl activity by night, as the migration season was almost upon us, and the whole surrounding littoral was one vast seabird sanctuary).
There was no security angle to bother about; the CPN-4 was a well known civil and military airfield radar, it was not like asking for a conducted tour of Fylingdales. Adastral House graciously consented, the Station Commander had no objection, and it was laid on. I was on radar watch in the CPN-4 that night; we got the three consoles working so that they could all have a good look, while I did the running commentary from behind .
The weather had done us proud - clear as crystal. The birds looked up and thought so, too. They got airborne in their thousands and headed south over the Channel. I put MTI out to 10 miles, and the "twitchers" were fascinated by the mile-long skeins of geese, and the less organised formations of other birds. When some instinct said "Now", the birds would leave the ground all together and the flock would expand for all the world like the time-lapse photography of an opening flower.
I had seen it all before many times, but that night there was a "first" for me, too. One of them asked "what's that ?" I looked and was at first lost for an answer. For very faintly, about 50 miles south, a large formless return was beginning to appear, half way out over the Channel, where there is nothing at all but sea.
Radar "ghosts" were nothing new, but these are small and transient, and usually self-generated in the equipment. I watched nervously as this thing slowly took shape - whatever it was, it must be enormous. At last it condensed into a stretch of coastline (where there is no coast). Gradually it extended southward and I suddenly recognised the outlines of the top of the Cotentin peninsula ! But this was 120 miles South, almost double my maximum range. I realised that I was seeing something for the first time which I'd only read about in textbooks - "Skip Distance".
A huge 'high' was stationary over the area, an inversion had developed over the Channel, and my radar pulses were being refracted round under it and returning to me one pulse 'out of phase' (late). Radar is normally line-of-sight, now it was interpreting these late returns as roughly half-distance. My audience and I watched this for some time until it slowly faded away: our guest were greatly impressed, and left highly satisfied with their evening's outing.
Momentous news next time, so put your orders in at your Newsagent.
'Night, all,
Danny 42C.
Things are not always what they seem.