The run down of the F4 was far from glorious for us 'erks. Tired airframes and systems meant long days and longer nights for those who toiled, without support it must be said, towards the end.
Despite the hours, frustrations, HPS and gas,gas,gas one moment is still clear today as it was almost 30 years ago....
So, the Stn Cmdr was out to lunch, in the northernmost outpost of RAF Leuchars at the Sqdn feeder in fact.
Things weren't too bad [ok once you'd checked the bread for mould] in the feeder, hot free grub can go a long way to keep your average 'erk happy with his LOT [sorry Courts
] and this day were were told to be on our best as the staish was coming and "behave", so, stuff that we thought...
Anyway in comes harry the staish, gets his slops and then with a nod, walks past the aircrews little partitioned den and straight to the set of pulled together tables, where us oily 'erks were, by now, realising it was game on...
The tables were pretty rammed [we were a brotherhood after all] but undaunted Sir Macfadyen grabbed a chair in passing with the words "move over lads".
Conversation at the table was perhaps slightly stilted [I would like to think most were tinkering how to say something meaningful without swearing] but it certainly made a strong impression on the boys, such a little gesture meant so much...
He left with a wry smile and a good idea of the problems we faced.
His affectionate nickname was macfadyin the bad yin to us 'erks.