Memories of the military magic carpet...
1954. Young Liz became Queen last year, gave me a propelling-pencil and sent me off to take the 11+. Hilary and Tensing had climbed Everest and after a couple of exciting nights at the Union Jack Club in London we climbed into a motor-coach and set off in the night from the Goodge Street Military Air Terminal to Blackbushe Airport. The new Queen was sending us off to Kenya for three years to swim in the warm Indian Ocean, very kind of her. And there she was, not HMQ, but our Airwork Handley Page Hermes, G-ALDX, glittering with lights and with various throbbings going on. Off we staggered into the dark velvet sky, loaded to the gunnels with pax and stores (a cardboard box of refreshments each), sinking back into our rearward-facing seats. As dawn broke we flopped down into RAF Luqa like a half-dead duck then, refreshed, flapped our wings and skimmed off to El Adem. We thundered very low over endless sand dunes until Khartoum rose up out of the desert. My, it was hot there, but much hotter when the aircraft doors opened. Even hotter was the dark brown stew offerered and unwanted but, shame, I was not allowed to drink the ice-cold water in glass jugs - it was foreign and might be dirty! Then off from Khartoum to Entebbe - on a big lake and very green, en-route to Nairobi. We arrived there hot, tired, sweaty and dirty - and that was just the aeroplane, but what an experience for an Army youngster. My reaction to my first flight and arrival in Africa was to throw up all over my Dad, he wasn't impressed.