LOBSTERS and THE WRONG END OF A LIGHT MACHINE GUN
Lobsters and the wrong end of a light machin gun.
I am not sure just how this saga came about, but I have a vague memory of my frequent flyer oppo with whom many flights were enjoyed, being keen to go to see how lobsters were farmed in Northern Ireland.
This intrigued me as my business was now running profitably, which incidently produced the necessary finance to enaable me to fly and allowed my entrepeneurial thoughts to ponder other avenues of revenue.
Would it be posible to fly a crate of live lobsters down to one of the small airfields close to London to sell to some of the posh restauants at greatly enhanced prices.
My upbringing on the Isle of Man had shown me that both crabs and lobsters could be transported in watertight containers between layres of kelp or seaweed kept wet for many hours.
A crate some three feet long by two feet wide and a foot deep would fit securely on the rear seats of the Bonanza. It would weigh less than two adults.
So with that in mind we set of for Newtownards where we were to be met by one of the farmers who would take us to the loch in his car.
As you come in on finals you fly low over a crowded cemetary, a reminder of what not to do in an aeroplane. But our trip was uneventual and we landed safely. As arranged we were met and started the journey to th farm.
Some time later we saw a British soldier standing in the middle of the road with his hand in the air signalling us to stop. This we did.
He was a sergeant , and hanging on his hip was a big black Browning .45 automatic pistol.
He suggested politely that we leave the car and identify ouselves.
At this point my old Army training kicked in. Just a routine check and no problem. We showed our various identity documents and the details were assiduously written down. He then rummaged through the car inside and out and in the boot as well.
But while this was going on I knew that he was not alone. He had to have a squad hidden in the undergrowth, They were good. No doubt about it, but I did spot one, and I realised that I was indeed looking right down the barrel of a Bren gun, I could just see the bipod and the curved magazine over the breech. Many many rounds I had fired through one of those some years before. The others I did not see, though I think there could have been four or more looking at us.
Of course this was in the 1970s and the ''troubles'' were at their height so no-one was taking any chances.
However we passed muster and were sent on our way.
We arrived at the farm and were taken by small boat out to a pontoon that edged a large net enclosure. In it were hundreds of lobsters at all stages of development. It was indeed fascinating.
Later, reality kicked in and though the idea was a good one it would not have worked out in practice as it would have had to be a two man job and totally weather dependent.
Both of us were fully committed to our different works, so I shelved the idea and soon it was filed away in some dusty corner of my mind.
Nothing happened on the way back to the airfield, the check point was gone.
The flight back ended another of those memorable flights that reamain in the retrieval system buried in the depths of memory.
This tale also brings to mind using the plane to...........
Well that's for next time.
Fly safely
EG