...All in all, ATC life was fairly pleasant at Dishforth, and I think little else but Local Control plus the odd QDM was needed, and one Controller could easily handle that in the top Tower with the slave CA/DF console there. A dual JP took off on 15 one morning. "Do you know ?", called the instructor in a pained voice: "that there's a chap with a van parked on the road just the other side of the hedge ? He's turned loose a whole crowd of pigeons, I've only just managed to miss them !" And indeed the birds were wheeling round over the field, racing pigeons, I suppose, picking up their bearings before setting Course for home. "Yes, I can see it, sir", confirmed the Runway Controller (up at my end), "It's quite a big van, right in line with the runway".
Clearly this was Something Up to Which we Could Not Put. I stopped take offs, broadcast a warning on Approach to "Leeming Combine" (luckily we'd nothing in circuit), and sent a lad with the L/Rover down to bid the unwelcome visitor cease, desist and begone. He drove down to a spot on our side of the hedge, and called our message over to the offender, who was preparing to release the next batch (apparently this has to be done at precisely timed and duly recorded intervals).
But perhaps our Assistant had delivered this demand in a little too peremptory a fashion, as it fell on stony ground. Instead, the pigeon man angrily declared that he had every
right to release his pigeons there; he was on a
public road after all; he was a
Yorkshire man on Yorkshire soil, and no little
was going to tell him what to do. As for its aircraft, the RAF should mind its own
business. So saying, he turned loose the next batch, and everything was a mass of whirring wings and feathers for a few moments.
Seeing that the man was large and bellicose, that only the hedge stood between them , and that didn't look exactly stock-proof, our chap hurriedly changed tack and tried sweet reason, pointing out that, not only would our aircraft be inconvenienced if they ingested one, but that one or more prized (and very valuable) racing birds (in his charge) would come out the back end well minced and fit only for pigeon-burgers.
That produced the desired result; our pigeon fancier up-staked and moved a mile or so up the road. We'd had the binoculars on this little drama, saw the van move off, and Dishforth opened again for business.
On this occasion, as sometimes happened, I'd been joined in the Tower by our junior M.O. (I think Leeming must have had two at the time), for a cup of tea and a chat. He was down there obviously because Leeming itself was
hors-de-combat for the duration of the runway work; so any blood spilt would be at Dishforth, and his services more likely to be needed there.
As lunchtime approached, things had become very quiet. I put a monitor on frequency, took my headset off (to natter more easily) and put it down on the desk. Should an aircraft call, I'd pick up the (boom) mic and reply. Someone called for joining. I did so and gave him the spiel. "Say again !" he came back, I did so, "Can't hear you - you're very faint !", I tried again, louder, "No good - your mic's u/s !"
Then my Assistant touched my elbow gently, and pointed to - the bowl of my pipe, which I'd picked out of an ashtray and had been addressing all the time ! This was my first "Senior Moment", as I recall. All around were greatly amused - but I saw the M.O. looking at me with clinical concern !...
