Farewell RAF from Ian Henning
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Farewell RAF from Ian Henning
"....I'd just like to say hello to everyone who knows me!"
A pleasure to have served with "those who knows me" over the last 13 years - great fun and no regrets at all.
Time to move on though, so all the best. Drop me an e to keep in touch.
Cheers all and good luck!
Hennster
A pleasure to have served with "those who knows me" over the last 13 years - great fun and no regrets at all.
Time to move on though, so all the best. Drop me an e to keep in touch.
Cheers all and good luck!
Hennster
Join Date: May 2003
Location: Near a very good pub in rural Oxfordshire :-)
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Don't suppose you remember that 'trial lesson' out of Kinloss all those years ago when you were holding with 23...
Good luck bloke... I'm on my way too.
Good luck bloke... I'm on my way too.
Champagne anyone...?
Is that Hen the helicopter pilot? If so, good luck mate - haven't seen you for about 9 years but then I always was crap at keeping in touch. Enjoy Oz 
Last edited by StopStart; 3rd Dec 2004 at 06:34.
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Henn,
Your experience and ability (amongst other things) are a loss to the RAF. What made a bloke like you go? What are you going to do next? Best of luck, whatever it is :-)
Ray
Your experience and ability (amongst other things) are a loss to the RAF. What made a bloke like you go? What are you going to do next? Best of luck, whatever it is :-)
Ray
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Hen,
Take care from all on the OCF, you're the RAF's loss and their gain. I'm sure we'll see you back!!!
Keep in touch with the RAF thro pprune and see what a dysfuncional bunch we are - I hope the grass is greener
.
Take care from all on the OCF, you're the RAF's loss and their gain. I'm sure we'll see you back!!!
Keep in touch with the RAF thro pprune and see what a dysfuncional bunch we are - I hope the grass is greener
.
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Remember the grass isn't any greener and where you're going distinctly brown. Enjoy Mr Sikorsky's finest and pass on my regards to the Indy Car Three - now doing time for misplaced comedy.
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Ah, Swinderby.
Not many places where a 63-yr-old would pitch up to work on a motorcycle and proceed to beat you to death in the air for not grasping the finer points of flying after 4 hours of staggering to the aircraft as an 18 yr-old with a parachute swinging around your arse and a shiny silver helmet adorning your cloth RT skull-cap (assuming you were enough of a short-arse to wear both). After all, he only had 6543 hours on type, and he could do it, why couldn't you etc....blah blah progress review..head on chopping block etc...
Golden days. How rewarding to learn that the main runway, so often used for death defying "first-solos" under the gaze of a bunch of course-mates, desperate for your success for the "solo-yard", is now a gas bottle storage facility.
I recall going to Swinderby for the evening of the closing ceremony and "scaling", through the use of an aircrew knife and much heckling (drunken) from Plt Off Tomlin et al from below, the windsock from the airfield, whereupon it was decided (from those not clutching on for dear life from 30 feet in the air from a flailing windsock) that the only way to release said flacid orangatum was to cut it from the hoop above my head (thereby releasing the sock and the pilot officer hanging beneath it) and allow it to come to rest on the sod of the Swinderby field. The landing was more gracious for the sock. The pilot officer was surely relieved that his drunken youth had allowed him to relax (with aircrew knife between teeth) for the ensuing fall to earth.
Ah. Golden days!!
H
Any more golden moments from Swinderby apart from the joyous met lessons from Pickers, the claims from Sqn Ldr "I was a lightning-mate, what do you mean you\'ve got a cold and you can\'t make your ears go pop" Hudson or the Ruddy-faced Trotty\'s port/red wine (delete as applicable) challenges in the bar?
Great.
Henn
Not many places where a 63-yr-old would pitch up to work on a motorcycle and proceed to beat you to death in the air for not grasping the finer points of flying after 4 hours of staggering to the aircraft as an 18 yr-old with a parachute swinging around your arse and a shiny silver helmet adorning your cloth RT skull-cap (assuming you were enough of a short-arse to wear both). After all, he only had 6543 hours on type, and he could do it, why couldn't you etc....blah blah progress review..head on chopping block etc...
Golden days. How rewarding to learn that the main runway, so often used for death defying "first-solos" under the gaze of a bunch of course-mates, desperate for your success for the "solo-yard", is now a gas bottle storage facility.
I recall going to Swinderby for the evening of the closing ceremony and "scaling", through the use of an aircrew knife and much heckling (drunken) from Plt Off Tomlin et al from below, the windsock from the airfield, whereupon it was decided (from those not clutching on for dear life from 30 feet in the air from a flailing windsock) that the only way to release said flacid orangatum was to cut it from the hoop above my head (thereby releasing the sock and the pilot officer hanging beneath it) and allow it to come to rest on the sod of the Swinderby field. The landing was more gracious for the sock. The pilot officer was surely relieved that his drunken youth had allowed him to relax (with aircrew knife between teeth) for the ensuing fall to earth.
Ah. Golden days!!
H
Any more golden moments from Swinderby apart from the joyous met lessons from Pickers, the claims from Sqn Ldr "I was a lightning-mate, what do you mean you\'ve got a cold and you can\'t make your ears go pop" Hudson or the Ruddy-faced Trotty\'s port/red wine (delete as applicable) challenges in the bar?
Great.
Henn
Ah, Swinderby!
Memories of how you could fly a circuit on smell alone, using the local pig farms to tell you when to turn. "wait for it, wait for it, nearly vomiting? turn now!"
How amusing the RAFP found it when the young officers climbed over the fence having walked back from Lincoln, and how well they reponded to our witty banter.
And the humiliation of 5 Sqn as they were beaten soundly at drinking games one night in Happy Hour by a bunch of spotty faced Pilot Officers (though cannot remember why 5 Sqn were in the bar at Swinderby that night).
And I make absolutely no comment on the 15 year old mess steward girls, none of whom were desperate to snare themselves a pilot and get the hell out of Dodge/Lincolnshire..........
Memories of how you could fly a circuit on smell alone, using the local pig farms to tell you when to turn. "wait for it, wait for it, nearly vomiting? turn now!"
How amusing the RAFP found it when the young officers climbed over the fence having walked back from Lincoln, and how well they reponded to our witty banter.
And the humiliation of 5 Sqn as they were beaten soundly at drinking games one night in Happy Hour by a bunch of spotty faced Pilot Officers (though cannot remember why 5 Sqn were in the bar at Swinderby that night).
And I make absolutely no comment on the 15 year old mess steward girls, none of whom were desperate to snare themselves a pilot and get the hell out of Dodge/Lincolnshire..........
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Anyone remember the ATC chap, Ralph? Ex-F84s, went to Rhodesia and had an interesting way of getting his strafe scores! If I remember correctly, Gin was his tipple of choice. To ensure he could keep count of how may he had imbibed, he added a slice of lemon to his pint pot each time it was topped up. Hence the need for the pint pot! Snuff cannons galore, then down to Chez Radwan for 'chips & cheese!'
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Good luck good buddy.
And save a place for me - I've still got the phone number in my wallet and will use it when I've rune out of things to do here....
You'd be surprised how many other people have looked South for the chance of greener grass - here's hoping it is.
Swinderby was fun, but I also remember shark infested custard in a hangar at Biggin Hill. Wonder what happened to the rest of the syndicate?
And save a place for me - I've still got the phone number in my wallet and will use it when I've rune out of things to do here....
You'd be surprised how many other people have looked South for the chance of greener grass - here's hoping it is.
Swinderby was fun, but I also remember shark infested custard in a hangar at Biggin Hill. Wonder what happened to the rest of the syndicate?