Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II
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thing,
Without wishing to appear facetious, did you try 1471 ? Now it occurs to me that your Dad was probably not a "silver surfer" (on line) - very few of our generation are - and so the phone was the acme of technology for him.
Now supposing he had been, might you have got a PM or an e-mail ? It's a thought, isn't it ? Might have a go myself when/if opportunity offers - shouldn't be all that long now !...D.
Chugalug,
Once again I must credit you with the Second Sight. It so happens that, if my tale reaches my last Station (Leeming), there is a Post in mind: "Danny and the Night of the UFO". But of course you would not expect me to shoot that fox yet, now would you !
I've heard that particular "reincarnation" story, I think. Wasn't that the one when the lady recalled being a lad in the gun crew whose task as the "match-boy"(?) was to keep twirling the "slow-match" (the slow-burning fuse rope), so that the end would be bright hot for the gunner to apply to the touch-hole and so be sure of an instant "fire" ?.....D.
MPN11,
Your lucky day ! Can't be sure, but doesn't lightning always flash from earth to cloud ? (and of course from cloud to cloud). Have been struck myself a couple of times in the air in the monsoon, but no damage - although the flash was frightening at the time ! There is YouTube footage of an airliner being repeatedly struck on approach over London (with no apparent adverse effects), but I cannot trace the link...D.
Cheers, all. Danny
Without wishing to appear facetious, did you try 1471 ? Now it occurs to me that your Dad was probably not a "silver surfer" (on line) - very few of our generation are - and so the phone was the acme of technology for him.
Now supposing he had been, might you have got a PM or an e-mail ? It's a thought, isn't it ? Might have a go myself when/if opportunity offers - shouldn't be all that long now !...D.
Chugalug,
Once again I must credit you with the Second Sight. It so happens that, if my tale reaches my last Station (Leeming), there is a Post in mind: "Danny and the Night of the UFO". But of course you would not expect me to shoot that fox yet, now would you !
I've heard that particular "reincarnation" story, I think. Wasn't that the one when the lady recalled being a lad in the gun crew whose task as the "match-boy"(?) was to keep twirling the "slow-match" (the slow-burning fuse rope), so that the end would be bright hot for the gunner to apply to the touch-hole and so be sure of an instant "fire" ?.....D.
MPN11,
Your lucky day ! Can't be sure, but doesn't lightning always flash from earth to cloud ? (and of course from cloud to cloud). Have been struck myself a couple of times in the air in the monsoon, but no damage - although the flash was frightening at the time ! There is YouTube footage of an airliner being repeatedly struck on approach over London (with no apparent adverse effects), but I cannot trace the link...D.
Cheers, all. Danny
Last edited by Danny42C; 12th Apr 2014 at 16:37.
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Without wishing to appear facetious, did you try 1471 ? Now it occurs to me that your Dad was probably not a "silver surfer" (on line) - very few of our generation are - and so the phone was the acme of technology for him.
Now supposing he had been, might you have got a PM or an e-mail ? It's a thought, isn't it ? Might have a go myself when/if opportunity offers - shouldn't be all that long now !...D.
Now supposing he had been, might you have got a PM or an e-mail ? It's a thought, isn't it ? Might have a go myself when/if opportunity offers - shouldn't be all that long now !...D.
I'm quite willing to accept that it was a halucination, he'd only been dead about four weeks so it was obviously still on my mind. It's the fact that both the wife and I heard the phone ring which is the difficult one. I still don't believe in ghosts by the way...
Danny, to rain once on your parade may be regarded as a misfortune, to do so again looks like carelessness, and I must once more beg your indulgence. I shall await your tale of Leeming without mentioning the U word again!
I think you are right about the match-boy, your neurons will outclass mine any day! The detail of the entire gun drill (not just her/his own) was what so impressed those at the National Maritime Museum.
I think you are right about the match-boy, your neurons will outclass mine any day! The detail of the entire gun drill (not just her/his own) was what so impressed those at the National Maritime Museum.
thing:
very strange, and in its eerie impossibility it reminds me of an incident about a year ago. btw, i'm a cognitive psychologist and a good portion of my research involves debunking overly exuberant research claims.
my wife and i were moving from one city to another and had posted an 8.5 x 11" flier outside our local supermarket advertising some items for sale. along the bottom of the flyer were tear-off tabs with our phone number on them.
one day after the flier had been up for a week or so we visited the supermarket. walked past the flier, paused for a few good long seconds and observed that one tab at the bottom had been torn off. both my wife and i observed and commented.
did our business at the market, left, walked again past the flier. all of the tabs were intact. again, both my wife and i saw this, and of course we then carefully examined the flier and verified the intactness, i.e. that nothing had been removed and replaced.
we'd only posted that one flier, so the unlikely possibility of substitution of fliers is definitive excluded...
anyway, what's the explanation? either unfathomable quantum weirdness (ha ha) or consensual hallucination...which seems to be the case in your example as well.
best,
5000
very strange, and in its eerie impossibility it reminds me of an incident about a year ago. btw, i'm a cognitive psychologist and a good portion of my research involves debunking overly exuberant research claims.
my wife and i were moving from one city to another and had posted an 8.5 x 11" flier outside our local supermarket advertising some items for sale. along the bottom of the flyer were tear-off tabs with our phone number on them.
one day after the flier had been up for a week or so we visited the supermarket. walked past the flier, paused for a few good long seconds and observed that one tab at the bottom had been torn off. both my wife and i observed and commented.
did our business at the market, left, walked again past the flier. all of the tabs were intact. again, both my wife and i saw this, and of course we then carefully examined the flier and verified the intactness, i.e. that nothing had been removed and replaced.
we'd only posted that one flier, so the unlikely possibility of substitution of fliers is definitive excluded...
anyway, what's the explanation? either unfathomable quantum weirdness (ha ha) or consensual hallucination...which seems to be the case in your example as well.
best,
5000
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"Curiouser and curiouser" said Alice.
thing,
Beats me ! Your checks also put out of court a hideous possibility that I thought better not to mention before - the most cruel practical joke imaginable (voices are notoriously easy to mimic) ....D.
5000 metres,
Welcome aboard this noble Thread ! Don't go away now ! To quote one of your (fictional) professional colleagues in "Fawlty Towers" - a British TV serial comedy of the 70's - "There's enough material here for a whole Conference !"....D.
Cheers, both. Danny.
Beats me ! Your checks also put out of court a hideous possibility that I thought better not to mention before - the most cruel practical joke imaginable (voices are notoriously easy to mimic) ....D.
5000 metres,
Welcome aboard this noble Thread ! Don't go away now ! To quote one of your (fictional) professional colleagues in "Fawlty Towers" - a British TV serial comedy of the 70's - "There's enough material here for a whole Conference !"....D.
Cheers, both. Danny.
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Squadron Training / Exercises
Sorry to interject, but I am trying to understand the training schedule for bomber squadrons post WWII
My understanding is that prior to the war, training, in principle was individual training during Autumn / Winter months followed by squadron exercises during Spring and Summer.
Now that the thread has moved on from WWII training, could anyone give an insight into a squadron's year; if anyone has any training schedules / programmes (inter-war and/or post war) that they think would be useful I would love to hear from you.
Any help would be much appreciated.
Regards
Pete
(Researching the history of 35 Squadron)
My understanding is that prior to the war, training, in principle was individual training during Autumn / Winter months followed by squadron exercises during Spring and Summer.
Now that the thread has moved on from WWII training, could anyone give an insight into a squadron's year; if anyone has any training schedules / programmes (inter-war and/or post war) that they think would be useful I would love to hear from you.
Any help would be much appreciated.
Regards
Pete
(Researching the history of 35 Squadron)
Last edited by Petet; 14th Apr 2014 at 08:52.
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consensual hallucination...which seems to be the case in your example as well.
Anyway, back to WWII...
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The Truth lies with JSP318, AP3024 and AP3357. And other new stuff.
All else is Man's desire to spread his wings and fly, un-encumbered. But the Flying Prevention Branch will rule, within regulated airspace.
Just saying
All else is Man's desire to spread his wings and fly, un-encumbered. But the Flying Prevention Branch will rule, within regulated airspace.
Just saying
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Danny winds down at Linton and is short-toured.
'63 had been a cold Christmas at Breighton: we looked forward to a warmer one in '64 and then to whatever the RAF might have in store for us in the spring of '65. Apart from a few problems with the quarter, not a great deal more happened there worthy of note.
One serious matter troubled us - we had a Septic Tank, for of course there was no main drainage so far out in the sticks. When these work properly they are inoffensive enough, but an essential component is the top soakaway drain, which naturally needs a gentle decline as it travels away underground for 30-50 feet away from the house. Unfortunately the builders had been holding the drawings upside down, or something of the sort, for the pipe slowly rose upwards in our case (making it worse than useless).
The result was that the system regularly flooded, and needed a pump-out by the honeywagon every few weeks (instead of once or twice a year), or the house would be floating in a lake of sewage. And that was not the worst of it. The concrete top cover proved not to be as solid as it looked. One day in late summer Mary was playing one afternoon in the back garden with her cousin Annette, (who would be 14, and was staying with us at the time). In the course of a game, Annette jumped on the cover - and it collapsed ! She finished with one leg down in the contents before grabbing the sides and screaming for help. That was bad enough, but we trembled at the thought of the much smaller Mary going right in ! (shortly before we marched-out, the contractor arrived to dig up the soakaway pipe and relay it properly).
Then (to our surprise) it seemed good to the Lords of the RAF that we should be uprooted from our peaceful, country existence, so that I could pass on my 10 years of distilled wisdom and experience (for what it was worth) to a new generation of Air Traffic Controllers at Shawbury. I should be going back there for a third time - this time as an Instructor at the School. Still, we both knew Shrewsbury (a pleasant town) well enough.
The journey across England should present no difficulty. Mrs D. would take the 403, I would follow on with the Isetta. But fate decreed otherwise. One day I ran down to Bubwith in it; at walking pace in the village there was a loud bang and I was "brought up all standing". A valve stem had broken, the valve head and broken section had wrecked the piston, the con-rod was bent. The engine was a write-off.
Repair would cost more than the Isetta was worth. I gave it to the Bubwith garage in settlement of my outstanding petrol bill; they gave it to their apprentice to play with. In any case, we'd made enquiries and learned that an OMQ at Shawbury should be available some time shortly after our arrival. A second vehicle would no longer be needed. The Isetta had served us well.
Only on one occasion had it let me down on the road. Running up to the lights at Clifton (north end of York) on my way to Linton, the throttle stuck open (by coincidence, exactly the problem I'd had five years before with my "Winged Wheel" on the way to Thorney from Hayling). But this time it was easy - cut the ignition switch (for there was no steering lock) and coast into a handy lay-by. Again an Amal type carb, off with the top, clean off inside the barrel and the throttle-block-cum-needle-carrier, spot of oil, put all back. Five minutes and we were away again.
They dined me out: I extolled the virtues of Firemen to the ranks of the students and cautioned them to leave our fire hulk seat harnesses alone. I said farewell to SATCO and ATCs, my Sergeant and the firemen. W/Cdr(A) heaved a deep sigh of relief on seeing the back of me, and that was that. It had been interesting.
Goodnight, all.
Danny42C.
Pity about the Isetta - we should have kept it !
One serious matter troubled us - we had a Septic Tank, for of course there was no main drainage so far out in the sticks. When these work properly they are inoffensive enough, but an essential component is the top soakaway drain, which naturally needs a gentle decline as it travels away underground for 30-50 feet away from the house. Unfortunately the builders had been holding the drawings upside down, or something of the sort, for the pipe slowly rose upwards in our case (making it worse than useless).
The result was that the system regularly flooded, and needed a pump-out by the honeywagon every few weeks (instead of once or twice a year), or the house would be floating in a lake of sewage. And that was not the worst of it. The concrete top cover proved not to be as solid as it looked. One day in late summer Mary was playing one afternoon in the back garden with her cousin Annette, (who would be 14, and was staying with us at the time). In the course of a game, Annette jumped on the cover - and it collapsed ! She finished with one leg down in the contents before grabbing the sides and screaming for help. That was bad enough, but we trembled at the thought of the much smaller Mary going right in ! (shortly before we marched-out, the contractor arrived to dig up the soakaway pipe and relay it properly).
Then (to our surprise) it seemed good to the Lords of the RAF that we should be uprooted from our peaceful, country existence, so that I could pass on my 10 years of distilled wisdom and experience (for what it was worth) to a new generation of Air Traffic Controllers at Shawbury. I should be going back there for a third time - this time as an Instructor at the School. Still, we both knew Shrewsbury (a pleasant town) well enough.
The journey across England should present no difficulty. Mrs D. would take the 403, I would follow on with the Isetta. But fate decreed otherwise. One day I ran down to Bubwith in it; at walking pace in the village there was a loud bang and I was "brought up all standing". A valve stem had broken, the valve head and broken section had wrecked the piston, the con-rod was bent. The engine was a write-off.
Repair would cost more than the Isetta was worth. I gave it to the Bubwith garage in settlement of my outstanding petrol bill; they gave it to their apprentice to play with. In any case, we'd made enquiries and learned that an OMQ at Shawbury should be available some time shortly after our arrival. A second vehicle would no longer be needed. The Isetta had served us well.
Only on one occasion had it let me down on the road. Running up to the lights at Clifton (north end of York) on my way to Linton, the throttle stuck open (by coincidence, exactly the problem I'd had five years before with my "Winged Wheel" on the way to Thorney from Hayling). But this time it was easy - cut the ignition switch (for there was no steering lock) and coast into a handy lay-by. Again an Amal type carb, off with the top, clean off inside the barrel and the throttle-block-cum-needle-carrier, spot of oil, put all back. Five minutes and we were away again.
They dined me out: I extolled the virtues of Firemen to the ranks of the students and cautioned them to leave our fire hulk seat harnesses alone. I said farewell to SATCO and ATCs, my Sergeant and the firemen. W/Cdr(A) heaved a deep sigh of relief on seeing the back of me, and that was that. It had been interesting.
Goodnight, all.
Danny42C.
Pity about the Isetta - we should have kept it !
Danny,
Indeed - you should have kept it.
This pimped out 730 hp custom version recently sold at the Barrett-Jackson collector car auction for $56,100 !
This one in "normal" guise sold for $51,700:
My first car, which I could drive at age 16, was a 1963 Trojan 200 (198 cc - 56 mph). In 1970, one on the new fangled 50p pieces would fund filling the fuel tank at GBP 0.35 per gallon with change left over - photo is not of mine - wish I'd kept it !
Indeed - you should have kept it.
This pimped out 730 hp custom version recently sold at the Barrett-Jackson collector car auction for $56,100 !
This one in "normal" guise sold for $51,700:
My first car, which I could drive at age 16, was a 1963 Trojan 200 (198 cc - 56 mph). In 1970, one on the new fangled 50p pieces would fund filling the fuel tank at GBP 0.35 per gallon with change left over - photo is not of mine - wish I'd kept it !
Last edited by RAFEngO74to09; 14th Apr 2014 at 00:07.
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RAFEngO04to 09,
Lovely pictures ! (I completely forgot about the Trojans). IIRC, they had a van running round selling "Typhoo Tips" tea door-to-door, and I think they did a milk-float, too.
I never knew that they built Heinkels (presumably under licence), but it looks very like the Isetta, and I would think would perform much the same. Even today I think that they could cope with town traffic all right, and be very useful as economical shopping cars, and on the school run. But I wouldn't take them on a motorway !
(Btw, could you downsize the pics a bit - they're a bit big for PPRuNe).
Cheers, Danny.
Lovely pictures ! (I completely forgot about the Trojans). IIRC, they had a van running round selling "Typhoo Tips" tea door-to-door, and I think they did a milk-float, too.
I never knew that they built Heinkels (presumably under licence), but it looks very like the Isetta, and I would think would perform much the same. Even today I think that they could cope with town traffic all right, and be very useful as economical shopping cars, and on the school run. But I wouldn't take them on a motorway !
(Btw, could you downsize the pics a bit - they're a bit big for PPRuNe).
Cheers, Danny.
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An addendum to my ATC days. How on earth could I have forgotten my course, flying Kirby Cadet gliders at weekends at RAF Kenley in the winter of 1948. Unfortunately none of us completed the course due to inclement weather most days and there was only so much time allocated to us before the next course would start.
To continue . . .
Having, somehow, volunteered for aircrew, I received a letter from RAF Careers Office in Brighton and a railway warrant. On the specified date I went to the railway station in Battle, presented the warrant and received a ticket. Looking at it I said to the clerk, "This is only a single to Brighton, not a return." He replied, "They are probably going to keep you!" With some trepidation I travelled, had an interview, received a warrant to return home where I awaited the call. Eventually I was sent to Hornchurch where I joined other candidates for the selection procedures. Among the group were an Irishman who was the all-over hairiest person I've ever seen before or since, and an 'Ethnic Minority' of dusky hue who claimed to be from Nigeria, Prince Obi of the Ibo tribe. Has anyone ever met a Nigerian who doesn't claim to be a Prince? Anyway, everything must have gone well because I later (July 1950) was attested at RAF Cardington, given a number, kitted out and with our group of Cadet Pilots sent to RAF (E Yorks Bridlington). After a few unremarkable days we 'entrained', and, arriving in Liverpool, had a meal at Seaforth Barracks before joining a Manx ferry to the Isle of Man and RAF Jurby. There, among the memories, are days of drilling, rain, marching, rain and more rain - I swear it came in horizontally and if the windows were opened it would blow through without wetting the floor! Some other recollections:
1. Inspection after first 'Bull' night. All equipment laid out in total perfection and the Broom, room for the sweeping of, displayed complete with 2-and-a-half rings inked on the handle. Who did it? Not guilty, m'Lud, but Squadron Leader Broom (later Air Marshal) was not impressed and our cards were well and truly marked!
2. Physical Training, sometimes consisting of parties of 5 or 6 running calf-high through the water's edge of the Irish Sea, carrying on our shoulders what appeared to be small tree-trunks or large logs.
3. Camping out in the wilds of Manx-land in 4/6-man(?) tents, laying on cold, probably damp, groundsheets, trying to catch some sleep before, on one occasion, being alerted by screams from the occupants of one tent who had uninvited guests - rats!
4. Sport! I enjoyed sport, up to a point. Cross-country running at Grammar School, played cricket for Battle 2nd XI in my early teens, but apparently the RAF didn't participate in such gentlemanly activities. No! Rugby (Union, of course!), in which I had a terrifying initiation. As the opposing players rushed at us a somewhat heavyweight player of ours threw the ball to me (Thanks, Pete Bxxxxxx) and I disappeared under the crush. Probable memo from staff to OIC, 'He does not play Rugby - not officer material.'
5. Food. Best left unwritten.
6. One week's jankers, for . . .? Well, there was a parade and the inspecting officer, passing behind me told the NCO, 'Long and untidy Hair - charge him,' and I was marched off. This was despite me having a haircut at the camp barber's - and entered in the book - the previous night. Yes, indeed, my card had been well and truly marked! This decided me that parading was not my metier/forte and I vowed henceforth to avoid them as much as possible, which I did for the rest of my service.
7. Exams. I think we all passed, and eventually entered the hallowed Officers Mess as Officer Cadets; white epaulettes, and all the other distinguishing features.
8. Well-earned leave, home comforts for a few days before part two of our education to which I apparently did not pay enough attention. When most of the other new 'Gentlemen' went on to the next stage of training, real flying, I found myself at the Aircrew Allocation Unit in RAF Innsworth with failed cadets from other training regimes and quite a few NCO aircrew hopefully being found units - or, perhaps, civvy street. It was a relaxed place with no duties; I think they were embarrassed to have us there as we were given a lot of leave and IIRC we only attended fortnightly pay parades where we were handed real currency - 'white fivers.' My abiding memory of this place is the cold weather (winter 1950-51) until an enterprising person removed all the fire-brick lining from inside the barrack room stove. There was ample fuel from broken wooden foot-lockers and clandestine visits to the coke dump. The reassurance of a red-hot glow from the stove and a few house bricks on the top to warm the bed at night - bliss! Eventually I got the call to go to RAF Odiham as a Radio Assistant u/t Air signaller where I was employed, typing, in the Signals Warrant Officer's office.
9. Were there good points? Yes, having a day off in September to watch the 1950 Manx Grand Prix at the Sulby Straight and the Ramsey hairpin, with, as an added extra, a talk by the winner, Dennis Parkinson.
And so to the next stage of my career which led, eventually, to an enjoyable, fulfilling civilian life. Thank you, RAF Jurby!
To continue . . .
Having, somehow, volunteered for aircrew, I received a letter from RAF Careers Office in Brighton and a railway warrant. On the specified date I went to the railway station in Battle, presented the warrant and received a ticket. Looking at it I said to the clerk, "This is only a single to Brighton, not a return." He replied, "They are probably going to keep you!" With some trepidation I travelled, had an interview, received a warrant to return home where I awaited the call. Eventually I was sent to Hornchurch where I joined other candidates for the selection procedures. Among the group were an Irishman who was the all-over hairiest person I've ever seen before or since, and an 'Ethnic Minority' of dusky hue who claimed to be from Nigeria, Prince Obi of the Ibo tribe. Has anyone ever met a Nigerian who doesn't claim to be a Prince? Anyway, everything must have gone well because I later (July 1950) was attested at RAF Cardington, given a number, kitted out and with our group of Cadet Pilots sent to RAF (E Yorks Bridlington). After a few unremarkable days we 'entrained', and, arriving in Liverpool, had a meal at Seaforth Barracks before joining a Manx ferry to the Isle of Man and RAF Jurby. There, among the memories, are days of drilling, rain, marching, rain and more rain - I swear it came in horizontally and if the windows were opened it would blow through without wetting the floor! Some other recollections:
1. Inspection after first 'Bull' night. All equipment laid out in total perfection and the Broom, room for the sweeping of, displayed complete with 2-and-a-half rings inked on the handle. Who did it? Not guilty, m'Lud, but Squadron Leader Broom (later Air Marshal) was not impressed and our cards were well and truly marked!
2. Physical Training, sometimes consisting of parties of 5 or 6 running calf-high through the water's edge of the Irish Sea, carrying on our shoulders what appeared to be small tree-trunks or large logs.
3. Camping out in the wilds of Manx-land in 4/6-man(?) tents, laying on cold, probably damp, groundsheets, trying to catch some sleep before, on one occasion, being alerted by screams from the occupants of one tent who had uninvited guests - rats!
4. Sport! I enjoyed sport, up to a point. Cross-country running at Grammar School, played cricket for Battle 2nd XI in my early teens, but apparently the RAF didn't participate in such gentlemanly activities. No! Rugby (Union, of course!), in which I had a terrifying initiation. As the opposing players rushed at us a somewhat heavyweight player of ours threw the ball to me (Thanks, Pete Bxxxxxx) and I disappeared under the crush. Probable memo from staff to OIC, 'He does not play Rugby - not officer material.'
5. Food. Best left unwritten.
6. One week's jankers, for . . .? Well, there was a parade and the inspecting officer, passing behind me told the NCO, 'Long and untidy Hair - charge him,' and I was marched off. This was despite me having a haircut at the camp barber's - and entered in the book - the previous night. Yes, indeed, my card had been well and truly marked! This decided me that parading was not my metier/forte and I vowed henceforth to avoid them as much as possible, which I did for the rest of my service.
7. Exams. I think we all passed, and eventually entered the hallowed Officers Mess as Officer Cadets; white epaulettes, and all the other distinguishing features.
8. Well-earned leave, home comforts for a few days before part two of our education to which I apparently did not pay enough attention. When most of the other new 'Gentlemen' went on to the next stage of training, real flying, I found myself at the Aircrew Allocation Unit in RAF Innsworth with failed cadets from other training regimes and quite a few NCO aircrew hopefully being found units - or, perhaps, civvy street. It was a relaxed place with no duties; I think they were embarrassed to have us there as we were given a lot of leave and IIRC we only attended fortnightly pay parades where we were handed real currency - 'white fivers.' My abiding memory of this place is the cold weather (winter 1950-51) until an enterprising person removed all the fire-brick lining from inside the barrack room stove. There was ample fuel from broken wooden foot-lockers and clandestine visits to the coke dump. The reassurance of a red-hot glow from the stove and a few house bricks on the top to warm the bed at night - bliss! Eventually I got the call to go to RAF Odiham as a Radio Assistant u/t Air signaller where I was employed, typing, in the Signals Warrant Officer's office.
9. Were there good points? Yes, having a day off in September to watch the 1950 Manx Grand Prix at the Sulby Straight and the Ramsey hairpin, with, as an added extra, a talk by the winner, Dennis Parkinson.
And so to the next stage of my career which led, eventually, to an enjoyable, fulfilling civilian life. Thank you, RAF Jurby!
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Oh, nice tale ValMORNA ... and, urrgh, RAF Jurby. 
Did a CCF (hahahaha) Camp there in April 1962 ... what a miserable place, although I see I got 30 minutes 'Air Experience' in Chipmunk T10, WZ861. I think the worst part was the night train from London to Liverpool (some of us slept on the luggage racks, probably classed as child abuse today), where we arrived early and had breakfast at a Seaman's Mission before getting on the Ferry to Douglas ...etc etc etc.
Never, ever, wanted to visit the IoM again, although I seem to have had a couple of banking connections with the wet soggy place. And they weren't a lot of pleasure either!
Did a CCF (hahahaha) Camp there in April 1962 ... what a miserable place, although I see I got 30 minutes 'Air Experience' in Chipmunk T10, WZ861. I think the worst part was the night train from London to Liverpool (some of us slept on the luggage racks, probably classed as child abuse today), where we arrived early and had breakfast at a Seaman's Mission before getting on the Ferry to Douglas ...etc etc etc.
Never, ever, wanted to visit the IoM again, although I seem to have had a couple of banking connections with the wet soggy place. And they weren't a lot of pleasure either!
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Isetta fans may like to know that at a swapmeet somewhere, in among the Corgis and Matchboxes, they may find a die-cast KinToY 4-wheel Isetta (made in China of course), pale blue and off-white (just like mine was) and registered WI 35028 (I can't remember mine). It has seats and a steering wheel but no gear lever or rear number and the door doesn't open. At £2 good value for happy memories!
I have persuaded my father - now 91 to recall his memories of learning to fly with the RAF during the war.
He has written some of it down but I thought the preface he wrote brought the enormity of what the country faced in 1939 to the fore.
"A group of friends and I met on the morning of 3 Sep 39, a Sunday. We were all expecting a declaration of war with Germany. It came in a broadcast by Chamberlain at 1115. He announced that this country was at war with Germany. At that moment my life and future and the lives of those gathered friends of mine (none of whom survived the war) changed dramatically!"
More to follow.
HF
He has written some of it down but I thought the preface he wrote brought the enormity of what the country faced in 1939 to the fore.
"A group of friends and I met on the morning of 3 Sep 39, a Sunday. We were all expecting a declaration of war with Germany. It came in a broadcast by Chamberlain at 1115. He announced that this country was at war with Germany. At that moment my life and future and the lives of those gathered friends of mine (none of whom survived the war) changed dramatically!"
More to follow.
HF