It was all better back then...
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Wow,reading what you guys say makes ME feel I'm not so old.
Skynews....yes,the met guys at Sydney were all Indians,& very knowledgeable. Their culture of efficiency usually meant they greeted you with "What do you want?" We Aussie pilots thought they were gruff & unfriendly,but they meant "Hi,where are you off to & what forecasts would you like?"
Skynews....yes,the met guys at Sydney were all Indians,& very knowledgeable. Their culture of efficiency usually meant they greeted you with "What do you want?" We Aussie pilots thought they were gruff & unfriendly,but they meant "Hi,where are you off to & what forecasts would you like?"
Join Date: Jul 2010
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I didn't imply anything about the Indian met men, and I always found them friendly, more commenting on the fact that a lot of met men were Indians.
( back then I wouldn't feel I had to explain why I mentioned an individual ethnic group)
There were few PC police.
( back then I wouldn't feel I had to explain why I mentioned an individual ethnic group)
There were few PC police.
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Yes Skynews. Once we got to know them, they WERE friendly. But some of us were a bit taken back at first. On thunderstormy afternoons they would have the weather radar screen set up so pilots could get even more frightened. Something we can all do from our smart phones now.
Join Date: Aug 2010
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Memories. A student pilot wet behind the ears idly floating around the flying school on the weekend being asked to take the ute into town and pick up a drum or two of engine oil waiting at the fuel depot for the school's aircraft. Big 44 gal drums he was expected to find, load and unload on his own.
What about rural flying clubs being open to all visitors. Go into the clubhouse, make yourself at home with tea coffee and snacks from the fridge and freezer, leave the money in a biscuit tin and everything else cleaned up before you go. The honour system. Does that still happen?
How many times did I fly around the place with a carnet card not matching the aircraft and was still able to purchase avgas to get home.
Needed to do some major engine repairs to my car so early one Saturday morning moved the aircraft out of the hangar and moved the beetle in under the gantry and helped myself to the tools nearby. No-one looked sideways.
Working beside the LAMEs in the hangar one got to learn their likes and dislikes of the top and bottom ends of various engines, not batting an eyelid when they have to rebuild an entire wing from scratch, their ability to sense an engine has either done more time than the hour meter says or has been worked hard; working with people who really knew their trade.
What about the kid who went to school with what looked like nicotine stains on his fingers but was actually brass from reloading his fathers empty cases so he could go chuteing with dad on the range. That same kid was given a ute two years before legal driving age so he could do deliveries for dad.
What about Teepol, the detergent your parents used to get in a blue bottle refilled from a 44 gal drum while you waited at the fuel depot which cleaned everything from cars to greasy hands to dinner dishes to babies.
Geez, I'm sounding like an old man.
What about rural flying clubs being open to all visitors. Go into the clubhouse, make yourself at home with tea coffee and snacks from the fridge and freezer, leave the money in a biscuit tin and everything else cleaned up before you go. The honour system. Does that still happen?
How many times did I fly around the place with a carnet card not matching the aircraft and was still able to purchase avgas to get home.
Needed to do some major engine repairs to my car so early one Saturday morning moved the aircraft out of the hangar and moved the beetle in under the gantry and helped myself to the tools nearby. No-one looked sideways.
Working beside the LAMEs in the hangar one got to learn their likes and dislikes of the top and bottom ends of various engines, not batting an eyelid when they have to rebuild an entire wing from scratch, their ability to sense an engine has either done more time than the hour meter says or has been worked hard; working with people who really knew their trade.
What about the kid who went to school with what looked like nicotine stains on his fingers but was actually brass from reloading his fathers empty cases so he could go chuteing with dad on the range. That same kid was given a ute two years before legal driving age so he could do deliveries for dad.
What about Teepol, the detergent your parents used to get in a blue bottle refilled from a 44 gal drum while you waited at the fuel depot which cleaned everything from cars to greasy hands to dinner dishes to babies.
Geez, I'm sounding like an old man.
Join Date: Apr 2002
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I remember my brother and I flying a tripacer the length of New Zealand and back without once using the radio. We both had PPL's, and I was a radio technician, but we did not have that little peice of paper. We circled Wellinton airport until we got a green light from the tower which meant we were clear to cross the 20 odd miles of water to the south island. Then landing at Christchurch international airport without using the radio.
Later, at Alice Springs, dropping leaflets over the "Henly on Todd" dry river regatta. I had to get a "permit for littering" from the local council. Each leaflet had a number, and one of them was a prizewinner, so they all got picked up.
Landing RFDS aircraft at night by the light of burning toilet rolls. (we solved their medical problem, but created a toilet problem)
Staying overnight at Docker River. When we asked where the toilet was, we were told "anywhere on the other side of that creek"
Sending an aeroplane out on a 500 nm trip, to pick up an aboriginal man who had tried to fix his own teeth with a file. I was told "it is not a medical emergency, but it will be tomorrow"
And 1600 hours of flying at 200 ft agl survey flying in the middle of nowhere. I had two navaids. (My left eye and my right eye) No GPS then.
And lots of wonderful interesting flying.
Hours and hours of boredom, interupted by moments of terror.
And going home at night satisfied that we were gradually making the outback a better and safer place to live.
Later, at Alice Springs, dropping leaflets over the "Henly on Todd" dry river regatta. I had to get a "permit for littering" from the local council. Each leaflet had a number, and one of them was a prizewinner, so they all got picked up.
Landing RFDS aircraft at night by the light of burning toilet rolls. (we solved their medical problem, but created a toilet problem)
Staying overnight at Docker River. When we asked where the toilet was, we were told "anywhere on the other side of that creek"
Sending an aeroplane out on a 500 nm trip, to pick up an aboriginal man who had tried to fix his own teeth with a file. I was told "it is not a medical emergency, but it will be tomorrow"
And 1600 hours of flying at 200 ft agl survey flying in the middle of nowhere. I had two navaids. (My left eye and my right eye) No GPS then.
And lots of wonderful interesting flying.
Hours and hours of boredom, interupted by moments of terror.
And going home at night satisfied that we were gradually making the outback a better and safer place to live.
Plume, Vacuum and Golden Fleece. If you don't know what they are, you're far too young.
Did Vacuum have something to do with Mobil? I remember seing a restored Stinson Reliant here in Oz somewhere which had Mobil insignia on it plus something that said Vacuum as well. I assume since on a Reliant it was something that disappeared well before I was even born.
No idea what Plume was / is.
Join Date: Dec 2008
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Indeed Golden Fleece was a large chain of service stations. The TV ad featured a smiling Stanley who filled the car with petrol,checked the oil, water & tyres,then cleaned the windscreen. All while the driver sat in the car. That is why it was a SERVICE station. Excellent viewing on YouTube of the old ads of fuel & airline companies.
Join Date: Jun 2003
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Yep.While still at school I scored a weekend job at the Lions Head Service Station on Parramatta Rd. at Ashfield doing my very best Smiley impersonation.They had seven pumps which included those mentioned above but I'm buggered if I can remember the one that's missing.I do remember that being a Smiley didn't pay all that well but being a slow starter and only 15 I didn't drink or smoke so the modest remuneration eventually got me an old MAC Velocette which provided very flash transport between Ashfield and Bankstown Airport.
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LewC.....maybe AMOCO ? Their selling point was it had a final filter.
In those days service stations gave kids cards,games & small novelty toys. end of year & they gave out free calenders. Now we're flat out getting 'see ya'
In those days service stations gave kids cards,games & small novelty toys. end of year & they gave out free calenders. Now we're flat out getting 'see ya'
Join Date: Jun 2003
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Aye Ess...I think I might have been around a little before AMOCO came along.After another half glass Wynns(Shiraz that is not Injector Cleaner)) I believe it might have been PURR-PULL Petrol.An interesting feature of that service station was that the underground tanks(tank?) were all filled through a single fill point.Another brand that was around at the time was ESSO which became MOBIL but I think they ran their own stations.
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It's small wonder. (Ruminative).
The young' ns are the way they are. On mature reflection, I say there is not too much fun to had these days; not of the really, truly really type anyway.
For example:-
The "Ampol Servo 2' approach to Hay at night in a Twin Bomb Flasher.
A load of freight up to Gove in a Pig, no auto pilot, drum DI and roll your own ADF, empty baked bean can taped to the column for an ashtray. (If you bend it, burn it son).
Load of Chooks to Adelaide in a Beech 18 then home via Essendon, Launceston and Sydney.
Trislander to Perth, 40 gallon pylon tanks, the beloved the rear view mirror, you could get the mixture on the middle donkey perfect any time after about 1600 o'clock.
Top it off with a win at the streamer cutting competition at the club then fly home in a borrowed 200 hp Arrow, sunburned, happy, tired and full as a goog of Lions Club Steak sangas.
These days the work is routine, the 'Nanny State' ensures tedium, the aircraft deadly boring, a PA 31, C402, (nauseating would be the Be. 76, PN 68), and are a doddle to operate. Now the mighty C 337, 200 miles out to sea chasing Blue fin (of course the front one was stopped), or down amongst the Tumut hills on bush fire patrol, or carting corporate big shots in the elegant Tin Comm (a real 'blokes' aircraft) or the peerless Baron was in a class of it's own, and it was great fun.
I feel the dreaded 'booze bus' has taken it's toll on air safety, who can hang about on Friday night, chew the fat with the local DCA guy, the CFI from over the way, the other guys or the Chief Engineer.
Do they still even hold flour bombing, streamer cutting and spot landing competitions?. Never could beat the bloody Tiger Schmidt's, except in a Chippy or a Ryan, even then only on a good day.
I much miss the Aero Club culture, private flying and the freedom to do pretty much anything that didn't scare the horses.
Milk shakes in a dewy aluminum container and the hamburgers, real honest to God snag sambo's and the mighty aero club frozen meat pie.
For example:-
The "Ampol Servo 2' approach to Hay at night in a Twin Bomb Flasher.
A load of freight up to Gove in a Pig, no auto pilot, drum DI and roll your own ADF, empty baked bean can taped to the column for an ashtray. (If you bend it, burn it son).
Load of Chooks to Adelaide in a Beech 18 then home via Essendon, Launceston and Sydney.
Trislander to Perth, 40 gallon pylon tanks, the beloved the rear view mirror, you could get the mixture on the middle donkey perfect any time after about 1600 o'clock.
Top it off with a win at the streamer cutting competition at the club then fly home in a borrowed 200 hp Arrow, sunburned, happy, tired and full as a goog of Lions Club Steak sangas.
These days the work is routine, the 'Nanny State' ensures tedium, the aircraft deadly boring, a PA 31, C402, (nauseating would be the Be. 76, PN 68), and are a doddle to operate. Now the mighty C 337, 200 miles out to sea chasing Blue fin (of course the front one was stopped), or down amongst the Tumut hills on bush fire patrol, or carting corporate big shots in the elegant Tin Comm (a real 'blokes' aircraft) or the peerless Baron was in a class of it's own, and it was great fun.
I feel the dreaded 'booze bus' has taken it's toll on air safety, who can hang about on Friday night, chew the fat with the local DCA guy, the CFI from over the way, the other guys or the Chief Engineer.
Do they still even hold flour bombing, streamer cutting and spot landing competitions?. Never could beat the bloody Tiger Schmidt's, except in a Chippy or a Ryan, even then only on a good day.
I much miss the Aero Club culture, private flying and the freedom to do pretty much anything that didn't scare the horses.
Milk shakes in a dewy aluminum container and the hamburgers, real honest to God snag sambo's and the mighty aero club frozen meat pie.
Join Date: Aug 2010
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Ampol. Did one of you young blokes say Ampol? That was around for ages AFTER I got my license. My earliest memory of fuel purchase is from one of those bowser/pumps with the large glass bowl on top. You, the customer, had to manually pump a handle to get the petrol from a tank directly below into a large glass bowl of 4 or 5 gallons then let that drain into your car. If you wanted a full tank then you did this two or three times. All this at the backdoor of the local supermarket.
And in more recent times, I'm talking the '80's now, the only place in Bribbaree NSW to get fuel was in the backyard of the place next door to the pub. This guy had a bowser in his backyard; used it.
What about all those roadmaps the oil companies to sell at their roadhouses? They would even have little places like Bribbaree marked on them. What, you haven't heard of Bribbaree? Not far from the metropolis of Quandialla. Look it up on a Golden Fleece roadmap.
And in more recent times, I'm talking the '80's now, the only place in Bribbaree NSW to get fuel was in the backyard of the place next door to the pub. This guy had a bowser in his backyard; used it.
What about all those roadmaps the oil companies to sell at their roadhouses? They would even have little places like Bribbaree marked on them. What, you haven't heard of Bribbaree? Not far from the metropolis of Quandialla. Look it up on a Golden Fleece roadmap.
Silly Old Git
Thread Starter
Kharon
Ray shaking your hand and giving you a little envelope with your pay in it
Black Jack loading up his NIGHT EROPS kit, a bar of black chocolate and a bottle of rum...
A load of freight up to Gove in a Pig,
Black Jack loading up his NIGHT EROPS kit, a bar of black chocolate and a bottle of rum...
Moderator
.... and in later years, a box of stinking Kumul twist tobacco and last Friday's news paper to roll it in.....
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I still remember all these....
When it was the Whispering T-Jets -
And the V-Jets -
And the Fan Jets (Eagle farm 1971) -
Flight tickets were REAL tickets made out by REAL staff, and you handed it to your HOSTESS! -
DC-9 Adelaide airport 1967. I was a kid at the airport fence there back then -
But that was all back in the days when airline travel meant style and panache.
When it was the Whispering T-Jets -
And the V-Jets -
And the Fan Jets (Eagle farm 1971) -
Flight tickets were REAL tickets made out by REAL staff, and you handed it to your HOSTESS! -
DC-9 Adelaide airport 1967. I was a kid at the airport fence there back then -
But that was all back in the days when airline travel meant style and panache.
Join Date: Nov 2010
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Paper !!
Paper, You got paper.
I was given a box of matches and the same instructions as Kharon.
Long before Black Jack (RIP) Billy the Pig was the man then.
Ray, ah Ray. What can be said, kept a lot of guys going through the terrible days of recessions, and pilot poverty. Always a helping hand, except, a lift from Ray involved stopping on Parramatta Road to pick up whatever he fancied to put in the boot (cans, spark plugs, and once, 8 Kg of lead as the truck was backing up to collect the swag, go the purple Monaro).
Long live the midnight spares market. If only spark plugs could talk.
I was given a box of matches and the same instructions as Kharon.
Long before Black Jack (RIP) Billy the Pig was the man then.
Ray, ah Ray. What can be said, kept a lot of guys going through the terrible days of recessions, and pilot poverty. Always a helping hand, except, a lift from Ray involved stopping on Parramatta Road to pick up whatever he fancied to put in the boot (cans, spark plugs, and once, 8 Kg of lead as the truck was backing up to collect the swag, go the purple Monaro).
Long live the midnight spares market. If only spark plugs could talk.
Join Date: May 2007
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I remember standing on the rails of the back fence of my great uncles new house in Niddire and looking across the empty paddocks to watch the viscounts whistling (screaming) in and out of melbourne (Essendon) airport.
I remember my grandfather talking about the crazy 76 sqn kittyhawk pilots at milne bay and the daily liberator flight from Jackson that would spend a couple of hours at 30,000 ft with a load of beer, so as to cool it down. my second cousin was a bomber and transport pilot, WWII and berlin Airlift and he had some pretty good stories too! Uncle Gordon was with a spitfire squadron in the pacific and he owned a Norton Interstse motor bike, because it was the fastet bike you could buy.
Life was chock a block full of potential for the kid hanging over the airport fence.
'Progress' was an exciting thing as the world was embracing post war infrastructure and technological advancements, the transistor radio for example. NIMBYs were not invented yet to doomsay and howl down every attempt to improve anything, although some were not happy about their houses being bulldozed to create the new freeway to the non existant new airport near sunbury, they were just whingers, the good of the many outweighed the good of the few.
Going to RAAF airshows and seeing USAF RB57, U2, RAF V bombers, meteor NF, RAAF neptunes, canberras, mirages (WOW!), the incredible shiney new A model Hercs that would 'soon replace the DC3 and Caribou'
Zig and Zag were just a couple of young clowns (subsequent revelations confirmed my fear and distrust of clowns).
Bush air padgeants with Mustang, comper swift, westland widgeon, klemm swallow, wackets, Casey's collection of old planes (that were younger then than most cessna 152s of these days), going flying in RVAC chippie with my dad, joyflights in a dragon. Flying into the paddock airstrip of a young(ish) Joe Drage who was busily collecting similar aircraft that were generally regarded as old tat. The Bunn Brothers at Avondale and their moth minor (amongst other planes).
Most collecters were not rich boys but enthusiastic everymen who had a few spare bob and who followed up every rumour about an old plane, most hoping to discover that elusive mineshaft/cave full of hidden spitfires and harley davidsons, still in their packing grease.
Mind you, if I knew about the fairer (hahaha I crack myself up) sex then, that i know now, i would have made much more efficient use of my time as a teenager, and would have kept my shed full of vintage and warbird parts and boxes of WWII uniforms and flight gear etc. One lives, but often does not learn, about such things until too late.
As someone has already said,
Even nostalgia is not what it used to be.
HD
I remember my grandfather talking about the crazy 76 sqn kittyhawk pilots at milne bay and the daily liberator flight from Jackson that would spend a couple of hours at 30,000 ft with a load of beer, so as to cool it down. my second cousin was a bomber and transport pilot, WWII and berlin Airlift and he had some pretty good stories too! Uncle Gordon was with a spitfire squadron in the pacific and he owned a Norton Interstse motor bike, because it was the fastet bike you could buy.
Life was chock a block full of potential for the kid hanging over the airport fence.
'Progress' was an exciting thing as the world was embracing post war infrastructure and technological advancements, the transistor radio for example. NIMBYs were not invented yet to doomsay and howl down every attempt to improve anything, although some were not happy about their houses being bulldozed to create the new freeway to the non existant new airport near sunbury, they were just whingers, the good of the many outweighed the good of the few.
Going to RAAF airshows and seeing USAF RB57, U2, RAF V bombers, meteor NF, RAAF neptunes, canberras, mirages (WOW!), the incredible shiney new A model Hercs that would 'soon replace the DC3 and Caribou'
Zig and Zag were just a couple of young clowns (subsequent revelations confirmed my fear and distrust of clowns).
Bush air padgeants with Mustang, comper swift, westland widgeon, klemm swallow, wackets, Casey's collection of old planes (that were younger then than most cessna 152s of these days), going flying in RVAC chippie with my dad, joyflights in a dragon. Flying into the paddock airstrip of a young(ish) Joe Drage who was busily collecting similar aircraft that were generally regarded as old tat. The Bunn Brothers at Avondale and their moth minor (amongst other planes).
Most collecters were not rich boys but enthusiastic everymen who had a few spare bob and who followed up every rumour about an old plane, most hoping to discover that elusive mineshaft/cave full of hidden spitfires and harley davidsons, still in their packing grease.
Mind you, if I knew about the fairer (hahaha I crack myself up) sex then, that i know now, i would have made much more efficient use of my time as a teenager, and would have kept my shed full of vintage and warbird parts and boxes of WWII uniforms and flight gear etc. One lives, but often does not learn, about such things until too late.
As someone has already said,
Even nostalgia is not what it used to be.
HD
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HarleyD you bring back some great memories. I grew up in Airport West when there were more cows than houses. Our next door neighbour worked for TAA and took me into the cockpit of an Electra at Essendon Airport and that was it, hooked from then on. As a kid we'd wonder up to the airport on a Saturday morning and just walk through any open gate we could find to look at anything and everything that was parked there. The DCA guys would drive up, ask us what we were up to, tell us not to break anything and leave us to continue our exploring. The biggest thrill was hanging over the 3 foot chain link fence not more than 50 feet away from a 727 as it started and taxied off.