LGC News

The annual dinner, held once again at the Grange Hotel, started off in good spirit which continued through into the wee small hours.

After an indifferent meal our chairman welcomed everyone and said a few words before handing over to the CFI, Peter Lewis who talked about the past years achievements before announcing the trophy winners which his wife, Joan, Presented.

Alan Dennis received the Duddon Trophy for service to the club. The Leighton-Hall Trophy for the most outstanding flight of the year went jointly to Neil Braithwaite and Roger Copley for their 300km flights.

As it hadn’t been a very good flying year, the Lonsdale Trophy for the longest cross country flight from Walney wasn't awarded. Linda Dawson collected the Dodd Trophy for most outstanding progress during the year.

The Alsford Trophy for the greatest gain of height went to Peter Lewis who climbed to in excess of 20,000 feet at Portmoak. This was more than Graham Welch did to claim his diamond Height and so in recognition of this, the Lonsdale Trophy went to him.

The Club Ladder was won by Roger Copley with 12,356 points. Lyn Martindale was second with 10,831 and Graham Welch third with 9634.

The Sir Leonard Redshaw Trophy for the most outstanding flying achievement by a non silver went to Gordon Furness for his five hour flight.

There were two new trophies awarded for the first time this year. Both were donated by some of the clubs’ sponsors. The Elegant Window Systems Trophy for best flight in a two seat glider went to Peter Redshaw and Gordon Furness for their flight of 77km in the Capstan at the Pocklington two-seater competition. The Optimum Financial Services Trophy for best gain of height in a two seat glider. went to Keith Butterfield and Keith Whitworth who climbed from 3500 feet to 10500 feet in the Capstan from Walney

The Wooden Spoon for most meritous clanger went to John Martindale for his "airbrake and tail dolly flight" – see inside for the full story.

Dave North rounded off the presentations by presenting Joan with a bouquet of flowers.

After a music-free meal, the Disco got underway and everyone seemed to have a good time.

In the early hours of the morning the die hards retired to the bar with Jean's ghetto blaster providing the musical accompaniment.

There were a surprising number of people left even at three o'clock but as the morning rolled by people gradually slipped away to their beds. The final stragglers left at after 5:00, including this year the barman who stayed to the bitter end. Breakfast finished at 10am and nearly everyone who'd stayed overnight made it.

Thanks are due to Andy for organising it once again, assisted this year by Lyn. All in all I think it was as much a success as usual.

Chairman's Bit

Well, we've managed to fly this year, on 3rd January there were several soaring flights on Black Combe. Apparently this is only the beginning of an excellent season; the C.F.I. has looked at his seaweed and predicts good weather.

We have had a problem with the starter motor on the tug which would have left us with a large bill. Fortunately Keith Butterfield and Peter Lewis managed to repair it after two long cold days in the hangar. Dave North has also been busy in the hangar cleaning and painting the K21 trailer - not a pleasant job. Thank you to all three.

Now, if you have a tiny feeling of guilt that you are not as involved as they are it's almost C of A time and all help is welcome.

Wooden Spoon Flight

Despite some stiff competition, the wooden spoon was won this year by John Martindale for what has to be one of the best ever gaffs at LGC. He and I were the only ones there at the time, so besides John I think I’m as well placed as anyone to tell the story.

It started as one of those Friday afternoon affairs where John would ring around to try and drum up some support so that he could get his "fix" of flying. The afternoon looked promising with Cumulus forming all over the place. Despite this, only he and I turned up. Undaunted we set about rigging the Pegasus and getting the Tug and rope etc ready. For some reason the airfield was closed, I think because of their Pilots’ sickness, they’d finished the only flight of the day and gone home.

When everything was ready we balanced the Pegasus wing on a trestle with John in it, hooked up the rope, I started the tug and off we went – Slowly. It seemed to take forever to get airborne from runway 12. As is usual practice, I turned right towards North Scale to go around the airfield. As the village loomed large it was obvious this thing wasn’t going up like it usually did. A further fairly sharp turn was required to avoid flying over the village at an unacceptably low level. This carried on as we went round the airfield, me desperately checking full throttle, Mags, Carb Heat, Mixture, Revs, everything looked right but it just wasn’t going up.

We arrived at the threshold of 12 again at a miserly 300 feet, usually after a circuit of the airfield with a single seater it can be getting on for a 1,000 feet. Before we started John had asked to go to Askam so, undaunted I set off in that direction. I figured that while it was still going up, albeit slowly, it’d be ok.

As we approached Askam we were barely at 1200 feet and I wasn’t prepared to take him any further without some more height beneath us, so I took the opportunity of a convenient thermal to take an orbit and get a bit more height.

A short while later there was a rather sheepish radio call along the lines of "G-OL FJK did you take the tail dolly off Alan?". I pondered for a minute and could only reply "I don’t remember doing it", he came back "nor did I – I think I’ve still got it on. It’s very rough flying this!".

There was a brief period of silence while we contemplated the situation before I asked him what he wanted to do. At the time, I figured the best thing was to go back to the airfield/the coast, with a lot of height so that when he came off tow if it all went pear-shaped or uncontrollable or into an unrecoverable spin there’d be enough height to bale out. I was thinking the very worst. So I told John that I’d take him back to the airfield, he could stay on as long as he wanted.

Having turned round and set off back, I noticed that the climb rate started to get a bit better, almost back to usual in fact. I was then amazed when the glider released, still quite a way from the airfield.

I got into such a position that I could see the tail of the Pegasus, and sure enough, there was the tail-dolly still strapped on. I remember now it was the strangest, most-unnatural things I’ve seen in my gliding career so far.

It was clear the Pegasus was still flying ok, so I set off back to the airfield and landed and waited. It seemed to take a very long time for John to get back and I couldn’t see him anywhere, but an anxious radio call found him downwind.

John landed without incident, deliberately slightly faster than usual, but otherwise an exemplary landing. As we were pushing the glider back for another go he piped up "I know why it wasn’t climbing very well……. I had the Airbrakes open…" No wonder it wasn’t climbing!!

Having calmed down, we took the tail dolly off, closed and locked the airbrakes, hooked up the rope and tried again. This time everything went ok and John had a reasonable soaring flight in some rare thermals.

Of course we both learned a lot from that. I now remember to check in the mirror for airbrakes open, John will never again fly with the tail dolly on, no doubt he’ll go through his checks a bit more thoroughly as well. And we’ll both make sure there’s more than two of use there.

Fortunately we got away with it unscathed, but it could have been very different had the dolly been heavier, or the pilot at the light end of the cockpit weigh range rather than the heavy end.

I need to thank everyone I told (just about everyone) for keeping it a secret and the spoon a surprise for John, although I perhaps deserved some of the infamy!

Flying Diary

In November there were a couple of decent days, Dave North got to 12,000 feet in our Pegasus using Ravenglass and Ambleside as turning points to clock up 95km and a big claim to put him at the top of the ladder for a couple of weeks. Keith Butterfield now leads it after two high flights in the K21, the first with Chris Lloyd from 1,800 feet up to 8,800 around Coniston. Then two weeks later with Alan Dennis from 4,500 feet up to 11,000 over Millom before going way up past Wast Water. The same weekend we had some visitors from Hus Bos and Sutton Bank. Russell Cheetham (1998 Open Class Nationals Champion no less!), his wife Elle and an ASH 25 with their friends Steve Ell, his family and a Nimbus 2. They too flew in the wave over the Lakes and were impressed, as you would expect. They did find it a bit daunting though, to be flying over the sea to land on an island!

The weather as you know has been appalling over the Christmas holidays. Apart from one flight in very windy conditions midweek we didn't fly until last weekend when the Combe and Ireleth were working. Roy Jones and my John had an hour on the Combe in the Capstan. On the way back they only lost 1400 feet and comfortably made it back. Afterwards, a new member, Malcolm Edwards and Alan went across for an hour. They left the Combe at 2,600 feet and it took 2,600 feet to get nearly all the way back! The Capstan ended up in one of the two landable fields to the North of the airfield. Nice one Al!

A Bad Day at Black Combe

In previous issues of this illustrious publication you will have become accustomed to the occasional tale or two recounting supreme feats of aerial accomplishment. The following article is definitely not one of those tales, but deserves telling nonetheless, if only to serve as a warning. Read it & weep, read it & laugh, but if you do nothing else, ask yourself ‘what would I have done?’.

The day started well enough, with a good stiff Westerly breeze creating consistent lift above the seaward slopes of Black Combe; the visibility was hazy but tolerable, and while I was doing the flight log in the bus (and recovering from the previous nights social), John Martindale & Keith Butterfield were enjoying a creditable flight in the K21; they had already climbed to more than 4000 feet, and soared NE as far as Devoke Water, so things looked very encouraging.

Appetite duly whetted by those two, Lyn and I both wanted a fly, so we decided to take D70 when it returned; I was keen to get ‘back in the groove’, as a combination of work, weather and a ruptured appendix had prevented me from flying since Portmoak, some two months previously.

(Actually I did fly as ballast in the rear of the K21 with Dave Bull on the day after the Lakes dinner - I had hoped that experience would cure my hangover, but instead the stress caused my appendix to strangulate, and he will be hearing from my solicitor).

As Oscar Lima finally dragged us Combe’ ward with Peter L. at the helm, I noted that a thinnish layer of stratified cloud was forming at around the 1200 feet level, and would need keeping an eye on - further out to windward there was no obvious sign of the forecasted weather front, but when we arrived above Haverigg it became obvious that the Combe would not be directly soarable, as orographic cloud had already completely obscured it from view. I briefly toyed with the idea of asking Pete to tow us back, but as we hit the coast to the west of the cloud front, the vario hit 7 up and stayed there – I held on for a while, and as things looked pretty consistent, I pulled the knob at around 2600 feet anticipating a steady climb along the cloud front above the coast – so far so good.

Guess what? - My optimism was to prove short lived, because the initial 2 up fairly quickly became a rock solid zero sink, and to make matters worse, wisps of cloud were appearing beneath us, and these wisps were quickly consolidating. Pete had already radioed back that the cloud he had encountered on the descent after release had an 800 feet base, so I turned the glider back toward Walney with a view to returning.

I acknowledged a radio call from Walney suggesting I hangar land the machine on our return, but as the nose of D70 swung to the left it became apparent things were turning from bad to worse – the stratified cloud we had encountered over the estuary had been steadily filling in and climbing behind us, and to return would involve a steady let down through it, with a 40kt cross wind component. We did not of course have a GPS. Lyn was already on the same wavelength, and echoing my thoughts, remarked that it looked like we would have to use Haverigg, - it was about this time that Haverigg disappeared from view.

I briefly cursed my stupidity at getting us into this situation, but self-recrimination was not going to prevent the very real possibility of becoming another BGA statistic – what was needed was a plan.

We were not losing height, but without a GPS and no ground reference, the immediate priority was to point into wind to avoid being pushed back over the Combe, as I had no wish to repeat Cec’s adventure and land on it. I started to turn into wind and gather my thoughts. The options were becoming fairly limited, and amounted to either a full brake let down through the cloud to where I thought Haverigg might be, or push back toward the Barrow peninsula.

The cloud mass beneath was clearly rising to meet us, and I had lost a reasonable horizon reference, so I switched on the turn & slip, and managed a couple of wafts to prove that (thankfully) it was responding. It was then I noticed with horror that the compass bezel wasn’t moving; it was seized solid – I have to say at this point, realisation was gradually dawning that that this was definitely not going to be my finest hour !

I took a couple of deep breaths and asked Lyn to give me her compass heading (in as calm a voice as I could muster), only to hear "about 120degrees". I think I said something like " No, give me our ACTUAL compass heading – that is not the result I want to hear!". Sure enough she replied with a confirmation of this heading, which prompted a request to shout her compass headings, while I turned West to gain a little thinking time; by allowing the glider to drift left we had ended up tracking rapidly South East, which discouraged me from the Haverigg option. We were of course completely enveloped in cloud at this point, so the first priority was to ensure that we stayed trimmed straight and level, (the right way up) so I occupied some time just scanning T&S-ASI-Yaw String over & over. Lyn kept up the heading calls, but unnerved me slightly by asking if I was sure the T&S was working; a second check confirmed that mine at least appeared to be functioning normally, although I found myself having to occasionally correct for the ‘leans’ (a tendency to want to turn in one direction during instrument flying). A call came in from Walney asking for our status, but I had to reply that (truly) I was too busy to talk.

I decided that the best strategy was to continue to drift South East, the idea being to maximise our chance of breaking cloud over terra-firma rather than water; Lyn was convinced we would end up in the drink, but my mental model had us ending up somewhere near Askam; my only hope was that we would break cloud with sufficient height to allow us to identify a reasonable landing area.

Lyn continued to call the headings, while I attempted to maintain approximately 230degrees – I didn’t say a great deal to her at this point because the old workload was preventing me from relaxing enough - we continued sinking through the cloud for what seemed like an eternity (but must only have been about 6 or 7 minutes). Every now and again, the vario. had a habit of flicking off scale at max sink, for some obscure reason – fortunately the altimeter didn’t verify this. I can’t say that I am particularly happy flying in cloud, but I took some comfort from the fact that I was fortunate enough to have recent experience ‘under the hood’ during PPL training – even so the atmosphere in the cockpit was getting more tense as the altimeter slowly wound off. I pondered briefly on the implications of losing the clubs flagship, and the chairman’s’ wife – literally, in one fell swoop!

D70 finally broke cloud at about 1350 feet, and we both shouted in relief as we attempted to determine our position – after experiencing some initial disorientation, Lyn identified Dunnerholme rocks, which meant nothing to me, until I finally saw Askam Pier sticking out of her right ear, as I peered over her shoulder. We both began looking for likely fields, and there were one or two possibles - I pushed back against the wind towards Askam as the fields there looked larger, but on closer inspection they were completely waterlogged. I made a radio call back to Walney to give our status, and that we were going to land out. Lyn went into what I call her ‘coaching’ mode, thinking aloud her field selection criteria, and reminding me when we were at 1100 feet that I should make a decision. She was right of course, and fed up of shambling over the ground at about 20kts, I chucked the glider on her ear to return from whence we had come.

The sands near Dunnerholme looked drier than most of the fields, and I initially contemplated a beach landing, but Lyn quickly spotted a field in our 2 o’clock that looked promising – it was long, into wind, no significant slope, even texture, no animals – the downside was that the undershoot was a small village (Kirkby), and the overshoot had transmission lines strung across it – sod it, this would do nicely. I was too close in, so laid off it to the left a bit, and instantly regretted it as the target disappeared from view under the wing. Lyn said ‘Where are you going?’ (I really do believe she thought I wanted to land in the sea!)

We were fair travelling now, with the tailwind giving us 80kts over the ground, so a brisk turn to the right brought us crabbing in on an extended right base leg towards the field (once I had re-acquired it). Now we were committed I almost started to enjoy this bit, but the fat lady hadn’t started to sing just yet, and much concentration was still appropriate; Lyn still coaching - ‘right, use a bit of brake now and we will get in’ – I started to grin (at least she was thinking coherently, and hadn’t lost it) – We were going 10kts too slow for the wind, so I shoved the nose down a bit to gather momentum before applying an ‘armful’ of brake right over the village, to achieve as steep a glide into the field as possible. We swooped in low over the downwind telegraph wires, rounded out, and landed softly about 100yds into the field. To say we were relieved to get down in one piece was something of an understatement. Lyn just shouted ‘Wow, that was fantastic – but I wouldn’t want to do it again!’......... Quite!

I tried the radio, and just about got a message through to Dick Redhead that we were down safely, and gave our position. We got out and looked around – yes it was a great field, and would be a doddle of a retrieve. Already a swarm of local youth were trooping towards us, and would soon tell us just where that gate is .................(!)

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, it is self evident that there are a number of issues that come to light from the above saga, that could (& should?) be debated with your friendly instructing brotherhood when the opportunity arises.

… And Then The Retrieve

Sunday 13^th December was a busy day for me and the weather being unsettled I assumed that there would be no flying. Apart from an area towards the coast and Black Combe which had remained fairly clear, cloud had been coming and going all day. About 3.30p.m. I was driving through Kirkby on my way home when I saw Lyn Martindale out for a walk, confirming my belief that there was no flying. By this time there was 8/8 cover and it had started to rain. I turned the car around to say Hello to Lyn and ask where she had been walking and to my total amazement she told me that Roger and herself had landed in a field in the K21. My immediate response was ‘Which field?!!!!!’ as knowing Kirkby I was astounded at the direction she was pointing to. The field she was indicating was in the middle of the village with houses on two sides, HT pylons on a third and LT cables on what would have been the approach. I have to say I was impressed at any landing in that area and after hearing about their experience understood totally why Lyn was ‘giving up gliding and sticking to climbing!’.

Lyn informed me that the retrieve crew were on their way so I drove her to the other side of Soutergate where we could await their arrival and lead them to the field. I knew that the entrance to the field was from the Soutergate side and also that access was through other fields and across the ‘beck’. The beck is normally a small stream but because of recent rain it had become somewhat of a flood thus preventing any chance of access to the field with a glider trailer.

The only other option was to try and get to the glider from the village, however, this would mean taking the glider to pieces and manhandling it across a metre high fence. Unfortunately this looked like the only option, so Graham Welch and I set about dismantling the fence so that we could get the glider out of the field. By this time it was absolutely pouring with rain and the wind had significantly increased.

The access to the field from the village was through the church car park and being a Sunday a service was taking place. Saint Cuthberts church in Kirkby must be one of the few that does not have problems finding a congregation as the car park was overflowing. This meant that the trailer had to be parked on the main road but first had to be turned round to face the right direction. As the road in Kirkby is narrow anyway and with churchgoers cars parked in every available space this proved to be a feat in itself causing traffic chaos in the village.

The fence was now dismantled enough to allow us to get the glider across into the church field where the various pieces could be carried up to the car park and packed into the trailer. We now had enough people to carry the parts over the fence so bit by bit the K21 was ferried to the trailer and packed away. Just at this point mayhem ensued once again as the church service finished and for the next twenty minutes or so the car park and village turned into the M6. Needless to say the trailer caused all sorts of traffic problems which wasn’t helped by the ineptitude of the local drivers!

The retrieve was completed by the reconstruction of the fence leaving everyone very, very wet, dying for a drink and in desperate need of dry clothes. Apparently Roger also needed the scar from his operation restitching!

I have been quizzed now by a few astounded locals who couldn’t believe what they had seen. I have yet to see a report in the Parish Magazine but I’m looking out for it.

Needless to say, the next time I see Lyn out for a walk I won’t stop to say Hello!

Think on these things

1. A man is a person who, if a woman says "leave it, I’ll do it myself", lets her.

2. A woman is a person who, if she says "leave it, I’ll do it myself", and if the man lets her, gets mad.

3. A man is a person who, if the woman says "leave it, I’ll do it myself", and if he lets her, and she gets mad, says "What are you so mad about?"

4. A woman is a person who, if she says "leave it, I’ll do it myself", and the man lets her, and she gets mad, and the man says "What are you so mad about?" says "you know".

Social

The Christmas Party was successful in so far as we made a profit, I hope people enjoyed it. Thanks to Alan for running the bar, he made an excellent job as always. Ian and Angela were a good help as well also, providing the chicken drumsticks which were finished off the next day after a dark, late, wet retrieve (read Rogers article). Thanks to Jackie and Gordon for cleaning and decorating the clubhouse.

The next event will be on Saturday 27th February when we will have a Cheese and Wine evening. Of course there will be a bit more than that, with some sort of starter and a dessert thrown in as well. The cost will be �5 a head, tickets available soon.

For a number of reasons we have decided to move the Annual Dinner next year from the Grange Hotel to the Coot Restaurant at Urswick. It will be a week earlier than usual, on Saturday the 6^th of November, please make a note in your diary. The Derby Arms (01229 586348) across the road from the Coot do B&B at a much more reasonable rate than the Grange! A bit nearer the time we can arrange a mini bus or Taxis as needed.

The Morecambe and Shropshire mobs will have secured the beds at our house in Gleaston, however anyone is welcome to use settees or floor space.

Now some dates for your new diaries, there should be enough warning here for everyone to arrange holidays, time-off and shifts etc. Don't say we didn't tell you!

Hus Bos: Saturday 29^th May To Sunday 6^th June. (Contact them ASAP to book accommodation)

The Good Life

The weather last year was utterly rubbish, every where we went to try and go gliding it was no good. We were so disillusioned that we went to Spain climbing in November, which I have to say was a lot less stressful than Gliding! It was whilst belaying John that I started to reflect on Life, the Universe and Everything and to think about all the fun, yet hard work, I had when I kept many different animals. I spent hours the other evening putting it down on paper intending to give it to Alan. John looked at it and said "You can't put that in the newsletter!" So sadly you will not get to know for example how when we had bought a derelict farm I decided to buy some animals. We had 40 calves of another farmers in the sheds as we had agreed he could rent them. The place just seemed empty without animals.

The first purchase were two weaners - eight week old pigs to you lot. I had an Audi Coup� at the time so lined the boot to keep it clean. However I hadn't realised pigs could shit upside down! It took three weeks to get rid of the smell! Months later when both pigs weighed twenty stone one was really ill and I had to call out the vet. He was really nervous because they never usually get called out to pigs. After convincing him she was a pet, he checked her over, gave her an injection of antibiotics and left saying he would return the next day. That night I read my animal husbandry books. We both said the next day - "erysipelas". Yes, we had read the same book. The pig survived but did lose an ear! She then became known as Vincent. The first time Perky came in season we had an awful time getting her into the trailer. Having spent ages chasing her around the paddock she ended up falling into the beck. You try pushing a twenty stone pig! When I did get her to the boar I was gobsmacked to see his tool - a corkscrew! I had no idea that was where the expression "screwing" came from. 3 Months, 3 Weeks and 3 days later she went into labour, sows always give birth on time. I went to check on her only to lock myself in the style with a very irate, restless pig. In a claustrophobic panic I ended up kicking the door open. She eventually produced fourteen piglets. A favourite party trick was to give my pigs peppers with the pips in, as they would spit the pips out.

Another amusing time was when I took my Anglo Nubian goat to a Billy in Bouth. He was only young and too small to reach to do the business. We had to stand him on hay bales where he managed the job only to fall off and do a spectacular summersault.

Other stories you will miss are the time Graham the vet went to a farm in Dalton to inject a huge Billy called Glen. The vet had finished, was at the other end of the building, had taken off his overalls when the Billy took aim and fired. He peed all over him. As you might know, their urine stinks. The farmer said "aye, he's a good shot is our glen".

I did have 120 geese once. Once I eventually got rid of most of the goats we didn't use the electric fence anymore which kept the foxes at bay which would kill them. I got another trio of Chinese Geese, John said "you might as well put a bag of rice down and make it a complete take away" - smart arse. The next day the geese had gone leaving only the gander that had flown into the next field with the Camelids (Alpacas, Llamas, Guanacos to you and me). He lived with them until they went to Windermere. I insisted that the new owners took him with them.

Our Springer Spaniel bitch was in season. John was taking her to a dog when Sarah asked to go along. She asked if Meg had met the dog before? "No" was the reply, "Will she not be shy?" Yes, you guessed it, she never did, no matter how many times we took her she just wasn't that sort of girl.

The one and only time we reared geese for Christmas we had to catch them, which was not easy. We had one left; however it flew off. We ran after it only to find it standing at the bus stop next to a little old lady.

We also had hens and ducks. The hens would incubate the ducks eggs and vice versa. Which was disastrous for the chicks as the duck would take them to the water to swim. Of course they didn't have watertight feathers so would drown. The other way round, the hens would try to teach the ducklings to scratch the ground as they do. The poor ducklings had webbed feet so had no idea what to do. Some hens laid eggs in the hayracks. When they had finished the cattle would lick their bottoms. If a duckling got lost or left behind we would have to rear them. Sarah would take charge; they would go to bed with her. They were great fun to have a bath with! They could really move fast, ducking and diving.

Well it's a pity I'm not allowed to tell you all about my amusing experiences, this is a mere fraction of what I had written. A couple of gins (not even PR sized ones!) and I could tell stories all night.

PER ARDUA AD ASTRA

During my two-year tour of duty on 19 squadron I owned three cars, an MG Magna F, an Austin 7 Opal and a Riley Kestrel. I kept the motor-cycle but had learned by experience that the female of the species did not like sitting on a loaf sized piece of sorbo rubber atop a solid frame, especially in the rain and cold. The guy with the car always got the gal! To this end I purchased an MG for the princely sum of �25 and discovered several things, the first being that women have no sense of humour. My introduction to this failing occurred soon after I (rather proudly) collected my current lady friend in my snazzy sports car with the open exhaust (i.e. it had a large hole in the silencer). She was dressed to the nines in the fashion of the day and we roared off into the countryside yelling our heads off in what was supposed to be conversation. At some stage in this journey during a lull, my partner gave a loud shriek, the decibels being sufficient to quail the stoutest heart. It seemed coincidental to my driving through a large and muddy puddle and, as I gaped in amazement to see what was wrong, I noticed frantic finger jabbing in the direction of her legs which were clad in a brand new pair of nylon stockings and at which I had been casting covert glances from time to time. The aforesaid legs were copiously splashed with chunks of mud and dirty water, which had sprayed through the holes in the floorboards. The lady was not amused and my offer to help her remove her nylons met with a stony silence. I tried to cheer her up by not driving through any more puddles but it was to no avail, my generous offer to replace the stockings was firmly rejected. Perhaps it was the grin on my face that caused the sense of humour failure, who knows? I certainly never found out.

I look back on that MG with great affection. It had awful brakes and stopping was an exercise of great anticipation. I subsequently discovered that the reason for this abysmal braking efficiency was that one set of rear brake shoes was missing, the other set were covered in oil from a leaking seal, one of the front brakes had a cable missing and the other badly needed adjusting. Nevertheless I drove for hundreds of miles without incident; even when the brakes were fixed they were not much better. Adrenaline there was a plenty on occasions, but no bumps. I had a near squeak in Morpeth on the way to Armament Practice Camp at RAF Acklington. I was having a dice with a Sunbeam Talbot 90 and decided to show him a thing or two. Foot hard to the floorboards through the gears, but despite this he stuck to me like glue, I just could not shake him off. Eventually, when I was absolutely flat out he pulled out to overtake and blew his horn as he got alongside (which I chose to ignore and just waved him on). He blew his horn again, still in line abreast and this time I looked at him. The hand gesture he made was unmistakable and has not changed over the years. It said, "pull in" and the black uniform and peaked cap backed up the gesture, as it does today. I hit the brakes so hard at the first sight of the uniform that I almost bent the pedal, but the slight delay before he got his on gave me sufficient start to make reasonable stopping distance, using "Looking for a safe place to pull in" as gainfully as I could. No road tax (in the post), front brake cable missing, loose mudguard, cutting in and out, speeding – he found the lot and my heart sank as he added more and more to the list. To my astonishment he let me off purely on the grounds of my being an RAF fighter pilot as he had "a great deal of admiration for boys like you". Can you imagine that happening today?

The line-up of squadron cars would make an impressive showing at any current classic car display. The oldest was a 1923 AC two-seater with dickey-seat, the newest, a Jowett Jupiter. There was a beautiful 1938 3.5 litre Jaguar drophead in mint condition and, in full camouflage, complete with squadron markings (blue and white chequers) and squadron badge, a 1930 London taxi which we used as transport on party nights, with a duty driver. When this vehicle first arrived it was the shabbiest, tattiest heap you have ever seen. The squadron engineering officer took one look at it and suggested that John let him have it one weekend, which he did. The Austin went into the hangar looking like a rubbish tip and came out as described earlier, absolutely transformed. Just over the driver’s cab was an American gas alarm klaxon which stuck out of the roof like a small chimney. Needless to say, this device was used to full advantage on all our outings and it made an awful noise. This was accepted with amused tolerance by the locals and it was not used in built-up areas or after 11pm. On the rear door, in small letters, was printed: "don’t laugh mother, your daughter may be inside"!

I returned from leave one day and found my alloted parking space behind the Officers’ Mess the shabbiest Hillman Minx drophead you have ever seen. The driver’s door had to be secured closed with a piece of hairy string, the hood was in sections of torn canvas each clinging to a hoop (it was always driven hood down), the seats bulged stuffing and springs, everything capable of falling off had fallen off and the tyres were bald. I mention this vehicle, which dated from about 1939, only because of who it belonged to. The proud owner of this terrible heap was none other than Rt. Hon B J Hives, the son of Lord Hives, the Chairman of Rolls Royce. My fondest memory of this car is looking out of my window in the Mess the morning after the Summer Ball, and seeing Benjy’s fianc�e, who was in a very expensive dress which clung like a surgeons glove, trying to give Benjy a push start while he sat in the driver’s seat like the Lord of the Manor. High heels not being the best of footwear for that sort of thing, my roommate and I rushed down to give her a hand. The lady in question was gorgeous, a debutante and fun. We took ages to get that car going, pushing it just a little too slowly for the engine to fire, Benjy hurling imprecations and dire threats from the front seat. We had the girl to ourselves and between the three of us there was a fair degree of harmless horseplay and laughter. Such a car would not be allowed on the road today and neither would Tony’s.

Tony had a 1928 Riley two seater with dickey. It had no floorboards and no handbrake cable. The drill when driving with Tony was either to put your trouser bottoms into your socks or wear cycle clips. The reason for this precaution was two-fold. The prop shaft and universal joint at the rear of the gearbox was next to your right leg, also, if you put your feet down, you were standing on the road. It required a bit of conscious thought by the passengers when returning from squadron parties, otherwise you just accepted getting your feet and trousers wet. Tony was driving out with Smithy one evening when they were stopped by a police constable using the simple expedient of placing his bicycle across the road and waving his torch. In those days braking efficiency was tested by the driver leaving the car with the handbrake on, the gear lever in neutral, and being despatched to the rear of the car with the law, to see if they could move it. Tony knew he stood no chance without a handbrake but nevertheless said nothing and complied with the instructions. To his astonishment the Riley didn’t budge an inch. The constable was satisfied and reorganised his roadblock for the next vehicle. Tony got back into he car in a daze, Smithy was laughing his head off. Apparently when the two stalwarts were at the back of the vehicle pushing, Smithy stood in the road and pushed against the passenger seat. He knew Tony would be putting negative effort into his efforts so it was man to man and his only fear was that the car would move backwards when the pushing stopped. It didn’t, and Tony drove off in high spirits.

Life on the squadron may appear to have been all fun and games but this was not so. When it was fun and games time we let our hair down, when it was not, we were highly professional. In my time on the squadron we won both Fighter Command trophies, the Dacre trophy for air-firing, the Duncan Trophy for poor weather and night-flying reinforcement flights. On Coronation Day in 1953, for instance, the weather was appalling with low cloud almost on the deck and heavy rain. The squadron was detached from RAF Church Fenton in Yorkshire to RAF Coltishall in Norfolk to sit at cockpit readiness from dawn to dusk. We all know what time dawn breaks in the East in June and it was a bleary eyed lot that sat in their Meteors just before dawn getting very cold and damp. Nevertheless spirits were high because of the occasion and also because the aircraft were fully armed with full ammunition for all four 20mm cannons. There were two day-fighter squadrons on this detachment and we had been briefed that we were in the frontline to defend our young Queen, that there were no other aircraft on cab rank patrols (i.e. always at least four in the air permanently on patrol) and that anything we saw was to be intercepted and engaged. I flew two sorties during the day and on one of them, one hawk-eye spotted condensation trails at considerable distance away. They turned out to be over France but it got us all keyed up for a while. To our astonishment, the all-weather/night-fighter squadrons resident at Coltishall said the weather was below their limits and they couldn’t fly. As day-fighter pilots we felt very superior.

Formation flying and instrument flying for all RAF fighter pilots had to be of a very high standard. On our squadron we took off and landed in close formation of pairs at two second intervals and the climb out to operating height was always done in close formation, often in thick cloud extending to twenty thousand feet or more. Each formation pilot relied entirely on the skill and smooth instrument flying of his leader, often in very turbulent conditions and in cloud so thick that all you could see was a wing tip and half a wing. Formation flying was an everyday occurrence and any lack of skill was immediately apparent, but for instrument flying we had to prove our abilities to the squadron IRE (Instrument Rating Examiner) in regular flying tests, during which an instrument rating card was either awarded or confirmed. There were three grades, White, Green and Master Green. Even the tolerances for the lowest grade (white) were small, for a Master Green there were none and it took some getting. The instrument rating went something like this: -

The pilot sat in the rear of the Meteor trainer, under the hood, able only to see the aircraft’s instrument panel. The safety pilot or examiner sat in the front cockpit, Lord of all he surveyed, responsible for aircraft safety and lookout and, if relevant, the examination. He taxied the aircraft out, lined it up on the runway and handed over control to the instrument pilot, who by this time had checked that all instruments were operating in the correct sense, seat and rudder pedals were adjusted, oxygen was on and delivering, and the radio and intercom were working. An instrument take-off was then made, using rudder to keep straight against the compass, airspeed indicator for the correct speed to raise the nosewheel from the runway and then take off, turn and slip to maintain balanced flight and keep the wings level (the gyros in the artificial horizon being affected at this stage by acceleration error), the vertical speed indicator to show a positive rate of climb, and the altimeter. As speed built up to climbing speed, the aircraft was pulled into the climb maintaining a steady heading initially, but then one or two turns through various degrees could be asked for. At 8,000 feet, a climbing turn to starboard to 14,000 feet, followed by one to port to 20,000 feet was requested. These had to be timed to strict limits both in terms of height and heading, maintaining the correct climbing speeds and rolling out exactly on the requested headings and at the correct height. It was a difficult co-ordination of flying ability and mental calculations, matching compass readings throughout the turns against height gain and the clock, and always keeping to the correct climbing speed. It was a relief to get to 20,000 feet and roll out on the requested heading. Not for long though. After roll out, speed was allowed to build up to a high Mach number, maintaining heading, followed by several manoeuvres at this speed and then a maximum deceleration right down to the stall. Recovery from the stall had to be made with minimum height loss after which the examiner or safety pilot would topple the artificial horizon and commence to thoroughly disorientate the pilot in the rear seat by a series of high ‘g’ and rolling manoeuvres, culminating in the aircraft pointing either skywards at an impossible angle, with the speed dropping like a stone, or downwards with the speed building up at a frightening rate. When he was satisfied that life was as difficult as could possibly be, he would say "you have control" and leave the pilot under the hood to sort out a suitable recovery on instruments and return the aircraft to straight and level flight. Once this was achieved you got no respite, the exercise was repeated several times in a number of very hairy attitudes, after which, with fuel low, you would return to base on primary instruments (no artificial horizon) for a single-engined controlled descent leading into a GCA (Ground Controlled Approach) down to minimum’s and a single-engined overshoot. It was with some relief that one-handed over aircraft control to the safety pilot for the landing. After a test like that, which took about an hour, one felt pretty wrung out.

In retrospect, I am amazed that RAF fighters of the 1950’s had no navigation aids whatsoever. The pilot relied entirely upon DR (Deduced Reckoning) and the radio. The latter was essential for accurate positioning, using the RAF radar "fix" from the controlling radio stations, which gave a service which was second to none, and for controlled descents through cloud under control of the airfield at which one intended to land. Radar, of course, was primarily used for interceptions but would respond immediately to a call across the ether requesting "Fix, Fix, Fix, Promise Blue Leader requesting fix" – Who needs navigation aids with a service like that, one might ask, and of course, the answer is obvious: a radio or headset failure presented a major problem to a pilot above cloud travelling at some six or seven miles a minute and in an aircraft with an endurance of an hour and a quarter at most. There were in-flight procedures whereby you could fly a pattern designed to alert a radar operator that you had radio failure. If you were fortunate and had the fuel, a shepherd aircraft could be scrambled to lead you down. If you were not so fortunate, you had to recourse to flying to the nearest coastline on an estimated timing and letting down over the sea. Once in contact, you turned onto a reciprocal heading to find the coast. With fuel running low, you had to be pretty sharp to pinpoint your position on coasting in, and then working out a heading to the nearest suitable airfield. A friend of mine had a lucky escape when ferrying an aircraft from an RAF station in Germany to RAF Valley in Anglesey. At a late stage en route he had radio failure. He was above 8/8 cloud at thirty-odd thousand feet and had no option to fly on to ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival), add five minutes, and to let down to a safe heading over the sea. When he broke cloud he was in a bowl, surrounded by the mountains of Snowdonia, with no other option but to climb back into cloud, recalculate his ETA, and to let down again. Alan was a lucky man, the Snowdownia range is littered with the wreckage of those who were not so lucky. It was a close call, but Alan was quite blas� about it, "after all", he said, "a miss is as good as a mile!"

The North Atlantic Oscillation

For many of the past 15 years, a recurring pressure pattern has resulted in milder than normal winters and springs in Europe. After El Ni�o, this pressure pattern is one of the most dominant modes of global climate variability, and is less poetically referred to as the North Atlantic Oscillation or NAO.

The NAO has a significant effect on European weather and in a similar manner to that of El Ni�o it can be indexed by comparing the sea-level pressure differences at two points, in this case Iceland and The Azores. An alteration of air mass occurs between the subtropical region (centred on the Azores) and the subpolar region (centred on Iceland).

The state of the NAO determines the speed and direction of the westerlies across the North Atlantic as well as temperatures on both sides of the ocean during winter and early spring. A high NAO pattern is characterised in the northeast Atlantic by a reinforcement of the westerlies that are pushed further south and hence by warmer winter temperatures than normal. The opposite effect, a low NAO pattern, is typified by a weakening of the westerlies that are moved far north from their average position, and by colder winter temperatures. Recent findings in ice cores in Greenland have revealed large decadal climate variations over the North Atlantic that can be related to the NAO. It also appears that the persistence of an exceptionally strong positive phase of the NAO seems to be the source of recent temperature anomalies and changes in atmospheric moisture transport.

Thus, the NAO is a large-scale atmospheric phenomenon analogous to that of the El Ni�o effect.

Changes in the NAO correlate with all sorts of variables around the ocean, from rainfall in the Loire to the amount of Saharan dust that ends up in the Caribbean and the richness of the fishing off Iceland. It also affects the average temperature of the whole world and has been implicated as a natural explanation for global warming.

Its long-term swings have become more pronounced over the past century. It had a significant warming effect on European winters in the early 1990’s (as any skiing pundit may well know!), and it may now be on course to cool things down for a decade or so. To find out what the NAO will do next means trying to unravel the subtle interactions between the North Atlantic’s winds and its ocean currents. As a result more and more researchers are taking to boats to try and attain as much information as possible in order to produce a computer model with very little success.

If the fluctuations of the NAO could be predicted over a period of weeks or months it would be a great help to the whole of Europe’s weather forecasts. Unfortunately the atmosphere over the North Atlantic is so chaotic that these predictions are hopelessly inaccurate. The NAO doesn’t just fluctuate over a timescale of weeks or months, it also has slower rhythms which can be measured in years or decades. Charts show over a century of long term ups and downs: a dip into the negatives in the 1940’s saw some of the coldest European winters of the century, including those that delayed Hitler’s invasion of France and defeated his assault on Moscow; a protracted dip in the 1960’s produced the decade with the consistently coldest winters in Britain since the 1880’s; and the odd, long period of very high average NAO states in the late 1980’s and early 1990’s which corresponded to particularly mild winter weather across Europe.

These long-term changes suggest that like El Ni�o, there is a more complex interaction between the ocean and the atmosphere rather than merely atmospheric chaos.

Research carried out so far comparing similar winter NAO episodes, show that the preceding autumn and following spring show no fixed pattern at all. In the warmer parts of the year the NAO appears to wander about aimlessly. However, when winter arrives the NAO tends to return to the state it was in the previous year no matter what it has done in the meantime. It appears that the ocean reminds the atmosphere what to do from year to year by the effect of circulation of large currents of ocean with anomalous surface temperatures (similar to the Gulf Stream) but moving at a much slower pace. As yet, however, there is no clear mechanism to explain how such a circulation might push the NAO one way or another and indeed there may well be an element of ‘the chicken or the egg’.

Greenhouse Connection

The NAO’s oscillations are a major talking piece in the subject of global warming. Some scientists suggest that the NAO might account for a large proportion of the ‘warming’ in the northern hemisphere. However, others maintain that the greenhouse effect may be changing the way that the NAO and other natural climate variations actually vary.

The idea is that if the greenhouse effect is going to manifest itself, it will have to do so via existing climate patterns such as the NAO. Changes in the stratosphere's winds and structures could reflect changes in the NAO's behaviour, and the high indexes in the early 1990s may be an example of just that. The eruption of Mount Pinatubo in the Philippines threw a girdle of dust around the world which cooled down the surface but heated up the tropical stratosphere. As a result, stratospheric winds, driven by the temperature difference between equator and poles, got stronger, especially those around the poles. Strong circumpolar winds in the stratosphere mean strong westerlies in the troposphere below, just like those seen in the early 1990s.

Global warming and ozone depletion also cause changes in the stratosphere--both are thought to cool it. No clear mechanism for this has been worked out yet.

Finding out will require rather better modelling of the intricacies of the NAO, the excesses of El Ni�o, and the workings of other naturally varying climate systems--and a lot more messing about in boats.

Adapted by Andy T. from ‘The Storm in the Machine’ by Ian Morton, originally published in ‘New Scientist’.

Wave Photo

This is a cracking photo I came across which graphically shows what wave is all about.

"There was a "controlled burn" of 166 acres west of Denver. The smoke from the fire got into the wave conditions, the wind is from right to left. Unlike lenticulars, which only show the top of the wave, the smoke shows the whole thing. The picture is low on aesthetics, but it does show the wave pretty well.

Photographic Competition

Over the next year there will be a Gliding Club Photographic Competition with prizes for the winners. The competition itself is meant to be a fairly light hearted affair (Lyn note). Judging will be by those present at the Christmas Social 1999 so the winning entry will have to appeal to most people not only to an individual judge. Photographs do not necessarily have to be taken from a glider but perhaps should have a slight relevance to LGC but the voters have the final say!

If there are enough entries they will be divided into categories such as aerial shots, views, people, humorous, etc. there may even be a category for the incriminating. You can enter as many photos as you want but they should be prints (colour or black and white) no larger than 7"x10".

Uncle Bug

I write to thank you most sincerely for your advice in the July issue of LGC News to be more compassionate and tolerant towards my loved ones. My sister has just recently gone on holiday to California to join a group of friends in a nudist colony. The recent reports about serious bush fires there worried me so much that I decided to send her a small fire extinguisher. Now wasn't that kind?

It is with great sadness that I report the death of my uncle, also on a visit to the United States. He managed to obtain a supply of bootleg Viagra tablets and took an overdose. He died of Rigor Mortis. Now isn't that sad?

I am so pleased you are taking my advice, but dismayed to hear of your sisters misfortune; a fire in the bush is, as you know, a serious matter, and certainly not something to be sniffed at; I’m afraid your Uncle brought about his own demise however, as he had obviously become a hardened criminal towards the end – in any case he should have known that one must always swallow these tablets quickly to prevent a stiff neck .

For some time my wife and offspring have been referring to me variously as the "old fart", "the old alcoholic" etc. Yesterday it was my turn to buy the round at the bar. In doing so I forgot half of it and bought one or two wrong drinks. When the error was pointed out, to avoid embarrassment I went back and bought the correct ones. I then drank the surplus myself. Do you think my family are correct - am I a "forgetful, alcoholic old fart"?

I have told you before about being too hard on yourself, but in the light of your letter I fear that you are becoming a little on the deaf side; your wife actually called you a "bold tart", in response to your habitual attempts to chat up the vicars wife during even-song; your dear offspring were in fact referring to your "cold heart" for not giving them the keys to your new lorry, so that they might perform useful social services in the community.

It seems more than likely that while hard waxing your glider you may have inadvertently blocked your aural passages, and a check up is in order; this may solve another little difficulty - that of lip reading peoples drink orders while blind drunk.

I am pleased that you are beginning to acknowledge the alcohol issue, which is, they say, the first step to recovery.

Act now and I am certain that the levels of blood in your gin will continue to improve day by day.

Agony Aunts have been the cause of mystery to me since my teenage years when I first read in their columns of "heavy petting". I still don’t know what it is but I do know that it can lead to "other things" and so is a bad thing. Presumably there also exists "light petting", but I do not know what this is either.

Since I started gliding I have heard a new expression whose meaning I don’t know, and that is the "split - arsed turn"; again this is a bad thing and presumably can also lead to "other things".

I would be grateful if you would explain these expressions to me so that I will know whether I’ve done either; I expect like many illicit things they are very enjoyable, in which case I may give them a try, and to hell with the "other things".

Reading between the lines, I fear your confusion possibly stems from a deprived adolescence; I am worried that your formative years spent trawling through those ‘Agony Aunt’ columns, have left their mark; there really is no substitute for beer & birds, so you should start making up for lost time without further ado.

With regard to your enquiry however - a recent article in the Rotweiller Owners Gazette suggests that heavy petting (i.e. The stroking & fondling of a large creature) is very satisfying if carried out with caution. The activity can be extremely therapeutic, but always remember to carry a couple of chocolate biscuits to use as a distraction in case things get out of control. If your beloved creature starts growling, trembling uncontrollably, foaming at the mouth, or biting too hard, the symptoms should be recognised early enough to apply rapid restraint; failure to act quickly can lead to the loss of a finger, an arm, or much worse.

Interestingly it is ‘Light’ petting that is favoured by the manageress of my local Poodle Parlour - the risks are certainly much reduced’; some would argue however that it is the risk that creates the excitement, so I can only leave you to judge for yourself.

The ‘split-arsed turn’ is a generic expression for a violently executed manoeuvre, designed to extricate an individual from an awkward situation (see heavy petting above) - this has since been adopted by the gliding fraternity to refer to a turn performed with acutely high angles of bank, and can indeed be a very pleasurable experience, provided the flight envelope satisfies the following expression:-

Failure to observe this simple rule will result in a premature contact with terra firma, a split arse (hence the expression), and the CFI will ground you indefinitely - when you leave hospital.

Additionally, the manoeuvre should not be performed on AEI flights, or you will discover that it will not be the Gliding movement that is promoted, but that of the lower bowel of your student (again, hence the expression).

I hope that I have managed to shed a little light on the situation, and in so doing, enhanced your quality of life.

A recent television programme highlighted the hooligan element very prevalent in "white van" drivers. The other weekend I was pursued round the perimeter track by - not one, but three white vans, one of which had a dog's dinner on the roof. Anxious to get away from this threat, I exceeded the airfield speed limit by a considerable margin. Needless to say, the vans stuck to me like glue and continually harassed my progress and exemplary driving skills. To my horror they parked adjacent to our operational headquarters and adopted a very menacing demeanour, the drivers shouting and gesticulating towards the sky and, in particular, Black Combe. I have to ask, - do we encourage "white van" drivers to join our club?

I too watched the TV programme to which you refer, and noted in particular the assertion that 99.8% of all white van drivers consider that their prized vehicles are in fact extensions of their sexual ego (I have changed the exact wording in the interests of propriety).

Nevertheless, I was disturbed to hear of the extreme provocation you received at the hands of these irresponsible van drivers at Walney – we all tend to think that ‘these things never happen to me’.

There has been a recent proliferation of what can only be described as ‘pensioners passion wagons’ on the site, and I am endeavouring to trace their owners (who are clearly enjoying a second childhood) to put a stop to this intimidating behaviour - road rage is an ugly thing.

In the meantime, I would implore you to heed the airfield speed limits (on the grounds of safety), and seek to elude them by cunning, stealth and manoeuvrability. I have heard whispers that photographs of a G & T may be thrown out of a car window like chaff, and can effectively distract the ring leader long enough for you to make your escape.

I shall continue to lobby the committee to purchase several sets of wheel clamps, so that they may be deployed on any such vans found parked near the bus on flying days – we will soon catch the miscreants.

I read with great interest your reply to the letter by E. Bygum (October 1998). As an aviator of almost unbelievable longevity I have a keen mental record of the phrases used in Days of "Yore" (and days of "Mine" as well.)

G Meter - An American Instrument used to count the number of superlatives employed by pilots who find themselves in unusual attitudes.

Variometer - The instrument used by the Best of the Best to measure the variable nature of an airmass as it bounces from +8 to an immediate -8 during our perfect thermalling procedures.

Orographic - A mispronunciation of the word "Horrorgraphic", meaning a display of the horror at becoming cloud-bound. (see also : solid lumps in clouds)

Full Opposite Stick (Rudder) - The opposite direction to the control movement being applied and which is obviously having no effect.

Landing - An aerobatic manoeuvre performed immediately before the end of every flight, (If you don't believe me....Fly Me!)

LS6 - An aircraft flown by "Anybody", in which he does everything. viz. Anybody can do that in an LS6. (see also Nimbus 2, LS3, Discus )

Cosim - Has one Green ball and one Red ball, each ball rising and falling in opposition to its partner and in sympathy with the increase/decrease in altitude. (not used for years)

Final Glide - The distance between the last thermal and the circuit which is used to unwind the pilots brain and to overcome the dizziness induced by long periods of circling, thus enabling a perfect landing.(see: Landing)

Thanks for those words of wisdom, it leads me nicely into the B edition of the Bugaurus…

Bugaurus – a posers guide to glider speak for punters, grockles, ab-initios, children and sick animals.

Brakes (air) – dangly bits that project occasionally from a glider wing; they come in assorted shapes & sizes, and have the effect of converting a glider into a projectile; normally closed and locked, they can be cunningly opened by instructors wishing to frighten their chosen prey (or indeed themselves – they are a peculiarly masochistic bunch).

Brakes (wheel) – clever device to prevent gliders running into things (walls, canals, etc.) during field landings.

Beer – an effervescent liquid favoured as an oral lubricant by many intrepid aviators; the purchase of this is obligatory following any form of gliding achievement, even if its only walking away from the wreckage.

Ballast – lumps of dense inanimate matter strategically positioned to enable a glider to perform properly (-see ‘instructor)

Bus – a monstrous black & yellow chequered mobile clubhouse / kitchen / met. Station / control tower / wind break / cafe / speakeasy /doss house; in summary, it is the primary containment for all gliding bums not otherwise strapped into their trusty mounts.

Barograph – a very sensitive instrument this, designed specifically to enable pilots to win the wooden spoon, by the simple expedient of omitting to place the thing in their glider, before embarking on a ‘gain of height’ attempt. The newer electronic version can also be used as a lie detector (yes, of course I went round Loudun!).

Beany Hat – a clever team building device that functions as an effective social leveller; no matter what background the wearer enjoys in the real world, this charming head apparel is guaranteed to convey the image of an outpatient from a funny farm. Other types of ridiculous headgear have been tried (e.g. Baseball hats worn backwards, balaclavas, or woolly hats with 23 on them), but frankly nothing is quite as efficient as the good old Beany – it is truly toss pot friendly.

Beat Up – a high speed, low level, aerial manoeuvre (see practice racing finish) absolutely forbidden on the airfield unless as a deliberate demonstration of a poor circuit, (usually by an instructor with a compass point in his name).

Bowser – a hollow receptacle containing Oscar Limas liquid refreshment; the astute bit here is the associated hand pump, which although being a museum piece, provides jaded tugees with a much needed upper body workout.

Bearing – dependant on context, this might be a) a mechanism distinctly lacking in the tail-wheel of the Capstan, b) the pompous manner assumed by gliding instructors when deciding whether some poor sap can go solo. Or c) a direction to be flown in (West) having been accidentally enveloped in orographic while soaring the Combe.

Gliding Records

This time it's the Women's turn to feature. There are a whole set of feminine records which mirror the general category world records and it seems there's been a fair bit of rivalry between three women at Tocumwal in Australia over the last month.

The 15m Three Turn Point Distance record is held by a Czech called Hana Zejdova who flew 767.45 km on the 13 January 1998. On the 1st of December she increased this to 780.7km in an SZD-56 and then to 818.6 km on the 11th. This was smashed a week later by a French woman, Sidonie OHLMANN, flying in a Ventus CT who took it up to 1030.78 km, also breaking the open class record at the same time previously set at 1025.10 km by Hana in January 1997.

On the 9th Hana set a record for Speed over a triangular course of 300 km at 141.11 km/h and the next day she increased her record for Free Out & Return Distance to 786.4 km from the 767.45 km she flew in January. As if this wasn't enough, she increased it again to 815.2 km on the 16th.

Meanwhile, in the Open Class on the 9th, British Pilot Pamela Hawkins set a new speed record over an out and return course of 500km at 143.56km in a Nimbus 4 T. Two days later she set a new speed record over an out an return course of 1000km at 116.8 km/h, Also taking the Free Out and Return Distance up to 1003.45 km in the process, taking the record previously set by Hana at 860.46 km back in January 1997.

On the 19th Hana set a new 15m speed record of 110.90 km/h over a Triangular Course of 750 km. Then on Christmas Eve she set a new speed record of 138.14 km/h over an Out and Return Course of 500 km.

Christmas Day saw "presents for everyone" with a new speed record for Hana of 109.61 km/h over an Out and Return Course of 1000 km taking the out and return distance record to 1044.2 km at the same time and also taking back the open class record set a fortnight earlier by Pamela and both the 15m and open class Three Turn Point Distance set by Sidonie the week before. Pamela only managed 1037.89 km that day in the Nimbus but did set a new record for Speed over a triangular course of 1000 km at 122.50 km/h and took Hana's record for Distance over a triangular course at the same time.

On January 4th, Pamela broke the existing Open class Speed over a triangular course of 500 km record set at 135.38 km/h by Hana Zejdova and Masako Ishikawa in January 1997 and took it up to 151.57 km/h.

Old Club News

Despite, or in consequence of, the fact that we were favoured with fair weather for the Easter weekend our four day meeting had rather a feeble send off. By noon, however, on Friday, members were sufficient to warrant a start being made by way of sampling the several fields at our disposal.

The first site was heavily ridged, and in consequence the take off and landing were distinctly bumpy. A change of site to a flatter field brought disaster rather than relief from the rocky passages previously indulged in for at the first attempt on it a hedge evidently made itself too conspicuous and prompted the zogler to put on rudder. The machine was duly removed from the scrub and work put in hand immediately on the reconditioning. This was effected by noon on Saturday, by which time a fresh and gusty wind ruled the day and in consequence the control of the machine was very tricky.

In all flights the machine veered to the right, the ailerons being powerless to correct this, whilst the rudder resulted in side drift. Persistence in these results led to suspension of operations for the day, and this action was commended in that it ensured that the machine was materially sound for Sunday's operations, which promised to be more effective.

Sunday came up to expectations, and in all some dozen members were able to make several flights apiece, under the captaincy of Mr J F Latham whilst the duties of instructor were very effectively performed by Mr R F Pilling, of the Surrey Club (also member and Council representative of the Furness Club), whose presence and assistance were very much appreciated.

This concluded the operations for the weekend for on Monday there was a distinct lack of brawn and wind, whilst the machine itself had to confess to shaky supports.

On Sunday, April 12, the Club machine once again took the field - unfortunately it did so in more than one sense on the second flight with the result that the for part of the skid was smashed. The wind conditions prevailing were most uncertain, as was more evident when some days later a slow motion film was shown of the operations and clearly indicated a "bumpy" state off affairs,

As a start-off the proceedings were anything but encouraging, particularly in view of the fact that the Lancaster and Morecambe Motor Club had announced their intention of paying us a visit to see our machine in flight. To ourselves the arrival off the visitors was most timely and we lacked no assistance in dismantling the machine and transporting to our field headquarters for reconditioning. One member with cycle and side car hitched on to our trailer effected a speedy and safe journey back to HQ.

The damaged skid, for such it was, was speedily removed and the spare fitted in place, and in little more than an hour’s time we were ready for the field again. This time in view of a further change in wind direction etc. a change of site was decided on, and as this was only some 100 yards away the machine was soon assembled ready for service again.

Several successful flights were carried out, the visitors supplying the bulk off the brawn for the "Sandow de lancement". Flying was then suddenly terminated by an over abrupt landing, caused by the rope failing to release, and skid no. 2 gave up. By this time the visitors were preparing to depart and accordingly they were relieved off any possibility of missing something spectacular.

Looking back over the sequence of events, as witnessed by them, it seems that perhaps the disappointing (to us) exhibition would stand them in good stead, in so far as those interested in Gliding would have realised that we gliders have our share of troubles, but that with the proper functioning of the "team Spirit" these can be made light of.

During the week our Ground Engineer, Mr W Butterfield, who has had extensive experience in aircraft construction (R100 etc.) read a paper on Motorless Flight to a meeting of Club members. Mr Butterfield very ably described the nature of air currents, their action on aerofoils, and the governing features of gliders and sailplanes, and made a point of stressing the need for "flying speed" to ensure proper functioning of the control surfaces of these machines.

The lecture was unfortunately attended by a meagre number and it is as well that the absentees should know that the lecturer had a very enthusiastic reception at Manchester on Friday April 17, when he gave a similar paper before a gathering off technical men, at which the local Gliding Clubs were well represented. The paper was in both instances suitably illustrated by diagrams etc. and effectively backed up by a display of Gliding films depictive of catapult and auto-towed flight.

With the advent of the lighter evenings the members of the Club are being asked to scour the neighbourhood for a site where certificate work can be indulged in, failing which we shall be glad to hear of neighbouring clubs, who have such a site, in anticipation of trying out our machine there. - R.C

How It Was

In the 1930's Heathrow was just a little village, the original London Airport where Amy Johnson and Neville Chamberlain did their stuff, was located a few miles away at Croydon, where I grew up.

We lived under the glide path east of the airport, where my father would point out all the new shapes in the sky in the same way that I would point out a passing Jumbo or Concord to my own son many years later. Sometimes it would be the new four engine monoplanes like the Armstrong Whitworth Ensign, or the very elegant DeHavilland Albatross, but mostly I remember the big four engine bi-planes of Imperial Airways.

The Handley Page 42, otherwise known as Hannibal, Heracles, Hengist and Horsa, and their close cousins the Short Scylla and Syrinx, which were almost identical, was the first airliner designed specifically as such, and the first to be fitted with an artificial horizon. The Hannibal was said to as steady as the rock of Gibraltar - and almost as fast.

You could almost read their names and count the rivets as they went over. Also, I remember very clearly, the three engined Junkers 52 of Lufthansa, which always seemed to fly lower than anything else, and very occasionally an airship well to the north over the Crystal Palace area, shining in the sunlight like a giant fish. There were other aircraft in the sky as well, like the Fairey Atalanta, and the Armstrong Whitworth Argosy, but I don't remember them making anywhere near the same impression as the big lumbering silvery bi-planes.

In those far off days it was the sound of a Handley Page more often than not, that disturbed the air as it passed over the rooftops, approaching from the east on the last stage of its flight from Paris, Brussels or Amsterdam, or some remote outpost of the Empire. Little did I realise at the time that subtle forces were at work, and one day I would become employed by that company, and the equally famous firm of Armstrong Whitworth.

Several pre war aeronautical events remain printed on my mind. We were taken on several occasions to the Hendon air displays, where the main event was usually a display of formation aerobatics by the latest fighters, all linked together at the wingtips by brightly coloured ribbons, or a free fall jump by the "Bird Man".

Most impressive of all was a line up on the ground of Handley Page Heyford bi-plane bombers in their dark green camouflage, enormous fixed undercarriage, and open gun turrets. Very ungainly they looked and very sinister, but they made a lasting impression. The year would be 1936 or 37, when I also had my first flight in a real aeroplane, and I can vaguely recollect being taken down to the south coast about this time to see an air race.

It was a short bus ride to the Airport, where my sister and I were taken on many occasions to the public enclosure to watch the comings and goings of famous people. It was on one of these visits that we were taken for a five shilling (25p!) circuit of the airfield in a DeHavilland Fox Moth. This was a scaled up version of a Tiger Moth which could accommodate four passengers in a small cabin between the wings. The details remain very clear even though the flight lasted only a few minutes.

The war brought an explosion of aerial activity, the skies filled with every type of aircraft, and with my carefully hoarded pocket money I would purchase those very difficult to get hold of magazines known as "The Aeroplane Spotter", "The Aeromodeller", and very occasionally "Flight" and "Aeroplane". Like most of my friends we could recognise every type of aircraft that flew over. We carved and painted wooden models of all the latest fighters and bombers, and were encouraged to enter them in competitions at school.

Croydon was no place to be during the blitz and I was evacuated within cycling distance of White Waltham aerodrome, which was then the home base of the Air Transport Auxiliary. This was an organisation of men and women civilian pilots who collected aircraft from the factories, and delivered them to the airfields where they were needed. If you stood by the boundary fence for long enough, you could see most types of aeroplane, which was what I frequently did on a Saturday afternoon. By the time I reached my early teens I was beginning to think that I might like to become a pilot one day or even an aircraft designer, and concentrated on building flying models.

Balsa wood and Japanese tissue paper were virtually unobtainable, and the substitutes were not very satisfactory. This would result in a much heavier model that flew too fast and invariably crashed in spectacular fashion. It would be repaired, rebuilt and reflown, or the bits salvaged and incorporated into the next model. I tried making a flapping wing model which was a total disaster.

With the Normandy landings and the end of the war in sight, I was brought back to Croydon to complete my education just as the flying bomb campaign got under way. Nine thousand of these missiles were launched in the months following the invasion, about a third of which reached the London area, where most of them dropped on the SE suburbs. At the peak of this campaign they were arriving every 15 minutes or so, having a highly disruptive effect on every day life. After the "All Clear" had sounded and we were back in the class room, another "Doodle Bug" as they were called, would be on its way, the siren would sound and down we would go to the air raid shelter once again. Quite naturally we exploited this effect to the full, taking twice as long to get back as it did to get down. At home we would retreat under our steel "Morrison" air raid shelter when the next missile could be heard approaching. While this was going on, and the occasional arrival of a V2 rocket, I found time to build more models which were now taking the shape of large gliders.

At school the Air Training Corps soon claimed my attention as a means of getting free flights in real aeroplanes, and also to learn about the mysteries of navigation and radar. It was a widely held belief at that time, encouraged by the Ministry of Food, that the success of our night fighters and bomber pilots was due to their superior eyesight, caused by an excessive consumption or raw carrots and vitamin C! It was not long before I was making frequent passenger flights in and out of Croydon Airport, Kenley and Biggin Hill, in Avro Ansons, Airspeed Oxfords and DeHavilland Rapides.

Further afield at what is now Silverstone racing circuit I got a couple of flights in a Wellington bomber, the wings of which flexed up and down quite noticeably in flight; and also a flight in a Mosquito at West Malling.

After the war ended I never thought very seriously of doing anything else but build aeroplanes, real ones that is. All my friends were going into banks, insurance companies and accounting, all of which I thought were incredibly dull. Only Avroe in Manchester, and Handley Page in Cricklewood, provided what my father regarded as a suitable qualification. With my typical southerner's ignorance of the north, I did not want to live in Manchester, so Handley Page it was to going to be.

The last Halifax bomber was going out of the factory on the day that I arrived, loaded in sections on a transporter, to be assembled at the company's airfield at Radlett a few miles to the north. It reminded me, looking even more sinister in the factory gloom, of the Heyford bombers that I had seen at Hendon ten years before.

Taking shape in the main factory area were the first batch of the new Hastings troop transports for the R.A.F. These aircraft, which were later used for flying coal into Berlin during the Russian blockade, used the same wings and engines as the Halifax but had a much larger circular fuselage. The centre section housed the main wing spars which were separated by a short length of fuselage, and to which the rest of the aircraft was assembled in the flight sheds at Radlett.

My very first job was to ream out the bolt holes through which the front and rear wing spars would be attached to the centre section fuselage. This involved working in the space below the floor of the fuselage, which was extremely cramped and difficult to get in and out of.

The noise in the factory was quite horrendous to the uninitiated, due to the sound of riveting guns, so I was quite unaware of the factory hooter signalling the arrival of the morning tea break as I beavered away at reaming out the bolt holes. An uncanny silence descended over the factory which had me puzzled for a while until I was spotted by a foreman, and quietly told to disappear before one of the shop stewards saw what I was doing, otherwise there would be a strike! Shortly after this I had my first and only industrial accident and was carted off to the first aid. So ended my first day as an engineering apprentice, at a starting wage of �1.30p a week.

Everything went under the floor of the aircraft and I spent a lot of time working there in the first few weeks, installing hot air ducts, control rods, hydraulic and compressed air lines, electric cables and oxygen bottles. As the spaces filled up with equipment so it became more cramped and claustrophobic, but strangely, it was not an unpopular place in which to work . It had several advantages for us apprentices, we could do our college homework without being disturbed by authority, and it was very easy to create the impression of being busy without actually doing anything!

We toured all the metal bashing departments of the company, learning the art of panel beating, pipe bending, driving capstan lathes, milling machines, fabricating small components and such like, until after a couple of years in the Cricklewood works we were sent out to the flight sheds at Radlett, which was much more to my liking.

Here, the front and rear fuselage assemblies were connected to the wing centre section, and once the undercarriage was attached, it began to look like a real aeroplane. All metal surfaces had to be coated with zinc chromate before assembly, to prevent electrolytic corrosion. This is a thick yellow treacly substance with a characteristic smell, which, together with the smell of hydraulic oil and cellulose paint make a unique combination of odours that permeated the hangar, and is instantly recognisable to anyone who has ever worked on aeroplanes.

As the aircraft is moved towards the front of the hangar, the wings and tail surfaces are added, the engines and propellers are attached, and all the pipes, cables and control rods are connected beneath the floor. A lot of radio and navigation equipment is installed in the cockpit area, the fuel tanks and a rubber dinghy are fitted into each wing and the aeroplane is to all outward appearances ready for its first flight.

The undercarriage doors never closed properly at the first attempt, so it was necessary to lower and retract the wheels endlessly, filing a little bit off each door until they fitted neatly together. Having got the doors to close correctly, the emergency manual system is checked several times over, which involved a hundred strokes on a hydraulic hand pump located in the cockpit.

The aircraft dimensions have to be measured from the nose to each wing tip, and from the wing tips to the tip of each tail surface. It has to be weighed and it's centre of gravity worked out. The movements of all the control surfaces have to be checked and adjusted. The fuel tanks are filled and the contents gauges checked in the cockpit. The fuel pumps are run and their flow rates measured with a stopwatch. Finally, the aircraft is pushed out of the hangar, it's compass is swung to measure the magnetic deviation, and the engines are run up for the first time to establish that all the aircraft systems are working correctly before it's first flight.

Going through the flight sheds at the same time were the first two production Hermes aircraft. This was the civilian version, which differed from the military Hastings in having a tricycle undercarriage and a longer pressurised fuselage. The company had never built a pressure cabin before and there was some doubt whether it would hold it's pressure when tested.

A team of apprentices were rounded up and each of us presented with a tin of soap suds and a paint brush, with instructions to paint a specified area of the fuselage and watch the rivets for the appearance of tell tale bubbles. The leaks were duly sealed and the pressure test was run again. By now the second Hermes had emerged from the hangar and was parked alongside the first. As the second pressure test got under way, all seemed to be going well when a loud bang occurred. The passenger door had blown out of the first Hermes and into the side of the second aircraft, making a new passenger entrance where none was intended.

Any one of us apprentices would have given a right arm for a flight in one of the company's aircraft, but it was not the company's policy to indulge it's future designers with such extravagance, even though it could have accommodated all of us in one aircraft. We were however, encouraged to join the firm's gliding club, as the cost of powered flying lessons on our apprentices pay was quite out of the question.

Every week end I would cycle from Croydon across London to Radlett, for a few ground slides on a Dagling primary glider. [See previous issues of LGC News - ed]

With the start of a new academic year at what is now City University, I found myself back at Cricklewood in the design office, our practical training having finished. Initially I went into the main drawing office where the new Victor bomber was beginning to take shape on paper. This project was so shrouded in secrecy that it was several weeks before I discovered what it actually looked like, as most of my work was concerned with relatively minor details. I liked the atmosphere in the drawing office but I didn't want to be a draughtsman working on a drawing board for the rest of my life, so I was quite pleased to move upstairs after a few months into the technical department.

In the weights group we were concerned, as the name implies, with working out the weight and centre of gravity of the new bomber. The weight and position of every part, down to the last nut, bolt and rivet, has to be tabulated and added up, rather like counting money, consequently the work tends to become rather tedious after a while.

The weights group was part of the stress office, where the forces acting on the aircraft structure and the strength of each component is calculated, before being tested to destruction. I spent several months becoming familiar with yet another aspect of my chosen trade, still working on relatively minor details, or doing the routine calculations for a more experienced engineer. In those days there were no electronic pocket calculators and it was all done on a slide rule or a large hand driven machine, rather like an old cash register.

Stressing and structural testing was much more interesting than "weights", but I didn't want to be a "stressman" any more than I wanted to be a draughtsman. The place where I really wanted to be was in the future projects office. This was the holy of holies, the most secret place in the company, where only the most experienced designers and engineers worked on the shape of wings to come, before even a scale model was built and tested in the wind tunnel.

But first I had to complete my apprenticeship with a spell in the company's wind tunnel, learning how to rig models upside down and unscramble the data; and finally in the aerodynamics department under Godfrey Lee, the chief aerodynamicist, who also ran the firm's gliding club.

In the '40s & '50s the art and science of aerodynamics was advancing at a tremendous pace, stimulated initially by the demands of the war with Germany, and the results of German research that had become available, and subsequently by the demands of the cold war with Russia. The combination of jet and rocket propulsion and thin swept back wings, opened up previously unexplored regions of speed and altitude which created a host of new design problems, most of which had yet to appear in any textbook. Very little of this new technology was filtering down to us apprentices from our college lecturers, but the problem had already been recognised in high places.

A new postgraduate College of Aeronautics, now part of Cranfield University, was established in 1948 on the former RAF bomber station at Cranfield in Bedfordshire. It was the first institution to specialise in all aspects of design, production, development and testing of advanced aircraft and engines. It was a fascinating place, filled with equipment recently liberated from Germany, including several supersonic wind tunnels, a complete V1, V2 and Me 163, and bits of various experimental aircraft and engines. Fifty students were accepted each year and I was one of the lucky ones, they let me in.

The principal was a man called Goddard, Air Marshal, Sir Victor, RAF(Rtd). In his younger days Sir Victor had been a driver of airships designed by Barnes Wallis in Barrow. As there were not very many of us, he thought it would be a good idea if he got to know his students, and we were all invited to lunch in small groups. About this time there was a chap called Bob Swinn, a gliding instructor in Egypt writing in "Sailplane & Gliding", who had discovered that he could detect the higher dust content in thermals over the desert by wearing rose coloured spectacles.

When my turn came for lunch with Sir Victor, as we waited for the great man's arrival, Lady Goddard plied us with sherry and expensive cigarettes in her sitting room, moving from one to the other chatting us up, until she came to me and enquired what I did in my spare time. So I explained how we flew around without an engine in rose coloured spectacles looking for bubbles of hot air. She looked me up and down quite intently, in silence, with a penetrating gaze, convinced that I had escaped from the local nut house, before moving on to the next victim without saying a word.

The college authorities, not unreasonably, needed some evidence that a learning process had taken place between one's ears, and demanded the completion of two projects, one of which had to be of an essentially practical or experimental nature. My friend Reg and I decided to collaborate in a joint investigation into the influence of the ground on the indicated altitude and airspeed. This was a problem thought to be of some importance in the take off and landing of very large aircraft, such as the Bristol Brabazon and Saunders Roe Princess, which were taking shape at Filton and on the Isle of Wight.

Unfortunately, we did not have a very large aircraft available, only the college Dove, used for teaching the principles of flight testing, which meant that we had to fly very close to the ground if there was going to be any effect worth measuring. Height above ground was determined by photographing a pattern of squares painted on the runway. We were well into our trials programme when out of curiosity, I worked out that we had only eighteen inches clearance under the propellers. Thereafter we always flew with the undercarriage down.

We did all our flying very early in the morning. On the first run down the runway, the chap who ran the college boilers was cycling across the airfield, head down, on a collision course, completely oblivious of our approach at zero altitude, until the run was aborted at the last moment and we roared overhead as the poor fellow spread himself thinly over the runway below. On another occasion, as we hedge hopped around the Bedfordshire countryside and lined up on the runway, a large horse drawn plough got in the way - and bolted.

Most of us got several offers of employment in what was then a highly fragmented aircraft industry, and six of us were invited to Short Bros. in Belfast. It was a three day trip and we were all behind schedule with our various projects, so there was very little difficulty in persuading our pilot Robbie Robinson to fly us over in the Dove. It was unusual, to say the least, for college students to arrive for an interview by private aircraft, but Shorts were not offering very good salaries that year.

So I joined the aircraft division of The English Electric Company at Warton, because they were paying an extra pound a week, and they were also building the first genuine supersonic aircraft in the country. It was a very small outfit in those days, and I found myself in the flight test group working on the prototype Lightning, WG 760, which can now be seen in the RAF museum at Hendon.

The first flight simulator was being assembled behind a glass screen. There were no digital computers, chips, integrated circuits or transistors at this time, and the simulator was based on an analogue computer about the size of a single deck bus, which contained hundreds of valves and produced a lot of heat. The "cockpit" consisted of a kitchen chair and two bits of broomstick each connected to a potentiometer, which provided the elevator and rudder inputs to the computer. There was no VDU and the output from the computer was used to drive an artificial horizon placed in front of the pilot, sitting on the kitchen chair, with one broomstick between his knees and his feet resting on the other. Later, other aircraft instruments were added, suitably modified to accept electrical outputs from the computer, to provide a more realistic cockpit display.

This strange contraption was a remarkably effective machine, which after some tuning up was able to reproduce the full scale motion of the aircraft with considerable accuracy. Before this happy state of affairs came to pass, someone, i.e. me, had to prove that the machine was producing the correct mathematical answer. The resulting long hand calculation took six weeks, to reproduce what the machine did in ten seconds of real flight time.

The flight test group consisted of three pilots and half a dozen engineers and flight observers, most of whom were working on the latest variant of the Canberra bomber. The chief test pilot was Roland Beaumont, who had gained a reputation for shooting down flying bombs, or turning them round with his wings when he ran out of ammunition, and sending them back to France. The other two pilots were Robert Stanford -Tuck and Peter Hillwood, both "Battle of Britain" pilots, but Tuck had more "kills" to his credit and was better known.

One afternoon as I wandered into the gents wash room, a furious dog fight between Tuck and Hillwood was going on with water pistols filled with ink. In and out of the cubicles, under and over the doors, up and down the partitions they clambered with considerable speed and agility, quite unaware of my presence. Before I could retreat I was caught in the cross fire and received an earful from both sides. The next morning Peter Hillwood came over to my desk, suitably apologetic, pointed to a two seater version of the Meteor which had recently appeared at Warton and asked if I would like a flight in it. At the time it was the fastest two seater in the sky.

In minutes I was strapping myself into the rear seat and we were off. What followed remains a kaleidoscopic blur of "g", zero"g", and more "g", "greying out", rotating horizons, gyrating instruments, of sunshine and cloud, of great altitude and flashing hedgerows, completely outside my previous experience, before or since, and for which I was totally unprepared. Nowadays I would have had been fitted with a "g" suit and given a full days briefing on ejection and survival procedures.

I was now earning a reasonable salary but with nothing much to spend it on, apart from a very ancient Rover of pre war vintage. With three friends we each purchased a 1/4share in our first glider which we flew at the Long Mynd. It was a Carden-Baynes Scud Mk3, one of only three that were made in 1936 and one of the first self launching gliders to be designed with a retractable power unit behind the cockpit. It cost us �160 as I recollect, complete with trailer. The power unit had been removed by a previous owner, but it had several unusual features such as self connecting control rods.

Like most pre war gliders it had a very low wing loading and a highly cambered wing section, which give it a low stalling speed, but no airbrakes. This combination of attributes made the Scud an excellent soaring machine in marginal conditions, and on a good soaring day it could be quite difficult to get it down in a hurry. With no airbrakes the only feasible technique was to perform very steep sustained sideslips. On landing it would float for ever before touching down. Some years ago it was extensively restored at Nympsfield, and can be seen occasionally at vintage glider rallies.

1957 was the year of the Suez crisis, when Russia invaded Hungary, another pay freeze and sterling crisis, and the MOD said that manned fighters and bombers were going to be replaced by guided missiles. The future for aeroplane designers looked rather bleak and several of my friends had already crossed the Atlantic where the lure of pastures new, the mighty dollar, and a north American salary proved irresistible, so I followed them.

A Cautionary Tale…

A word of warning.

I know that many of you computer people are singing the praises of Windows 98. I am not a great Windows fan and still feel that Windows 98 is an inherently temperamental platform. If you don’t believe me, check out Microsoft’s web site and see how many patches and fixes have already been released.

This week I was unfortunate enough to experience a major crash of Windows 98. I hadn’t done anything unusual or loaded any new software. I always run anti-virus software so a virus was not an issue. Running scandisk from the safety of DOS revealed that 27 directories were corrupted (including the Windows and Windows\system directory) as well as several dozen files. It was a crash that was completely irrecoverable.

I am fortunate that I have a partitioned HDD and was able to easily copy my data files from the Windows partition to another partition using DOS commands.

I have since discovered that other Win98 users have suffered the same fate, therefore, for your own peace of mind

Empennage

You might recall in the last one of these "tail-ends" I said that I’d got into the swing of knocking these things out, well I hadn’t banked on my kind employees giving me a new computer and software to do it with – imagine the headache’s I’ve had getting this far! Any way….

Big thanks as usual to all of the contributors. (See Dennis, I did use it eventually!) In case you’re wondering we’ve given Gil a break but rest assured, the final instalment in the Isle of Man Saga will be in the next newsletter – hang on in there!

I’d also like to say a big thank you for awarding me the Services Trophy at the dinner, I was very pleased. Also to the many people who congratulated me and said I deserved it afterwards. You realise this is now officially an "Award Winning" newsletter!

The competition is already on for this years trophies with the Ladder underway and some pretty impressive height gains as well. There have even been a couple of spoon candidates. Keith would like to keep the story quiet about him flying the Discus with no ASI – caused by installing the Pitot tube back to front. Modesty prevents me from mentioning my land-out last week "in a field next to the field with the three runways in it" – I will be sorely disappointed if no one betters that!

The next newsletter will be due in two months time, which means the end of February and the next newsletter deadline will be Thursday 25^th February. So, usual plea, pen to paper, finger to keyboard, or however you want to give me the material - I'll take anything, anyhow! I'm especially on the lookout for pictures and photos to use in the newsletter. Don't forget to drop Uncle Bug a line and don't forget to submit some more definitions for the Bugaurus. Letters to the editor are also very welcome.

The Advert Page:

Keith asked me to mention that he now has facilities to fill oxygen bottles, well you don’t get anything for free in this world Keith, so here’s an old photo as payback! A.D.

Contents

Annual Dinner