Chapter 16
As I eased the G450 up to its cruising altitude Teddy was sound asleep in my swivel rocker. He had hitched a lift, but left the driving to me as he required his beauty sleep before he took on HHA. Bad news Teddy boy I thought, it would take at least three circumnavigations of the planet to make any significant improvement in your looks, anyway the co-pilots seat was already occupied by Sam.
----------------------
Sam wasn’t even certified to fly a kite, never mind a corporate jet, (but fortunately I now was - the G450 - not a kite), but was superbly qualified to operate a steam iron. Mrs Blake (my Housekeeper) detailed Nigel (my major-domo) (AKA Butler) (her husband) to find me a suitable Valet. Not your common or garden variety, but the very best; I think it would have been easier to have found out the origin of the universe, but in the end it wasn’t the horrendously long job description, or the taking up of the references, or the police checks that whittled the short list down, it was the dunker. Three highly qualified valets actually turned up at Royal Naval Air Station Yeovilton, in Somerset at the designated time, but one look at what the Royal Navy’s Underwater Escape Training Unit was going to do to them and two disappeared – never to be seen again. One of the clauses in the job description was that they must be prepared to accompany me when I was away from El Campo, not an unreasonable request, until it was explained to them that occasionally they would be occupying the second seat in a Hunter Mk7D - so they would have to complete all the relevant safety courses, including underwater escape training and (just to sort out the men from the boys) a parachute jump or two. As I now had an abundance of drop tanks John and Topsy had modified a few. All the internal gubbins were removed, quick release hatches were installed and some were fitted out internally to carry spares and equipment, and others became wardrobes. Range permitting I could have a couple of these fitted, have all mine and my flying Valet’s bits and bobs stuffed inside them and we would be self-sufficient for a weekend or so away.
With a name like Sam you would expect to meet a swarthy barrel chested northerner, but Sam (call her Samantha on pain of death – or worse) was of average size, average build, had average mousy hair, and was almost invisible. Even when she was sat opposite me at her first interview I had to look twice to see her, but this was just one of her many talents. She seemed totally innocuous and unimposing but somehow everything around her got done to perfection, she had contingency plans for every conceivable eventuality, and could second guess a loose button at a thousand paces. When her application form had first arrived on my desk it gave me a little chuckle, I wanted a valet not a ladies maid, but unfortunately I couldn’t just throw it out on ‘gender’ alone – equal opportunities and all that, so I expected ‘natural wastage’ to take its toll as we went through the selection process, and then there was one. She loved the dunker, it has two huge specially designed mock-up’s of aircraft interiors, the smaller lynx, and the larger SeaKing/Merlin helicopters passenger cabin, which were slung into a large pool, realistically simulating an aircraft ditching in water and then rolling over. Its primary purpose was to train up military aviators and their ‘frequent flyers’, but it also ‘did’ a few civvies as well. She did both of the modules half a dozen times, with the lights on and off, and then three days later she was Geronimo’ing out of the side of an aircraft at five thousand feet. She shrugged off the survival at sea course, happily bobbing around in a life raft in the pouring rain, but her most absolute favouritest one of all was jumping off the back of a speeding launch, clambering into a one man (or woman) dinghy and then being winched up into a helicopter, three times, shamelessly used my name to get her own way; this was no mild mannered mouse. She finally started valeting for me just after Sasha burst onto the scene (or was it onto the toilet), and initially I had misgivings about her name, I seemed to have an in-built thing about the Initial S, but when I showed her into Maria’s office that first time it was love at first sight – Marcus was cadging a coffee from his soul mate and all the rumours about his persuasion were immediately dispelled.
To function correctly it is imperative that a large household has to have a clearly defined structure to allow for its smooth operation, or so the books say, but within days, despite what it said in their job descriptions she took Mrs Blake and Nigel ‘below stairs’ to iron out a few small inconsistencies that were starting to arise. In no uncertain terms she explained that where I was concerned I was solely her responsibility – totally and utterly. Any disagreement and I thing she would have taken them ‘behind the bike shed’ to sort out the small print, although Sasha didn’t seem to take to her. I don’t think that she ever really believed that a few days after she had been discharged from hospital I had genuinely inadvertently exited the shower straight into Sam, who was stacking a supply of warmed clean towels for us (I believe in water conservation and always ‘shower with a friend’ whenever possible), and to save my embarrassment she brushed aside my apologies and said ‘I doubt if it will be the last time’, then with a wry grimace she glanced down and continued ‘perhaps it could be considered a perk of the job’.
As I always finish off my showers with a blast of cold water, it wasn’t going to be a very big perk.
---------------
‘But why hadn’t I use a Mk7D two seater for this trip?’, I hear you say, well I was going to be longer than just a weekend in England, so I would be needing more than a few changes of shreddies so the King Air wasn’t primarily Fred’s transportation, it was Sam’s (and my underwear); another perk of her job, and another small but important point to bear in mind was that if we had actually tried to cover that distance with two wardrobes slung beneath the wings we would have gotten about half way across the Bay of Biscay before we ran out of fuel, and started doing dinghy practice for real. Fred and her team hadn’t just thumbed a lift though; they would have continued on to Eastleigh to look after Lady S whilst she was parked there, oh what a hard life my poor overworked staff have, slumming it in a 4 star hotel over Christmas.
When we touched down at Eastleigh, apart from the more than usual paparazzi, Alice was there to greet me, complete with a wheel chair; perhaps I had slightly exaggerated my landing the previous day. Pilots the World over will tell you that if you can walk (or in my case, be carried by Fred) away from the aircraft, it is a landing, if not it’s a crash.
She meticulously checked me over, and after counting all my extremities finally let me walk to their limo, but I had noticed one thing quite quickly, either the Hampshire air was agreeing with her, or I was going to have to watch another nanny changing nappies; euwwwwww.
Alice and Gerry’s ‘little cottage’ was situated in the beautiful and tranquil New Forest. It was in the National Park just outside Fordingbridge and was perfectly situated for us to visit all the rural attractions - from the heavy horses to the owl sanctuary, although I must stop jumping to conclusions, Sandy Balls is a leisure resort and caravan site – not a nudist beach.
Although the primary purpose for my visit was to spend quality time with Alice and Gerry, I just happened to have a small thing that I had to do whilst I was in Hampshire. I had been invited to become a member of the RYS, the Royal Yacht Squadron, but unfortunately it wasn’t based in the New Forest, it was based at Cowes on the Isle of Wight, so I’d had Carol bring the Lady S (the floating on) to Southampton to take me over there. Do you have any idea how much it costs to cross the Solent by ferry these days? I must have saved myself an absolute fortune.
The RYS was founded in London in 1815 by forty two gentlemen that were interested in sea yachting (ocean going yachting), and had yachts no smaller than 10 Tons, but nowadays this was interpreted as a gentleman ‘actively interested in yachting’, which I was - and the Lady S qualified as she was seven thousand(ish) tonnes, and one of the perks of membership was that the Lady S would from then on fly the White Ensign of the Royal Navy instead of the Red Ensign (red duster) which was flown by the majority of UK registered vessels, although she would have to undergo a name
change; from then on she would be known as the ‘RYS Lady S’.
Carol collected me, along with Alice, Robin, their associated families and a ‘few’ special guests at Southampton and transported me sedately over the Solent to Cowes, although she could have chosen a better day to hang out the washing, the Lady S was dripping with bunting (flags), she was ‘dressed overall’, and as we dropped anchor adjacent to the Pavilion my crew were lining the decks, and I must admit that it did bring a lump to my throat, then it was time for Bob the Bosun to meet me at the bottom of the boarding ladder with the Aquarama (how on earth did they manage to get in on the act?) and transport me stylishly to the Pavilion, this was the ultra-modern shore side facility for members of the club. I was met by members of the Committee (a veritable who’s who of the yachting world) and escorted up to the Castle, but fortunately I was not going to be thrown into its dungeons, I was going to meet the Admiral; who just happened to be the daddy of HRH. If he asked me for a freebee weekend at El Campo for him and his missus I was going to turn round and walk straight back out. He welcomed me to the club and formally invited me to become a member, which of course I accepted – it would have been a total waste of everybody’s time if I had refused, and then after signing the register it was obviously ‘over the yard arm’ time somewhere in the world, as it was drinkypoo’s all round, along with some nibbly things; whatever happened to cucumber sarnies?, after of course first looking out of the window at the RYS Lady S, now resplendent in her gleaming new White Ensign.
The reception following the ceremony was anything but relaxing, apart from all the demented photographers snapping away I had a veritable queue of scroungers trying to take me to one side, from the Commodore wanting to borrow the Lady S for the next America’s Cup, to the Admirals offspring (HRH) pleading to use her (I hate to see grown men grovel) on his next Royal Visit. Someone even wanted to use her as the starting line at Cowes Week, but only as long as her saluting cannons worked. I wasn’t absolutely sure about that, but she sure had one hell of a mean horn, and when they finally ran out of sticky buns it was time to move back on board Lady S for a formal dinner, although I must admit that I did take a quick peek out of the corner of my eye as I stepped on board, at the starboard spreader on the main mast, and watched my new burgee rise up its lanyard for the first time.
As RYS Lady S carved her way majestically out of the Solent the next day, White Ensign flapping proudly from her stern (I was taking the family around the Island on a day trip) a Royal Navy Minesweeper passed close by us, and spotting our ensign the Captain unbidden called her crew to attention and dipped her ensign in salute.
As Carol returned the courtesy I nodded over the intervening water to the Captain and thought ‘size is important’.
~~~~