Part of the deal with the two ‘all but destitute’ private display outfits was that I would first hire them lock, stock, and barrels of aviation fuel for some personal self-gratification as all the paperwork was going through. The only downside was that they had to relocate to El Campo for at least two or three weeks. It was tough but somebody had to do it. Not only did this unexpected influx of much needed cash help their cash flow situation, but they also quickly twigged that if I was purchasing sixteen airworthy aircraft, then I would almost certainly be hiring sixteen type qualified pilots to fly them, and they were just about to get a head start in the hiring stakes, then Teddy started to turn into the proverbial pain in the rectal orifice. For two days I had six very keen pilots trying to get me into an F6 (obviously trying to gain Brownie points), and all he could do was send me off on ‘bumps and circuits’ in one of the T8’s. Admittedly on the last two trips I had been ‘bumping and circuiting’ with an empty seat beside me, but it was still in a two seater. He agreed with me that my logbook no longer had that brand new look about it, and I had all the necessary bits of paper to get me into a single seat jet, ‘BUT I really must take it slowly, I didn’t want to bend one of ‘his’ new aircraft now did I’. He had now used the word ‘his’ three times, the first time he had quickly apologised and corrected himself ‘sorry ‘your’ aircraft’, but the last two times he hadn’t, and as I clambered out of the cockpit everybody but Teddy could see that I was starting to get a tad pee’d off, so one very brave soul, who was later to be rewarded, and become one of my Flight Commanders, suggested to Teddy that ‘wasn’t it about time he took up a single seater’. Before Teddy could say anything I totally agreed with him and headed full steam towards a purplish apparition (with green stripes) that was parked nearby. Just because it wasn’t the right colour didn’t mean that it wasn’t a lean, mean flying machine, so after a quick walk round, waggling a few things on the way, it was time to ‘kick the tyres and light the fire’, and as I sat there firmly strapped in, I braced myself and thought ‘now comenceth a journey that I will remember for the rest of my life’ - and pressed the button – nothing.
‘It must be something to do with the heat’ a rather embarrassed soon to be ex-owner muttered. I checked all the switches (just in case it was finger trouble) and pressed the button again, and still nix, zilch, nada, nunca, nowt. I looked along the line of aircraft and thought ‘one down, three to go’ and clambered out.
Number two was a bright lemon thing with large red and blue spots all over it; I nearly gave it a miss – and quickly wished that I had. I pressed the button and the jet pipe temperature gauge needle tried to screw itself out of the instrument panel, and a quick glance in the rear view mirror showed a lance of flame streaking out of the jet pipe, and halfway across the airfield. In the nick of time I remembered that:-
(A) The ejection seat was not a zero/zero rated one (zero forward speed/ zero height).
(b) There were no cartridges in it anyway. Civilianized Hunters normally had their ejection seats de-activated, although hopefully mine wouldn’t, so I didn’t pull the handle, instead
(c) I closed the throttle and the low pressure fuel cut off valve.
‘Viola’ total silence - and not a funeral pyre in sight.
Two down, two to go, was someone trying to tell me something?
The next in line looked fairly normal, although it was covered in white on red crosses, not a good omen; it was an ex-Swiss Air force aircraft that had not yet been re-painted. Perhaps it was going to be third time lucky, but before I could do the dirty deed and press the button Teddy flounced up the ladder to ‘GIVE ME’ my last minute instructions, again.
’Climb to 2,000 feet, raising the undercarriage and flaps as you go, throttle back slightly to 7,800 RPM and do a gentle left hand circuit, then undercarriage and flaps down again, and ease the aircraft gently onto the runway’. ‘Taxi slowly back to the dispersal (remembering the brake pads situation), shut down the engine and then we will de-brief’.
I nodded benignly to him and he reluctantly got down, thinking as he went that they should really have a second seat in single seat aircraft, just to cover situations like this. Then the ladder was removed and I was on my own.
I sat there for a few moments savouring the moment (yet again) then pressed the button, and this time the Avon worked as advertised, just like a Swiss clock – only louder. Ground locks and chocks away, and I quickly taxied out to the end of the runway (sod the brake pads; I was paying for them after all), and yet again sat savouring the moment, then after a quick chat with Chalky in the tower it was on with the power, off with the brakes, and onwards and upwards, on the journey of a lifetime.
I remembered the bit about the flaps and undercarriage, and I even remembered to ease the throttle back slightly, and then I had serious lapse of memory. Varying neither right nor left I was quickly going in an upwardly direction, and upward, and upward. I quickly passed 2,000 feet, and then 5,000 feet. 10, 20, and 30,000 feet slid by effortlessly, and then finally it was the turn of 40,000 feet. Then I started to ease the nose and the throttle forward at the same time, and I was quickly hurtling back down towards terra firma at a forty degree angle. The altimeter quickly started to unwind, with the ASI (air speed indicator) heading in the opposite direction, and then suddenly the inevitable happened – BANG, I had finally gone solo through the sound barrier, and it was a fabulous feeling. As I was heading towards terra firma at Mach one I reluctantly eased the throttle back, and when it was safe to turn without ripping the wings off I did a quick 180 degree turn and headed for home, and as I requested permission to join the circuit and land, Chalky had a chuckle in his voice, ‘I heard you had a good time Boss’ but I don’t think he was looking forward too much to having Teddy as his new ‘Line Manager’.
As the Avon wound down and the ladder was clipped into place I reluctantly vacated the cockpit, and then spotted Teddy bearing down on me with a face like thunder, so I quickly turned my back on him, moved up to the nose of the aircraft and gave it a big fat kiss, and in a voice loud enough for him to hear I said ‘thanks for a wonderful ride baby; you were worth every one of MY pennies. YOU certainly won’t be going back to Blighty just yet’, then I turned defiantly to face Teddy.
Swallowing hard he forced a smile on his face and asked if I had enjoyed my first flight in a Mark 6 (actually it was a Mk 58 export variant but who was arguing).
‘Yes it was exhilarating’ I said. ‘I think I might just go up again later’.
If I’d had super vision I would have seen Chalky rolling around in his Control Tower, binoculars dangling from their neck strap, tears streaming down his cheeks and howling with laughter, perhaps he wouldn’t be putting in his notice just yet.
Over the next few weeks a steady stream of aircraft started to arrive in Dorset and HHR entered into the spirit of the things with gusto, I even approved overtime and a limited night shift. I was going to keep the Swiss single seat Mk 58 and the T7 that I hadn’t grown to hate, as play things until some modified ones turned up, but Teddy fortunately changed my mind, I kept them all. The two unserviceable aircraft had had relatively minor problems, which hopefully would never re-occur after the re-fits, and I also diverted a further two flyable F6’s from Dorset, which meant that I had half my aircraft at El Campo, unmodified, why? Well first off you cannot have hangars full of aircraft (Teddy had purloined X and Y hangars over the other side of the golf course), without crew rooms full of pilots and maintainers to go with them. Not unless all you want them to do was sit and gather dust, so a Team Leader and four Flight Commanders were the first positions up for grabs, and as word had finally got out about a new display team that was about to be formed, I was starting to get sacks full of unsolicited mail, usually including a current C.V. and a copy of a flying log, especially after Teddy made a few surreptitious phone calls.
Paul had once told me that Councils had to advertise and hold interviews for staff positions that became vacant, even if they had
already decided to promote the person that was ‘temporarily’ filling the post. ‘Bureaucracy’ and ‘political correctness’, meet ‘union might’. Now please meet P.I. man – political incorrectness man, we scoured the C.V.s and placed each of them in one of three piles.
(1) Possible leaders, for us to deliberate over.
(2) Possible team members, for them to deliberate over, and a
(3) Not a hope in hells chance of anyone deliberating over them pile.
Although I did like the one from a young man who had nearly four hours solo, and once saw a Hunter at an air show.
What I hadn’t realised was that pilots the world over, especially aerobatic pilots, were very skilled and well educated people, and usually had egos twice the size of a jumbo jet, they were certainly not backwards in coming forwards, so in pile (1) we surprisingly ended up with not only eight ex Red Arrows pilots but also three each that had flown with the Spanish and Portuguese national teams, two French ex team members, five Americans from various teams ‘over there’, four civilian team members, and a rather pretty looking young Russian girl. Teddy had taken one look at her enclosed photograph and placed her details straight onto pile (1), not checking the C.V., not consulting me, it was straight on the pile; perhaps the gentleman preferred blondes, I would have to have a serious word with him later. It would have been a waste of time and energy to advertise so Teddy contacted each of the twenty-six by phone, explained what we intended to do, and as this was now looking to be a serious enterprise he needed them to commit two weeks to learning to fly the Hunter, and then perform a fairly complicated formation display with the other applicants, perfect and perform a solo display, plus have stringent medicals and a lengthy interview that included a fifteen minute presentation on how they would lead the new team. All twenty-six instantly said they would be at El Campo in three weeks’ time, but only seventeen required the offered first class airline tickets, the rest would be flying in, in their own aircraft – at this rate my home would soon start to look like an airfield!!!
How do you keep eight aging Hunters in the air? I don’t know, but I now know a man that does. ‘Topsy’ Turner came with three of the Hunters, not the more garishly painted ones, the other ones. He was a Fleet Air Arm Chief Air Fitter (Airframes and Engines), later to be changed by those upstairs to Chief Air Engineering Mechanic (Mechanical) - he never did like that. God, or rather his Captain had turned him from a Leading Air Mechanic into a Petty Officer Air Fitter many years earlier, and only God would change him back. Even on his discharge papers, when he was finally put out to pasture had he put in the rank/rating box - CAF(A/E). Topsy, his nickname had nothing to do with the fact that he was as bald as a coot, took his nice little pension (thank you very much) and went to work for Airworks Ltd, doing the same job but for more money and no uniform. Then his wife took ill and he became a full time ‘carer’, although when his daughter was able to lend a hand he also became a volunteer part time mechanic for a private Hunter display team at his local airport, ‘just to keep his hand in’. When his wife finally succumbed to the tumour, his heart was not into going back to work for Airworks, and the display team could only offer him little more than expenses, but that was enough, he had his pension, a very generous insurance pay out, and a tidy bit left in the bank after he sold their his four bed roomed house and bought a small flat, not only was the house too large for one, but it also had too many memories in it. He quickly became an indispensable part of the team as they appreciated a first rate mechanic, and it was Topsy who had quickly sorted out the other team’s ‘duff’ (polite word for ‘knackered’) aircraft out, he changed the plugs or something, and was starting to enjoy the ‘bronzie, bronzie’ weather (sunbathing weather to the uninitiated) at El Campo. One cloudy day, when he couldn’t work on his tan he asked me if there was any chance of him having a ‘jolly’ in a T8. ‘No problem ‘Topsy’, just bring your own bag’, and so whilst trying to make him sick, we had a ‘little chat’, one thing lead to another and I made one of my on-the-spot decisions (or should that be ‘in-the-air’ decisions), would he like to become my Crew Chief? He willingly accepted, and from that moment on everything was to be done ‘ship shape and Bristol fashion’, and nautical terminology became mandatory. It’s a good job that I already know my port from my starboard.
Topsy quickly got things organised (sorted), aircraft (cabs) of all shapes and sizes suddenly started to deliver contract mechanics, equipment, stores, and all the other necessary bits and pieces that were essential to keep sixteen vintage aircraft in the air, and the top floor of ‘Mi Casa’, the name that I had finally come up with for my new home, quickly came into use as temporary accommodation, Marcus (he had sort of come with the Airfield) was having a whale of a time. One morning I was even woken at the crack of noon by a Hercules going into reverse as it backed up to X-ray (X) hangar to deliver, among other things three Massey Ferguson tractors. They’d had special road tyres fitted as they were going to be used for towing the aircraft and the heavier bits of ground equipment around the place, not ploughing fields. The hangar floors, sorry decks, were scrubbed, and scrubbed, and scrubbed again, then when they were to Topsy’s liking white lines were meticulously painted on them to denote individual aircraft bays, ground equipment bays, fire point accesses, and a wide ‘clear way’ for when the aircraft were being towed in and out, as unfortunately Hunters don’t have the luxury of folding wings, not even the Navalised ones. Offices and workshops were equipped, and he even had a top of the range lathe installed for when a tiffy (spit) (ask a sailor if you want to know why) arrived, but his most important task of all was to get the ground crew crew-room up and running, with its coffee boat, sarnie making area (galley), and a made to measure ‘uckers’ board (made by his own fair hands). What may you ask is an ‘uckers’ board, well it looks just like standard ludo board, only it’s about three feet square and built like a brick outhouse. The pieces are created by decimating a perfectly serviceable wooden broom handle, and must be capable of withstanding being flung across the room and/or slammed down on the table at regular intervals – usually every few minutes. Two oversized dice are used and when the intricacies of ‘suck backs’, ‘blow backs’ and ‘mixy blobs’ were mastered it quickly became the game of choice of every well deserving psychopath. I quickly grew to love – or hate it, depending if I was winning or losing, and Topsy and I soon became a formidable ‘mixed doubles’ (?) team.
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