LGC NEWS
April 1998
LGC NEWS |
April 1998 |
We had some good soaring days in March with people going cross-country. John Martindale flew to Chipping on Easter Saturday where Bob Pettifer presented him with the picture. Sunday was thermic and lots of gliders were aloft however snow storms and squalls appeared so most gliders were put away. The Monday was also good. Roger Copley flew 110km via Tebay to Chipping. As John had already claimed the picture, Roger, not to be outdone, took another. I also flew 110km to Sedburgh and back (well it would have been if you'd gone round the TP…. Al). Rod Murfitt did 114km around Grasmere and Farleton. All three of us got to 7000 feet or so. Peter Redshaw got to 9000 feet, he climbed up through cloud and got into wave. John Burdett went to Kendal only to get rained upon so he went home.
Colin Williams went solo on Saturday; Phil Storer has his silver height as well as another hour for his bronze. Peter Seddon has his two hours and Keith Whitworth did his nav in the Falke with Peter Lewis for their cross-country endorsements. Linda flew the K6 for the first time on Saturday. So well done guys.
There is a lot of hot competition going on to score points on the ladder. With the good soaring conditions of late, Alan has been busy updating it. So keep it up - the glider I mean.
Last weekend John Martindale set off and got to Lindale before turned back. Back near the site he met Graham Welch and they both set off again. John was heard to say that the thermals looked good to the east. Five minutes later he landed in a field near home, graham only just managed to get back to Walney.
This was not the first time Graham just managed to scrape back. A couple of weeks ago there was wave over the Combe. John and I were heading back to Walney having left Roger and Alan Meadows under a huge black cloud as it started to rain. The K6 had just been rigged flying for its first flight with our intrepid Graham. He got caught in the rain, we looked down from 4,000 feet to see the K6 apparently skimming the waves, actually he was about 800ft across the estuary. I held my breath as I expected him to land on the beach, next I thought it has to be the fields at the north end of the island then he managed to land on runway 12. As it was raining no one went to get him for ages. With all the good flying recently it just goes to show how well people would do from our club if we had good conditions regularly.
Have Fun and J.F.D.I.
Cheers, Lyn
David North Presenting Colin with his wings after going solo
As from the first of April this year we are trying a new accounting system at the club.
Most of the clubs finances will be computerised which will take a great deal of weight off the shoulders of are treasurer. In the long term it should save us money on accountant fees and such like.
This year, all LGC members or I should say all members that have paid their fees, will have an account where a statement can be issued the following day of asking. The charges will be taken directly off the flight sheets so if they are right, so will be your bill. Well in theory anyway.
We would ask members if possible not to go in the red as this would not help the clubs finances but money up front would.
For the members who prefer to pay at the end of the day there is no problem and a record will still be kept of all flights.
At the end of the year or when figures are required we will be able to produce the time the tug and all the separate gliders have flown along with other useful information helping the committee to decide long term what is required and what is not.
Any constructive comments on the new system would be appreciated !
PL-495
It’s all been happening in New Zealand lately, 500km Out and Return records have been falling almost daily!
It all started on March 5th when Theo Newfield and Alistair Malcolm, who are both New Zealanders, set a speed of 180.33kph over an out and return course of 500km from Omarama in an ASH-25. Little over a week later on the 14th another New Zealander, Terrance Delore beat that by going at 197.28kph in an LS-6c. Ten days later the Newfield and Malcolm duo did it again and increased the record to 211.50kph. Pretty impressive heh?
Graham Sturgeon is going to produce a club guide to wave flying from Walney. In order to do this he is going to produce a questionnaire which pilots are asked to fill in after a wave flight. The questions will be about the conditions on the day (such as pressure, wind speed and direction etc.) and where and what the wave was like (how high, climb rates, small area/Vast etc.) All of the instructions and more details will be on the questionnaire, keep an eye open for it in the next few weeks.
Another AGM has come and gone, this years must be one of the most poorly attended over the last few years. It is to be hoped that that is because members feel that everything is progressing well, and not that no one cares. There are no major changes as a result of the AGM. It was, however, decided to continue trying to sell the Astir and k6.
The latest European directive likely to affect the club is the intention to stop supplying four star petrol. This means that even if we can get it, it will be very expensive and so should consider changing the tug to run on AVGAS. Our present bowser is not big enough for us to have deliveries of AVGAS so we need to be looking for a new tank. A minimum size of 3,000 litres is required, so if you have any ideas or contacts please tell John Burdett.
Rusty water from the hangar roof has marked the wings of the K21. A squad is needed to polish the marks out and to prevent further damage we have some new wing covers thanks to Keith Whitworth and his mother.
I hope the excellent soaring conditions of Easter weekend were just a prelude to an excellent season. We now have the picture plus another from Chipping.
Happy Landings
John M.
A young man wanted to purchase a gift for his new sweetheart’s birthday, and as they had not been dating very long, after careful consideration, he decided a pair of gloves would be appropriate - not too romantic, and not too personal. Accompanied by his sweetheart’s younger sister, he went to Nordstrom and bought a pair of white gloves. The sister purchased a pair of panties for herself.
During the wrapping, the assistant, mixed up the items and the sister got the gloves and the sweetheart the panties. Without checking the contents, the young man sealed the package and sent it to his sweetheart with the following note:
"I chose these because I noticed that you are not in the habit of wearing any when we go out in the evening. If it had not been for your sister, I would have chosen the long ones with the buttons, but she wears short ones that are easier to remove."
"These are a delicate shade, but the lady I bought them from showed me the pair she had been wearing for the past three weeks and they were hardly soiled. I had her try yours on for me and she looked really smart."
"I wish I was there to put them on for you the first time, as no doubt other hands will come in contact with them before I have a chance to see you again."
"When you take them off, remember to blow in them before putting them away as they will naturally be a little damp from wearing."
"Just think how many times I will kiss them during the coming year. I hope you will wear them for me on Friday night."
All my love.
"P.S. The latest style is to wear them folded down with a little fur showing."
From RIP
The maximum speed of a modern glider(Vne) is around 145 - 150 knots indicated airspeed, beyond which lies unexplored territory where strange and peculiar things are likely to happen, like flutter for example. The airbrakes are designed to limit the airspeed to Vne in a dive that does not exceed 45 degrees. This does not present much of a problem to the average pilot at relatively low altitudes, but one day you may find yourself going up like the proverbial homesick angel and rapidly approaching the lower levels of the stratosphere, which actualy starts at around 36,000 ft.
At altitudes below 36,000ft, usualy referred to as the troposphere, the air temperature drops steadily by about 2°C per 1000ft, until the tropopause is reached at around 36,000 ft, above which the temperature remains constant at about -56°C. The drop in air temperature and density give rise to some interesting aerodynamic effects which should be kept in mind if you are contemplating an attack on the altitude record, or just trying to maintain position in a jet stream.
First, the speed of sound, at which small pressure disturbances are propagated in the atmosphere, decreases from 661 knots at sea level to 574 knots at 36,000 ft, above which it remains constant. Secondly, the air density at 36,000 ft. has decreased to 30% of its sea level value, consequently an aircraft has to fly much faster through the air to stay up.
| Height | Density | IAS | TAS | Mach No |
| 25,000ft | 44.8% | 146kts | 218kts | 0.36 |
| 30,000ft | 37.5% | 146kts | 238kts | 0.41 |
| 36,000ft | 29.8% | 146kts | 267kts | 0.47 |
| 40,000ft | 24.6% | 146kts | 294kts | 0.51 |
| 45,000ft | 19.3% | 146kts | 332kts | 0.58 |
| 50,000ft | 15.2% | 146kts | 374ks | 0.65 |
For example, a Nimbus flying at a constant indicated airspeed, Vne = 146knots, the true airspeed over the ground in still air increases from 146kts at sea level to 267 kts at 36,000ft. Although the airspeed indicator will still show only 146kts, the glider is actualy flying at a Mach Number of 0.47, ie, 47% of the local speed of sound. The table shows what happens at other altitudes.
More important is Mcrit, the "critical Mach number". This is defined as the aircraft speed at which the local airflow just reaches the speed of sound, ie, 574kts. The critical mach number is closely related to the shape and thickness of the wing section and is difficult to work out exactly without some very expensive software which I don't have, but we can make an intelligent guesstimate from published data.
Compared with powered aircraft, most gliders, because of their higher aspect ratio, have relatively thick wing sections to accomodate wing spars of sufficient bending strength. The maximum velocity occurrs over the top surface where the wing is thickest, and the effect of the fuselage can add another 10% to 15% to the local velocity. The Nimbus wing is 17% thick at the root and the nearest equivalent wing section that I can find has a maximum local velocity of 40% above that of the undisturbed airflow.
At 36,000 ft, the maximum velocity over small areas of the wing root can reach around 414kts(=267kts + 40% +15%), which is equal to 72% of the local speed of sound. It follows that when the true airspeed reaches 370kts, the local velocity over the wing is exactly equal to the speed of sound. The critical Mach number(Mcrit) is therefore 370/574=0.64. The table above shows that this situation is likely to occurr at an altitude of around 48,000 to 49,000ft.
Well before the aircraft reaches Mcrit, it enters a region where the airflow becomes increasingly more compressible; this causing significant changes in the local density and pressure distribution around the wing section, changes in trim, and in the indicated airspeed.
At Mcrit weak shock waves begin to develop over the upper surface, the effect of which is to dislodge the boundary layer which will result in buffeting, loss of lift, and an increase in drag. There is a sudden rise in pressure and density across a shock wave, and further changes in the pressure distribution around the wing profile which will shift the aerodynamic centre further aft, causing a nose down change of trim and a positive increase in the stability margin. This will require an increase in the down load on the tail and more up elevator to prevent an increase in speed. Similar effects will start to occurr around the tail surfaces which will begin to lose their effectiveness, making it difficult to recover from the ensuing dive which the airbrakes may be unable to control.
These are exactly the same symptoms encountered by WW2 fighters when pushed beyond the limits for which they were designed. For aircraft designed specificaly for sustained flight at high subsonic speeds, the effects of compressibility can be delayed with thinner wings and tail surfaces, which are swept backwards, and by providing an all moving tailplane to control the changes in longitudinal stability which occurr.
D.J.C.
Real stories from Flight Attendants apologizing for rough transport on the airlines.....
Upon landing hard, the pilot gets on the PA system, "Sorry folks for the hard landing. It wasn't the pilot's fault, and it wasn't the plane's fault. It was the asphalt."
An airline pilot wrote that on this particular flight he had hammered his ship into the runway really hard. The airline had a policy which required the first officer to stand at the door while the passengers exited, give a smile, and a "Thanks for flying XYZ airline." He said that in light of his bad landing, he had a hard time looking the passengers in the eye, thinking that someone would have a smart comment. Finally everyone had gotten off except for this little old lady walking with a cane. She said, "Sonny, mind if I ask you a question?" "Why no Ma'am," said the pilot, "what is it?" The little old lady said, "Did we land or were we shot down?"
From a disgruntled Southwest Airlines employee.... "Welcome aboard Southwest Flight XXX, to YYY. To operate your seatbelt, insert the metal tab into the buckle, and pull tight. It works just like every other seatbelt, and if you don't know how to operate one, you probably shouldn't be out in public unsupervised. In the event of a sudden loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will descend from the ceiling. Stop screaming, grab the mask, and pull it over your face. If you have a small child traveling with you, secure your mask before assisting with theirs. If you are traveling with two small children, decide now which one you love more. Weather at our destination is 50 degrees with some broken clouds, but they'll try to have them fixed before we arrive. Thank you, and remember, noboby loves you, or your money, more than Southwest Airlines."
United Airlines FA: "Ladies and Gentlemen, as you are all now painfully aware, our Captain has landed in Seattle. From all of us at United Airlines we'd like to thank you for flying with us today and please be very careful as you open the overhead bins as you may be killed by falling luggage that shifted during our so called "touch down."
About 5 or 6 years ago I was on an American Airlines flight into Amarillo, Texas, on a particularly windy and bumpy day. I could tell during the final that the Captain was really having to fight it, and after an extremely hard landing, the Flight Attendant came on the PA and announced, "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Amarillo. Please remain in your seats with your seatbelts fastened while the Captain taxis what's left of our airplane to the gate!"
Another flight Attendant's comment on a less than perfect landing: "We ask you to please remain seated as Captain Kangaroo bounces us to the terminal."
Landing: a controlled mid-air collision with a planet.
My first introduction to gliding goes back to the late 60’s and a chance viewing of a TV programme, which was extolling the advantages of glass fibre, constructed gliders. For me it was the first sight of a glider and its improbable ability to stay aloft without a powerplant. But what most impressed me was the sheer dynamic elegance of the sleek design, so I guess I fell in love with the idea of gliding.
So nearly 20 years later I hadn’t pursued this idea and to be honest I’d more or less forgotten about it what with bringing up a family and what have you. Then one Saturday night I was at a really good party, lots of booze, funky music, good food and girls, you know the kind of thing. Anyway, there was this bloke impressing everyone with this story about this flight he’d had in a glider and how fantastic it was etc. At this point I was quite intoxicated, but eventually a light flicked on inside my cranium and I eagerly extracted details of the location of such a place. "Near Beacon Fell" was all he could muster and so the following weekend I went in search of this mysterious gliding club, and after circumnavigating many a green field I caught sight of sunshine glinting from the wings of a rake of parked gliders, and homed in. The sight that greeted me was amazing to say the least; gliders in the flesh for the first time, phew!
After enquiring about a possible flight I was told that a technical hitch (winch) was the reason that none of these wonderful aircraft were airborne, on what looked like a cracking day, oh well. So I was told to come back next week, which I did, accompanied by a not too interested girlfriend, and put our names on ‘The List’, a very long ‘Chipping-Type’ list incidentally. Still, I was now watching gliders come and go, rather frequently, as it wasn’t that good a day. Well we waited 5 hours (yes five) in the ever decreasing heat and light. Finally we were both strapped in and I had a three minute circuit in a ‘Blanik’ and was suitably impressed by the launch, the view and landing, and climbed out determined to have a go at this flying without power. Mind you, the girlfriend was put off gliding completely as she was treated to an unwanted loop and chandelle on her first flight. Quite out of order was the consensus back at the launch point.
Regardless I made enquiries about joining the club but was informed that I would have to go on a waiting list! I couldn’t believe it, gutted or what! And so, six months later, I was offered membership at the club, yahoo! Excitedly I turned up and coughed up, eagerly waiting my first training flight in a K13. But first I was introduced to the mechanical delights of the cable retrieve tractor on which I was to spend rather long periods of time watching the departures and arrivals, then appreciable amounts of time shoving glass fibre ‘pundit’ machinery back to the launch point. Still you pay yer dues, and then up for a three minute circuit in the twilight, completely knackered of course, then pack the hangar, wonderful. Still, I kept turning up, although not always to fly i.e. waterlogged field, broken winch, wrong kind of wind, or just disinterest in actual flying. In fact one day I turned up and the ridge had been moved to a new temporary location, but was returned the next week when conditions looked soarable.
Hence my progress was slow which was to continue for the next two seasons. This was due mainly to my struggle to fly with consistency in this third dimension, which at first I thought would be a doddle. When, as a child, I received my first two-wheeled cycle I just jumped on and away I went; no problems. Same with my first motorcycle; everything was instant and loads of fun. In fact with my first car someone showed me the gears, clutch etc. and off I went; never needed a lesson. But for gliding alas things would prove to be more demanding.
Anyway things did improve and when I did fly (well sort of) everything Chipping could throw at me paled into insignificance when those magic words "all out" were called and what ensued could only be described as the perfect challenge. It had the basic human emotions; fear, joy, tension, bliss, inadequacy, elation and more fear! But above all it started to become clear that this was a sport which was totally unique, and worth pursuing, up to the day at least when I would go solo.
As the summer weeks ticked away myself and three other hopeful pupils began to realise that it only needed the right kind of day for us to be released into the sky on our lonesome, gulp! But for me circumstance were to intervene, and put this defining moment on hold for eight months; strange but true. I had, at this time, just met a young lady who I was quite taken with. Long dark hair, dark eyes, nice figure, a sort Gloria Estefan type. Nothing was too much trouble and she was just about to turn 21 and required some assistance organising a rather large birthday gathering. Yep, you guessed it, the day, Saturday September 1st, I will always remember it, the perfect day arrived and the other three pupils went solo, as I discovered when I arrived at Chipping the following weekend. And from then on the weather just got worse and I wasn’t to get a chance again until the following spring. Mind you, absolutely first class party / weekend. Which goes to show that you can’t have everything in life. Sacrifices have to be made in the pursuit of happiness which is of course not a state to arrive at, but a manner of travelling; a bit like flying really.
So, during the long winter months I busied myself putting new windows in the club house at Chipping helping strip and recover the K13 I really should have soloed in. At this time I felt like I’d never actually do it at Chipping so another pupil and myself booked a weeks course at Rufforth in the spring, determined that this was it. We arrived and after a briefing took an aerotow in the drizzle and called it off ‘till the following day. The dawn broke fine, but windy, although I like a good tussle on the controls now and again and on the third day and after about 12 flights the excellent instructor jumped out of the back and said "Do you want to fly it on your own?" and I of course said "No, can I just have one more circuit?" "Well I think you’re ready" he replied and jumped back in.
We launched and he gave me a cable break, and as we landed he said "Now you’re ready, so just relax". Christ, relax! As I walked back I was really crapping myself. But I settled into the front seat and I was away, pulling back on that stick, checking the wing angle and speed, waiting for the easing over at the top, pulling the release twice, trying to release the cushion from my arse, shaking like a leaf, taking deep breaths and thinking "what the hell am I doing this for, pleasure?" and I now have got to get this mother back on the ground. So I gingerly did a turn and headed back, and once in the circuit everything felt better and approach and landing were most acceptable (I have video evidence of this). As I opened the canopy the feeling of relief and joy, as you all know, cannot be described. I could hardly walk when I climbed out and a quick fag was called for to bring the nervous system back into some kind of order. But at last I had done it, and a few pints at the local were most welcome.
The next couple of days were spent in a K7 and thermalling dual in a K13. But, amazingly, most of the guys on the course who had never flown a glider prior to that week also soloed, proving that the consistency of a course is probably a good way of cracking it early.
Two weeks later I soloed at Chipping after a couple of circuits with Barrie Purslow, who jumped out of the back and quipped "I don’t feel safe in there with you, so go and fly it on your own". I cracked up laughing and flew a perfect circuit. Soon, I was in the K8 and confidence was slowly building. Then on the third conversion flight I got a real cable break, which was nothing like a simulated one, just juddering as the wire tore itself apart, so nose down, speed on, dump the ring, make a decision, full brake, straight in, lovely. I climbed out and thought now I am getting to grips. As the weeks passed the fears of flying on my own were fading. I was starting to enjoy myself and was beginning to brim with confidence. Other pilots were even asking if I’d like to join a syndicate for various gliders. I was on my way, or so I thought. Unfortunately at this time I had been hit by the recession in the building trade and things were a bit tough (what’s new) and funds wouldn’t allow even a share in a Skylark 3, which possibly was the best way to make headway at Chipping. But it was not to be, still, it’s only a hobby after all. Although, a wily old pilot once said to me, on a particularly sunny Saturday, "You can do anything in this sport if you throw appreciable amounts of money at it". Well I just had to agree.
Then one evening I turned up took a launch as well, then later there was another launch on offer and I needed fifty of these to start at my bronze. But the sun was low and I thought maybe not, but I felt confident. Anyway, I had a perfect flight, even landing into the sun, I held off nicely and touched gently down. Then Bang! I had hit a hard rut and this launched my back into the air again. So I held off until I touched down. As it did another rut swung the K8 to the right, the wing dropped and I ground looped. I couldn’t believe I’d let it happen. I got out and no damage had been done, except to my ego. Looking up I saw a rapidly approaching purple-faced instructor, screaming blue murder, "Were you f------ flying that or not?" and a humongous bollocking ensued with assurances that check flights were back on the menu. Fair enough I thought, maybe there was a moment where I let my guard down, and that’s when gliding will bite back.
On the following three or four visits to the airfield I received a definite ‘cold shoulder’ as I was viewed with suspicion and the dual flights I had certainly didn’t help my cause. As I walked off the field I thought "that’s that" and never flew a glider for nearly two years. Suddenly, I just couldn’t be arsed with it. I had other things to worry about, keeping a business afloat for one. But during that time I was always aware of the ‘good days’ as I gazed into the blue and wished I was flying.
Eventually, I couldn’t stand it anymore and decided to inflict my flying dibilities upon the instructors at the ‘Lakes Gliding Club’ who, compared with ‘Chipping’, seemed a more agreeable, friendly and less uptight bunch of flyers and the club politics, backstabbing and bullshit were definitely spread much thinner. To be honest though, even in this new environment my ability to fly with focus and confidence took some nurturing (mainly by the "sturge") before I could re-solo and even when that day arrived the same old fears were still kicking around, and when asked to go, I still needed time to compose myself, have a cup of tea and most importantly have a good crap. Anyway, all went well and a round was duly bought in the bar.
Three days later I visited Chipping and after a check flight I soloed there (which was nice). Although I was on check flights for about seven months before I could fly the K8 without scrutiny. And so this was a time when confidence began to build and the possibilities of soaring were becoming more real, and with summer visits to Sutton Bank and Hus Bos; things were on the up and having encounters with big, fat thermals a rather large grin started to appear on my face as the flight times began to grow longer. I was to bag both bronze duration’s within one week. In fact, one of them was on the ridge at Chipping one beautiful evening in the company of two hang-gliders, who at a respectful distance we slowly danced in formation in the available lift together, superb.
But now, I wasn’t going to let my guard down, but felt more relaxed about my flying and more safe as a result. At about this time I had introduced a certain young lady to the joys of flying gliders and she soon took to it, a bit like a bird to the air, no fear just did it, a natural, coming on leaps and bounds. So I had to get my finger out and finish the bronze which after a bit of a struggle with the paperwork and field selection I did, and of course the young lady went solo in record time, not surprisingly.
On reflection though, I don’t think I was a natural aviator, as it has, over the years, been hard work to make real progress, to take that next step. I mean, I haven’t even contemplated a cross-country yet and have only just started soaring the Combe on my own. It’s ridiculous really, but I enjoy every minute of it, and the sense of achievement is particularly satisfying. I was aiming to get to task on my silver badge this year, but a health problem has intervened and I’m back to having company in the rear seat for a while. Still, a little bit of cross-country tuition wouldn’t go amiss. Hopefully, I’ll be back solo in that new glass ‘club’ glider in time for the autumn/winter wave I keep meaning to soar in and thereafter make up for some of that lost time.
Mark Johnson
The Lakes Gliding Club now has a web-site. You can find it at www.lakesgc.force9.co.uk. or, for those luddites without access to the Internet, on the computer in the clubhouse. There is all manner of information on the site, aimed at three audiences (i) The general public who have no experience of gliding and may want to try it at the Lakes (ii) Glider pilots who want to find out about our club and flying here (iii) club members. Of interest to club members is an up-to-the-minute ladder which is linked to all of the claim forms and "pilots biographies" so that you can find out about individual flights, and, where available, see their barograph or GPS traces. I have started to write the "pilots biographies" but so far these are just facts like Date of Birth, badges, when they started gliding, how many hours, and a photo! If you want anything adding to these, please let me know and if you see me pointing a camera at you, you know what it's for! Also on the site are a duty rota and the beginnings of a history and winners of all of the club trophies. Again if you can help to fill in any of the gaps there, I would be very happy to hear from you. There's a lot more besides that on there, so please do have a look. If you have any ideas on other things that could go on to the site, or if you have any suggestions about improving the current site or if you have any photos that might be of interest, please, let me know. The site isn't "public" yet in the sense that there are no other links to it from other gliding sites nor has it been registered with any internet search engines yet, so it's not too late if you want anything changing before it really does go fully public.
Alan D
I'd like to mention our sponsors. Firstly Elegant Windows are celebrating their 10th anniversary this year, they certainly have got a good reputation. My friends son started work for them last September he says they are a great firm to work for. The customers always seem very satisfied with the standard of work. Also they always do a great job of clearing up afterwards. Tuesdays Evening Mail had yet another big article about elegant windows, they are opening a new conservatory room in May. Our own Dave Grove is their top salesman, and he would be delighted to give anyone his prompt attention giving quotations.
Speed of Sound sell the best known in-car audio brands such as Alpine, Kenwood and Infinity. Radio cassettes and C-D players are all fitted free of charge. They also sell insurance approved car alarms. Prompt and efficient service is always given.
Optimum Financial Services: Having met Steve Martin only months ago, I wish I'd met him earlier to do business with him. He is now our financial advisor; being independent he can offer the best deals around. For ages we have used the banks' advisor; what a mistake. Not all advice from the bank was useless, only a lot of it. Steve has done an excellent job of putting our financial affairs in order. We have a sensible portfolio now. Not only is he good at his job, he's good to talk to and deal with. He is making a financial contribution to the club in the next few weeks. He will also make a similar contribution for any other new clients he gets from the Gliding Club. He gives advice free of charge so after your first meeting if you decide not to bother it hasn't cost you anything.
Tudor Car Services offer MOT testing for both Petrol and Diesel and vehicles with catalytic converters. They also specialise in Car Maintenance and servicing. Tudor Car Services are a Car Care centre which is a nation-wide organisation so for instance, if a fan belt fitted by them failed whilst on holiday or if you have moved you get a new one fitted free of charge. All parts fitted come with a guarantee. They are a friendly, efficient local firm. So give them a call next time your car needs attention.
Don't forget to mention the Gliding Club if you use any of the these firms, I am sure they will be happy to assist you.
Lyn
I would like to express my thanks and appreciation to everyone who attended my birthday party at the Burgoyne in March. Also many thanks for the unexpected present which was most gratefully received and which I hope to put to very good use. I hope that everyone had a good night and thanks to Lyn for her help.
As to the show that some thoughtful person had arranged for me I would like to thank Mark Mason for his great self control and advise Keith Whitworth that the management were quite understanding about his drooling on the carpet.
I would also like to clarify the reason I was seen to be folding the underwear of the lady concerned. As anyone who has already reached the age of fifty will understand, at our age this type of behaviour is classed as 'fore-play'. Well that's my excuse anyway.
Thanks once again and I look forward to seeing you all later in the year.
Keith
Keith's 50th proved to be more interesting than I expected, halfway through the evening some of Keith's 'friends' arranged a strip-o-gram unknown to Jean until five minutes beforehand. Jean was worried how Keith would take it all and if she would go the Full Monty. Keith was sat in a chair with this rather plump female gyrating in front of him. She removed layer after layer of under garments that she handed to Keith who neatly folded them so that he didn't have to look at her, meanwhile her husband grabbed the garments from Keith. Keith then told the husband that he was gay and would prefer to watch him strip. I'm sure the guy wanted to punch Keith. Andy commented "it was like watching paint dry." She didn't in fact go all the way. So thanks to Jean and Keith for the pie and peas and the floor show. Keith was delighted with his present, a thermos drinks pack to go in his glider when he gets one.
We had a social at the clubhouse on Saturday 18th April, I provided a buffet, Alan did an excellent job as barman once again, thanks Al. Also thanks to Neil and Linda who helped in the kitchen. Jean drove to our house to change before the social. When she opened her car boot there was a young collared dove which had fallen out of its nest in Jeans garden. How she didn't notice it is amazing. However Jean made my son, Dave, go out into our field with a spade and dig up some worms. We put the bird in a cardboard box and Jean duly tried to feed it.
The next morning it was still alive so we gave it some dog food then Jean drove it home. She got a ladder, climbed the tree and put it back in its nest. Five minutes later the parents were busy feeding it again, if only it could have told them of its adventure, I do like happy endings.
As you all know Mark Johnson has had a heart operation to have a pacemaker fitted, he phoned to say thanks for the card from everyone, he's feeling fine and is going on holiday. He hopes to be flying again as soon as possible, so get well soon Mark.
Don't forget the Hus Bos trip at Spring Bank Holiday (May 23rd-31st) and book your accommodation soon.
Lyn
Before I continue the series of articles on my flying career, readers may like to know what was involved in becoming a Royal Air Force pilot in the 1950’s.
As I recall, the age limits were 17 to 25 years. Education requirements were school certificates with credits in at least five academic subjects of which maths, science and English were mandatory. Applicants were sent to RAF Hornchurch in Essex where they spent several days undergoing medical examinations, initiative/ leadership exercises flying aptitude tests and interviews. Standards were very high, out of my group of forty applicants only five were successful, medical failures or inability to achieve the required standards accounting for the rest who were sent home there and then. Needless to say there were some tense moments as the numbers dwindled and the days went by; success or failure was all over each young face as it came out of the interview room and, with so many failures, there were many glum faces and there was much despondency.
The successful candidate was sent home to await call-up, the waiting period varied depending on the various course structures and timings. At last the great day came and, in December 1950, I reported to the Aircrew Reception Unit at RAF Cardington in Bedfordshire where I spent several days being kitted out with uniform and equipment after, of course, being sworn in. This was followed by a move to the Aircrew Training Unit at RAF Driffield in Yorkshire prior to joining the relevant Initial Training School (ITS), where I would spend six months. There was no flying at ITS, the six months being spent in military and leadership training plus academics relevant to our chosen career. Physical fitness was also of prime importance.
ITS was followed by Flying Training School (FTS) which took nine months, Advanced Flying School (AFS) three months, Operational Conversion Unit (OCU) two months, the Squadron: Flying Training was concentrated and intense and consisted of half a day in the classroom and half a day in the air. Standards were very high and there was no time to wait for anyone who was a bit slow on the learning curve. Those who couldn’t achieve the necessary where out there and then and the numbers on the course dwindled as time went by. Not only did one have to achieve high standards in flying skills, but also the periodic examinations took their toll. Pass marks were 60% in each subject and 70% overall if I remember rightly; we kept our noses to the grindstone as we were afraid of "The Chop".
I got my pilot’s wings in February 1952 after 180 hours of flying training, of which half was solo. In retrospect it doesn’t seem very much but remember it was a concentrated course. We flew every day subject to the weather, we were young, fit, well co-ordinated, and we learned quickly. Military flying instruction is second to none and we were well prepared for the next stages in our careers. Before my next stage, however, I was recommended for suspension.
It was practice in those days to allow those who had passed their Final Handling Test before completing the 180 hours to fly off the remainder solo as they pleased. I had three hours in hand and one of these almost proved my downfall. Off I went for a session of aerobatics, forced landing practices (a good excuse for a bit of low flying), and whatever else excitement I could conjure up; before commencing any aerobatic manoeuvre it was necessary to clear the area all around to check for other aircraft and location. I went into my clearing turn at 5,000 feet when, tally ho, there beneath me at about 3,000 feet was a basic trainer. As I turned, he turned. I turned left, he turned left; I turned right, he turned right. I needed no further invitation, rolled through on my turn onto my back, framed him in the windscreen and dived onto him inverted, rolling level as I got closer. Over the next five minutes I treated him to a beat up to the limit of my imagination, culminating in a snappy victory roll on my final pass. I returned to base hugging myself and felt I was a real star. Not for long though; Nemesis, in the form of a very irate Senior Flying Instructor summoned me to his office. The interview was very loud and one sided, he at the top of his voice, me silent. Awful words were spoken, like dangerous flying, ignorant, irresponsible. He was recommending me for suspension and I was to see the Wing Commander Flying in the morning. Apparently I had so completely disrupted an instructional lesson of steep turns that the exercise had to be abandoned. I went away and hid.
To say that I approached the Wing Commander’s office with lead feet would be putting it mildly. I knew I was "in for it" and what the outcome would be. The sword of Damocles was not only poised, it was positively teetering. There were three officers in the room, the Wing Commander, the Instructor I had offended, and my Instructor; all looked serious.
The "prosecution" spoke first and described the incident in some detail. The way he described it made it seem as though he had not only had to abandon the exercise but was considering abandoning the aircraft as well. My own instructor spoke in my defence, basically outlining my progress and saying what a loss I would be to the RAF (I felt good about that), then it was my turn.
I couldn’t say very much. I couldn’t deny it, we all knew what had happened and what the prosecution had alleged was, in the main, correct. The only thing I could say was that, If I had been as close on my passes as had been alleged, I would have seen the other aircraft was dual and broken off after the first pass. I apologised for disrupting the exercise and fell silent, waiting for the inevitable. I was sent out of the office.
When I was recalled I couldn’t believe my eyes. The two instructors were chatting and smiling, the Wing Commander looked benign. He delivered the verdict. It went something like this: "Although you are still at a very early stage in your flying career and have a lot to learn, you have the right sort of aggressive spirit and enthusiasm that we are looking for in our future fighter pilots. Your flying to date has been exemplary and I see from your request for posting that you wish to fly fighter. Your request is granted and you will be posted to a fighter AFS. You are dismissed."
To say I came out of that office walking on air would be the understatement of all times. I was treading so high I nearly fell over. The relief was overwhelming and joy of joys, I was going to fly fighters. It was like winning today’s lottery. I was posted to RAF Driffield in Yorkshire, where I had spent a little time just over a year previously. RAF Driffield was the home of No.203 AFS, which was a Meteor conversion unit.
The Gloster Meteor Jet was the RAF’s front line fighter of the period and a far cry from the types I had been flying previously. It was a twin engined aeroplane, very robust and held several records for speed, endurance and height at the time. The speed record it held at one time was 616mph at sea level (in 1946) but, like many records, it gives some idea of the performance capabilities of the machine and was a large gap in the speed from the 200mph I had been used to. The meteor had a tricycle undercarriage, the nosewheel was lifted off at 105mph and the aircraft flown off at 125-140mph depending upon load. Approach speeds were 160mph on finals reducing to airfield boundary crossing and touchdown of 120-125mph depending upon landing weight. Some of these speeds were close to the cruising speed of the Harvard. I was really looking forward to flying the Meteor.
There I was, then, one of the successful survivors of a flying training course of which the members had become fewer and fewer as time went by and students were "chopped" for some reason. After this stage, there were very few, if any, failures as the training and assessment had been very comprehensive. A pilot at the end of FTS was qualified day and night in all flying techniques, which included navigation, aerobatics, stalling, spinning, formation flying (not at night) and dozens of other flying skills. He also had a full instrument rating. We were eager to move on to AFS, jet conversion and the challenge of high speed flying.
RIP
The day was Saturday, August 27th 1994. This day was the day I had been dreading for some time, my stag night. I wasn’t really dreading the massive intake of alcohol or the thought of being carted off to hospital, my wife’s a Nurse so it would be home from home really! It was the thought of the embarrassment of being dumped in the middle of nowhere, minus any form of clothing, or even worse being tied to a tree in the middle of the town with nothing on. I had to come up with a cunning plan without making it too obvious that I was wimping out of my own stag night, as a certain friend of mine later did! After weeks of pondering the subject I was at a complete loss as to what I could do. I will just have to face a whole night of my so called friends "getting one over on me."
On the Wednesday before this dreaded evening I happened to watch the weather on the television, which looked reasonable for the weekend, but I didn’t really give it much thought. You could say I had too many other things on my mind.
Friday, August 26th - Bingo, I had it. I had just watched the weather after the six o’clock news and Saturday looked to be a corker (stonking in LGC language). All I had to do was turn up at the club reasonably early, claim the Astir for the day and set off east - fantastic, I thought!
This was probably the only flight I had ever prepared for, plenty of warm clothing for the long wait, food and drink for the flight, money for the phone, etc.
I waited at the launch point, participating in the usual banter, even cleaning the glider, apparently it goes further if you clean it! The next problem I faced was when to launch, too early and I may fall out of the sky at the Vitagrass fields. If I launched too late I may encounter the sea breeze and never get away so timing as usual was of the essence. I can’t remember the exact time I launched, but I can remember that I got a tow to three thousand feet directly overhead the airfield, something I no longer do as I believe it to be a complete waste of money if you want to have half a chance of getting away.
Off tow and this is it Yorkshire or bust! I immediately turned east and set off towards Kendal. There seemed to be some very weak wave over the site. When I looked at the vario I was hardly descending as I bimbled towards Ulverston. This concerned me because I presumed that I was not going to hit any thermals on route and I was doomed to being tied to some lamp post in the centre of Barrow! I got to the Hode monument and there was nothing, not even a bump to write home about, so I continued to bimble along until I found myself struggling to make a decision as to whether I was going to clear the Cark ridge or not.
Beep......... beep....... beep.... beep.. beep, this was it the first confidence gaining thermal of the flight , all I needed to do was to get centred and away we go. I struggled at first because I was under pressure, I just had to get away. I can remember getting to 2500 feet at which point the thermal seemed to die out, but no panic I could see another one forming only a short distance away. This thermal seemed to be the same so after a large waste of time I decided that what I needed to do was employ a bit of Pete Redshaw’s rules and get down to signpost height before using the next thermal! If only I was that brave.
I eventually managed to get over the Cark ridge and the cloud base seemed to improve all the way to the motorway. I had already decided to go through the Sedbergh gap, but I was unsure about what height I would need to get for a safe passage. Luck was finally on my side, cloud base was now 4500 feet and I was guaranteed to at least clear Leyburn.
Once at Leyburn, I seemed to wander into some sort of wave again, which I think stemmed from a cloud street, further up wind. There then came a voice on the radio, it was Peter Redshaw, he was also planning to come through the Sedbergh gap. A short while passed and this voice again gave height and position, this is unbelievable I thought I’m actually travelling faster than the old master and was leaving him standing!
The mood had somewhat changed by this Knowledge and I was now in my own little battle with an LS6. I decided to round Sutton Bank and head back to Walney, never mind the Stag night this was rabbit and tortoise stuff. I wasn’t fortunate enough to be carrying a G.P.S. so I wasn’t too sure where the entrance was in the Pennines to get back to Sedbergh. Pete came back on the radio and asked where I was, I replied that I had rounded Sutton Bank and was returning to Walney. It was then suggested that I wait at Sutton Bank and we would fly back together, which would be beneficial as I wasn’t too sure where I was going. Wait I did, for some time I might add, not realising that I was rapidly descending for the very last time. I didn’t realise at first, but I was now in lee of this now not so wonderful wave bar. I suddenly thought to myself "get back to Sutton Bank and get a re-light and try to catch Peter up," but then I thought "hang on a minute, the whole purpose of the flight is to not get back to Walney, it is to avoid my stag night". I tried as hard as I could to get back to Sutton Bank, but I had hung around for too long and wasn’t going to make it. Oh dear! I thought I am going to have to land out in some miserable farmer’s field. I grabbed the map thinking that there must be a disused military airfield about somewhere after all this was Yorkshire. I could see this small airfield on route back towards Sutton Bank, fantastic this is where I’ll land. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, but eventually I found it, a small grass site about 2 miles from the Yorkshire Gliding Club. I could not change to their frequency as I only had three different channels on the radio. I joined the circuit at the same time as a cherokee, but he seemed to want to start his final approach over Scarborough or somewhere, so I nipped in before him, landed and pulled in to the side which was a very rough stubble field. Approximately five minutes later a chap appeared and the first thing he said to me was "You landed at the Rally Cross circuit at Croft a month or so ago didn’t you?" I replied "Yes I did, along with a friend of mine in his Pegasus. We had been generating a bit of interest with Teeside air traffic control." He rather kindly towed the glider off the strip and onto a kind of grass apron that they had. "Come with me young man" he said. In true land out style we were in the airfield bar within half an hour of landing!
I radioed Peter and asked him to relay a message to the club, that I had landed at a place called Bagby and could a crew come and get me. I think my friends had already realised what I was up to and had the car and trailer ready to go. I was now feeling quite smug knowing that there wasn’t much chance of being at my stag night (ha, ha, ha). The lads also knew that this could be a possibility and were rapidly on their way.
The place I landed at was a small flying club, with an even smaller runway. The chap in charge offered to get me a tug from Sutton Bank, to enable me to get airborne again, but I declined as the next plane to take off was a 180 cherokee, with 1 person on board and only half full fuel load and it struggled to clear the perimeter fence.
A short time later my crew turned up, jumped out of my car and started to pull the glider apart without even pausing to say "you stupid boy!" or "how was the flight?" or anything else for that matter. I got a bit of abuse for not removing the tape or disconnecting the controls. I have never in my life seen a glider de-rigged and put in the trailer as fast. "Get in and drive ya bugger!" My crew made me drive, complete with trailer, faster and faster until we were travelling at about 75 miles per hour along the A66 and down the motorway. We raced back to the hanger, dumped the trailer and I was allowed about 5 minutes to get ready. We were stood in the Kings arms in town, just after 9.30 and believe me I was made to pay for the two hours drinking I missed! Has anybody else ever been forced to drink two pints of mixed spirits in less than an hour?
Graham Sturgeon.
Graham on his wedding day, at the reception
| THE WELLAND GLIDING CLUB. THE WINCH WITCH. |
The Winch Witch. The Welland Gliding Clubs Very Own Agony Aunt
The Welland Gliding Clubs very own Agony Aunt. Here to answer
your burning questions on anything relating to gliding, flying, cooking, hairstyling and
in fact life in general. She has been answering the problems of Welland Club members for
getting on ... well nearly.... not quite.. 6 months now and therefore is highly qualified
in the field of personal psycology
To get your own personal problems answered by the Witch please
E-Mail them directly to the editor using the E-Mail address at the bottom of the
page.
Dear Winch Witch,
Having frequently heard it being said of good pilots "He can go up on a f**t !" I have been practising this technique on the airfield and now nobody wants to talk to me. What am I doing wrong ?
Dear Pilot.
I think it is quite clear that people are envious of your obvious
ability in this area. Nobody likes a smart-arse, so perhaps it would be better to restrict
your practise to the privacy of the glider.
Dear Winch Witch.
My problem started when the C.F.I. declared we had to take more interest in maintaining the gliders. I decided that for me to fulfill this rule I would offer my help in repairing them. This in itself is no problem but to complete the task I had to help paint the gliders with dope. Ever since then I have been hopelessly addicted to it, especially since it is so readily available. Now you might not think that this is a problem but it is sabotaging my flying. Due to the fact that I get so high on dope I now manange to fly without a glider. The problem is that when I do fly in a glider I feel unsafe, as though I am not in control as I am relying on a machine and not myself. I just don’t know who to talk to about my problem, but I really do need help.
Dear pilot.
Another tricky question that has involved the need for research. I
have discovered in fact that aircraft dope is not in fact addictive nor even does it have
the ability to send anyone to "trip out city". Therefore your problems must have
other causes. I would suggest a frank appraisal of you lifestyle and see if any other
minor little habits or foibles may be causing the problem instead. Such as your penchance
for magic mushrooms for breakfast or your ten year herion addiction problem. If this fails
to point to the cause of the problem try not to worry too much as during my investigations
I discovered that at least 2/3rds of our pilots must have the same problem, judging by
their flying skills. As a last resort if you really do believe that aircraft dope is the
cause of your problems, may I suggest changing clubs. Husbands Bosworths fleet are almost
all glassfibre and therefore dope free.
Dear Winch Witch
Like many glider pilots I have been in the habit of meeting resistance from my wife regarding the amount of time that I devote to our sport and for the past few years I have found it necessary to regularly justify my time spent at the club to her.
About a year ago all this changed and instead of finding reasons for me not to go gliding she has been increasingly enthusiastic for me to spend all day there, at times pushing me out of the door and appearing genuinely disappointed when the weather was too bad to go to the club.
A couple of times this year I have found it necessary to phone her from the club to ask her to do something for me and been surprised when a man answered. Assuming I had got the wrong number I rang off and dialled again when I successfully got through. On another occasion I had to return home from the airfield to collect some maps I had forgotten and was surprised to see the milkman leaving, especially as I had seen him just a few doors away as usual when I left for the club earlier that morning.
Do you think I have anything to be worried about?
Yours Faithfully G.L. Ibble.
Dear G.L.Ibble
I find it suprising you feel the need to write to me when the answer
is so obvious! Of course you have nothing to worry about. Most glider pilots would be
grateful to have a wife who is supportive of their hobby. I cannot help you with the
problem of your telephone line as that is really beyond my remit, but our own BT expert,
Steve Algeo, will, I’m sure, be able to offer a detailed explanation of what can
cause such faults. When you next see the milkman, perhaps you could ask him to add the
club to his round as we always seem to be running short. I hope this answers your queries.
Dear Winch Witch
Being a family man with two young kids, I risk a damaging encounter with the Child Support Agency and the Divorce Courts if I spend more than half a day on the airfield on any given weekend. My problems are further compounded by the fact that given such restrictions, I have to turn up very early in order to guarantee that I will even fly at all. Alas, this frequently means that I have to accept cables before the best of the lift starts to bubble and, at the time of my enforced lunchtime departure, I am often faced with the heartbreaking sight of a clutch of gliders going great guns at three thousand feet while I am left to contemplate two six-minute entries in my log book. Furthermore, the grossly unjust financial restrictions placed upon me by my family require that flights in anything other than a club Ka8 (or Ka7 if the CFI has read my piece in the last newsletter) is completely impractical. Indeed, I lack even the fiscal wherewithal for sufficient aerotows to aspire to Check 2 and, by implication, a first ride in the SF27. I finally reached breaking point last weekend at Rufforth when, offered the choice of winch or aerotow, I plumped for the former and everyone laughed at me calling me "primative". I am increasingly desperate, and turn to you for advice. Please help
Dear Pilot
The answer to this is simple : tell your wife it’s about time
she did her share of the bread winning. Encourage her to take up a weekend job at an
institution which has creche facilities. Not only will this mean that you are free to
spend your weekend as you choose, but you will also have enough extra income to finance
your flying. As the Winch Witch, however, I must say that I am a little disappointed by
your shame in taking a winch launch rather than an aerotow. If you continue to despise the
winch in this way, I must ask you to consult the Aerotow Agony Aunt in future (I believe
she can be found at Husbands Bosworth). Good luck with your new club and your future
flying career.
Dear Winch Witch
Since joining the club about three years ago I have felt guilty about the level of commitment I am able to give.
Due to family and other commitments that go back long before I started gliding which I would be reluctant to give up I am only able to participate midweek and Saturdays sometimes with a late start or an early finish, sometimes both.
On reading your column you seem to have sympathy and understanding for my position, however, another contributor to the newsletter seems to take a totally opposite view suggesting I cannot get out of bed in the morning and that I am depriving more deserving members of their share of flying, this adds confusion to my feelings of guilt.
In order to compensate I try to do other tasks for which I have the skills such as building repairs etc. When on site I take my turn on the winch when asked, turn up to do launch marshal, drive the tractor, speed up the launch rate by assisting in a speedy glider retrieve in all weathers, I try not to join in discussion groups analysing in minute detail their last 100K X-Country when there is work to be done.
So please, Witch, set my mind at rest so I may sleep at night. Or must I :
1. Live with my guilt.
2. Join another club til I am rumbled.
3. Give up gliding.
I am sorry, I cannot put my name on this letter but you will know me next time you see me as I always wear a hair shirt, walk with my eyes on the ground and head bowed.
Dear Pilot
If you dress and act like this you run the risk of being prosecuted
for impersonating the C.F.I. To deal with your main concern, however, I must say I find
you have not considered all the available options. For a start, you do not seem to have
relagated the family to their correct place, as all glider pilots must do (it is mandatory
to achieve check level 4). Secondly, if you were on the field from 5am - 8am or 10pm -
12pm, your family would probably not miss you, and other members would not hassle you
about your choice of times. I think you need to re-prioritise. Alternatively option 2
would be a good choice and I believe that Husbands Bosworth are undertaking a recruitment
campaign at the moment.
Dear Winch Witch
I think that the Welland is a great little Gliding Club but for me it is spoiled by a small number of members who I can only describe as having an attitude problem. I try to get to Lyveden whenever it’s a good soaring day but I often have things to do, you know, help with the shopping, various jobs around the house, so I usually have an early lunch and then go straight to the airfield. I frequently find there is a glider on the line so I’m able to get out of my car staright into an aircraft and have 1 or 2 hours flying allowing me to get home for tea after I’ve landed. However some members get all shirty, for example recently I had a super flight to 5,500ft but on landing I was accosted by this member who accused me of stealing his turn while he was getting a barograph sorted. I thought this quite unnecessary, the club was still flying when I landed so he could easily have got in a circuit or two.
I regard myself as a good club member, I often attach cables to gliders, particularly if they’re ahead of me in the launch queue, and I have been known to push back a glider after its landed even though I hadn’t flown in it, so what can I do about these people.
P.S. What is a barograph?
Yours Faithfully
S.L. Fish
Dear S.L. Fish
People obviously don’t appreciate the amount you do, and are jealous of your soaring capabilities. Try telling them just how much you do, and share with them any tips on soaring that may make them feel more appreciative of your qualities. Should physical violent ensue, however, you may feel more comfortable joining Husbands Bosworth.
A barograph by the way, is a rare and mysterious object which, like the haggis animal, seems to exist largely in legend.
e.g. "I had a 20,000ft climb over Oundle last week - I just
wish I’d had a barograph"
Note : This months edition of the Winch Witch was
sponsored by "The Soaring Centre" at Husbands Bosworth.
The Welland Gliding Club accepts no responsiblity for any mishaps, misdemeanours, marital breakdowns, mental break downs, winch launch failures or acts of God caused directly or indirectly as a result of any advice given by the Winch Witch or any associated or disassociated parties now or at any time in the future or past for that matter.
To send your own personal problem in to the Winch Witch please E-Mail me 
MICKN@SKYNET.CO.UK All problems
treated in the strictest of confidence and will only be shared with relevent Welland
Gliding Club Members, visitors to the airfield their families, friends and other related
and non related interested and non interested parties.
The above is reproduced by kind permission of Welland Gliding Club at Lyvedon in Northamptonshire. I’m sure you’ll get a good reception if anyone drops in there while we’re at Hus Bos, which is not far away.
Gliding At Walney (part 1)
Gliding At Walney (part 2)
I couldn’t escape from the fact that to get up into the air was a thing that overrode all other pastimes, and I gazed in wonder and awe at these three machines in the hanger that still had visible memories of the wartime; Notices to airmen, use of the hanger, what to do about oil spillage's, and other notices, and some wire winches attached to the support structure.
The two seater seemed like the one that we never flew when I was in the A.T.C. The single seat Tutor was very similar to the Cadet that I first flew in, but now it was tarted up a little, there was a sort of cushion on the seat, and it had spoilers!. These looked a little like air brakes, but I was soon to find out that they didn't make a great deal of difference to the rate of descent, otherwise it seemed the same, but the Olympia, now this was really something. Sleek, streamlined, closed in cockpit, and the little green and red balls had been replaced by a device that told one if one was going up, or down. This little instrument was to prove one of the most frustrating, most loved, and most hated of all the instruments that ever bedevilled a glider.
Your ears told you many things about speed and balance, your behind told you a lot of lies if you put your head down below the coaming, and tried to fly manoeuvres without your eyes, but this dial kept telling you that you were going to land if you didn’t do something smart pretty quick, whether you were looking, feeling, or listening. However, I’ve jumped ahead a little here, so back to the Tutor and the two seater.
By now I was adult enough to realise that I hadn’t flown for so long that it might be wise to pretend that I couldn’t fly at all, and it took the first two minutes of flying in the two seater to convince me that I couldn’t.
My first flight was a sort of air experience that was supposed to be for me to find out if I really liked flying, but after two minutes it had become a challenge for me to get this great thing to do as I wanted, to go where I pointed it without a gale blowing in over the cockpit from all points of the compass, and the horizon to stop going out of sight below the nose with a deadly hush, or presenting me with an alarming picture of the ground approaching me at a fair rate of acceleration. My first instructor was Jack Paley, with Ernie Dodds as the tug pilot.
It was a fair day with about five eighths Cu and a fresh breeze from the sea, when we got to about a thousand feet we began to dodge around clouds, and sometimes through them, the tug disappearing with J.P. flying along the tow rope. This alarmed me somewhat, but as it was my very first aerotow I had to believe that this must be the norm and so soon settled down, happy to let someone else steer the thing until we came into clear sky at two thousand feet.
I can clearly recall the impressive thrill I got as I watched the tug peel of to the left and drop in a half circle until it disappeared into the fluffy white tops back down to the island. I tried my hand at a few turns, and tried to get brain to assimilate all that J.P. was saying, not over successfully I might add, until we found a large clear patch, whereon I was told to hang on whilst we did a loop or two. This was a little more to my liking, and I felt a little disappointed as I thought he could get one or two more in if he tried.
In the next twelve weekends I managed to get 28 flights in, a total of two hours forty three minutes, and not missing any week through bad weather, and I was able to go solo in the tutor. Come rain or hail the gliders and the caravan and the winch were out, and often waiting for an instructor to arrive. If I ran half as much nowadays up and down the runways as I did then, I would hobble around for a week afterwards at least.
After the flight with Jack, I had six with Dave Millet, six with Reg Woolfe, five with Howard Woods, two with Ernie Dodds, two with Gerry Wilson, two with Mathew Hall, and four with Ron Reid, The last one on which he said "Get yourself strapped in the Tutor, do a good circuit, and don’t forget the cable can break". I was by now back to my old self, and champing at the bit, believing that I was far more capable than I really was, and determined to show them! I would remain aloft for a long time and astound everyone, - I lasted all of ten minutes. I did a good landing and recorded in my log book 'Yippee'
During this time I learned the differences of the instructors, their weaknesses and strengths.
I noticed that everyone got a loop from Jack Paley, even if they were quailing maidens on their first flight, Dave Millett was very straight forward, very factual and quiet and was the best critic. Ernie Dodds was very much the most fun to fly with, putting me in the most awkward positions at a time when I least expected it, Gerry Wilson was the most gentle on the aircraft, trying without a lot of success to get me to fly the glider with no more than a few millimetres of stick movement, and the ball never leaving the dead centre at all, "stop stirring the bloody thing, Flower, It will do all you ask with a thumb and a finger and a suggestion".
Mathew Hall always wanted me to land halfway up the runway, which I didn't like doing, as I preferred flying time to pushing time. I thought he didn’t have confidence in myself at first, but I found out that he had other reasons. Reg Woolfe taught me to fly and land accurately and filled me with tales of the luftwaffe that my ever open brain took in and painted some more. I think with reflection, and the passing of time, that Howard Woods was the one to give me the best all round instruction, and I never failed to be amazed at his unruffleability; No matter what pickle I got the plane in, he would pull his deer stalker a little more firmly on his head, sometimes have a puff on his unlit pipe, give the stick a firm poke in the right direction and say something like "Now what did we do there to get into that position, and what should you have done to correct ?" He would then proceed to calmly go through it again and put me right. I remember when he asked me once what manoeuvre I would like to show him, and his surprise when I said "A Chandelle" knowing in my heart that having seen one performed earlier it would be no problem to me, I also remember that with my eyes closed, the plane doing a sort of side slipping tail sliding spin, whilst at the same time my stomach tried to rotate and re align itself with due north, and my rectum clenched tighter than any proverbial ducks, I was happy to hear his calm voice say "It's O.K. I have it" and very glad to have my bottom having a few G's again. Howard was the first instructor to ground me for a day, luckily after I had had my flights for that day. It was one of the usual sunny days that seemed to be regularly at Walney. With a good westerly breeze, and the day we found a large tortoise walking across the runway, and Pete Redshaw had set one of the many tasks he would set for me; This time as I was set to land he threw one of the bats down on the runway, not the main that we were using, but I had to land on it, not at 60 knots as he would sometimes do and hold the glider down on the runway with the wheel screaming a protest, but a gentle landing right on the spot.
To achieve this in the short space of time he allowed me I had to shorten my turn on finals and cut over the caravan, which I did, lifting the wing over the caravan to avoid it. I think Howard must have been in the caravan looking out of the window at the time, and thought his hour, or mine, had arrived. Even with a full head of steam he was quiet and controlled, and certainly put his point over. The main point being that it set a very bad example to others, even if I did land on the bat!. That was always the trouble with Redshaw, he was always trying to outdo me, out fly me or out something else me, I always admired his tenacity, for no matter how many times I beat him, he would always try something else, he didn’t give up easily. I put it down to him being too thick to realise he was always going to be second, until he beat my 25 minutes in the tutor with a 30 minutes, and then when I managed 35 minutes, the swine went and beat that by a goodly margin. However I did manage to get the highest winch launch in the tutor, at a time when we were getting from a lowly 800’ to a very good 1500/1600’ I had got the hang of this kiting lark, and with a good winch driver in Sid Wearing, a stiff breeze, with a good increase in wind speed with height, I was reeled in and out to 2400’ with Sid struggling to get all the cable back to the winch. This was to be the last of my high launches because they were banned then, as approaching the point when the ring mechanism was about to part with the glider. I don't know who calculated this ripping out strength of the ring, but I had set my sights on 3000’, and I always will wonder if it were possible.
Now I make 2400’ at about 60 degrees about 3000’ and the wire was ten gauge high tensile which gives a weight of approx.144 lb. plus the lift of the glider-- I wonder?.
The caravan- the abode of John Craven, and his stew. Now this was little like todays high quality Hilton style bus, but it holds many happy memories for me. Whatever the weather we were assured of a good stew with a bit of everything thrown in, quite a lot of meat, and boiled to a thick consistency. This stew was renowned, and makes todays advancement to Kit Kats and similar nonentities, pale into insignificance. One could run or fly all day on this sustenance. Also one had to be sociable to get a number of hungry men and ladies into one caravan on a cold day. I think maybe even Pete Redshaw didn’t have a puff in it, but that was more because he would have to offer them around if he got them out
Looking back on the flying, I think that having a bit of competition from Pete did wonders for ones advancement in gliding. Quite a spur to one to have someone to beat who was also trying to be one up on you, and the elation of being ahead was worth trying for.
One of the most notable times was once when we were both auto towed out of Haverigg in the blue and white, and the red Olympia's to get a ‘first’ and to see if the Coombe was on from about 700’ at the windmill end of the runway. Pete won the toss and elected to go first "So that he could show me how it was done" and as he disappeared into the distance, getting lower and lower heading straight to the John Bull Inn until he just about disappeared into the countryside at the bottom of the hill, I had a rethink of the strategy required to beat him, and went straight ahead out over the sand hills up to Silecroft, hoping for a little lift from them and a straighter run to the Coombe due downwind. This worked out and I got to the hill level with the little quarry there, Pete I found out got there below the quarry, crept along the road at about 20 feet and tried to land on it where there was a lay by, alas, there was a Mini trying to drive along the same piece of road, the driver, white faced, as the blood left his head and rushed down to his sphincter muscles, with his nose jammed up against the windscreen, and his brain boggled with the thought that an aeroplane was going to land on the bit of road that he was on, promptly left the road, and dived for safety up the bank and tried to hide the Mini behind some gorse bushes. Pete seeing this strange manoeuvre thought of plan ‘B’ (which had just presented itself) and would land in the next lay by, if he could.
When he got there however he found that his glider was too wide to land without catching a wing and immediately went into plan ‘Sheeit.’ Which was either through the wall, or with luck, over it. He negotiated the wall, concentrating with all his might and main on something to think about to cover this situation, as he was at this time without any experience at all in landing in hedges or the like; I think he exaggerated when he said he had inches to spare, because when I saw him he was standing beside his glider like a cowboy just off his horse. This happy sight down below of Redshaw in a sloping field full of cows was just the spur I needed to keep aloft, and I even considered a ricochet off the church roof to gain height as I passed over Whitbeck. Every hundred yards seemed like a mile, and I wondered what braking affect bracken and rocks would have on the craft, and if the tree tops 20 feet below me were giving lift, or breaking up the airflow. I convinced myself that I did a little ridge soaring on the farm house roofs. Past Whitbeck now, and there were landing fields out on the left, but only one hill between me and the strong lift that must have been on the N.W. slope of the Coombe. Remembering the picture of Pete back there in the field, I just had to go for it. I had one hand on the air brake as I neared the hill and had to change the last of my spare speed to height to maintain a clearance of a few feet above the bracken, but I had done it, and there was 6 up on the vario. It was at this point that I realised that I was holding my breath and also clenching my teeth so that my jaw ached, but happy in that I could fly back to Walney now. Such was the joy of competition..
Now I seemed to have jumped a little at the Olympia competition between Pete and myself, because that little episode happened possibly around 1966 or 1967, and there was quite a lot happened before that; Having started in the February, I was somewhat miffed when in August my log book was still reading 'Too high- Too low- Swinging out on turns- Cutting in on turns- over correcting- brushed grass on landing (nearly intentional) - Still tatty steep turns.' and it isn’t ‘till my 106th flight do I put ‘Improving’. However on my 131st. flight I graduated to the ‘Olly’ ‘A beautiful plane to fly,’ is my log entry. and though I have not flown many types of gliders ( log book number 4 has 16 different ones) I still get a good feeling remembering the great feeling out over the Coombe when I was joined by a Peregrine falcon out on my wing tip, and as we flew alongside each other, looking each other in the eyes, I felt the first of the feelings one gets when one just has to think ,’left’ or ‘right’ or maybe a little slower, or whatever, and there is no conscious movement or input, and the craft is a part of you and it just follows your mind. When the bird had weighed me up enough it simply went into a shallow dive, which I kept up with for a few moments, but had eventually to apply the air brakes, at which point he didn’t take to the noise, and dropped like a bomb out of my sight, suddenly putting me back in a glider that I had to correct. It was quite a sit up machine, which did everything asked of it, and was very gentle and forgiving.
All flights at this time were from Walney, Haverigg being as far away as Timbucktoo and Black Combe being used as only a backdrop to Walney flying, but eventually it was discussed, at first as if it was an atlantic crossing, and the hills were a source of unknown dangers, but by degrees it became talked of as a possibility and finally as something to attempt. In my book I have Redshaw as doing his flying at Haverigg a week before myself, I landed and was aerotowed out in February of 1967 for the first time, and my log states that ‘Wingco Hawkes spent some considerable time on Lacra at between 700 and 1400 feet, and didn’t risk a push out to the Coombe, this earned the hill the name of ‘Hawkses Hump’.
This was also about the time when some of us were stretching our flying towards dusk, and there were times when a car was driven out onto the runway to enable us to fly down the head lamps to land. I note that the slag bank was in regular use as a time filler in, I also remember that two and a half hours there was more an endurance test than a challenge, though one did get to know every bump or gully of the great lump of slag, and knew to half a knot just when the Olly was going to sigh a little, and how sluggish one could let it get. This was a good practice, for once when I was ridge soaring Sutton Bank with six others, and the wind was dropping gently all the time, we were flying up the ridge and passing down out from the bank, my outer wing passing over or under the other returning craft with a slight bump in the air, and one could see the bits of grass caught in the wheel arch of the craft just above, as we all got lower and lower as the lift shrank down, either I frightened the others off, or I out flew them, or maybe they were hungrier than me, or maybe it was because I wasn’t on the radio, but I landed last, and I will always thank my slag bank training for that.
Gil Scurrah
Gliding At Walney (part 4)
Well, it’s a bit of a bumper issue this time! I was in the lucky position of having too much material for this newsletter, so very many thanks to all of you that have given me pieces. Don't worry though, anything that hasn't gone into this issue will appear in a future one. In the mean time, please don't get complacent. I'd still appreciate anything that you'd care to write about for all of us to read. It doesn't have to be about an epic 500km or tales of daring dogfights with the red-baron; an account of a first solo, a bronze hour, a first cross-country are all well worth reading about. After all some people haven't got that far yet and will be keen to know what's in store; Others at the same level will be pleased to know they're not alone; and all of the old timers can reminisce with the best of them about how "its all changed since their day"! Also, any photos would be extremely welcome.
Having been inspired by Welland GCs "Winch Witch"; does anybody want to write an "agony aunt" type column for this fine tome? On the assumption that somebody will, if you have any problems that you'd like answering, please post them in an envelope in the bus. (Anonymity assured)
Last year, I knocked out five of these newsletters. At the AGM, that was thought to be about the right number, although it was suggested that we increase it to six with one every two months so that they come in-between the BGAs Sailplane and Gliding. That sounds like a reasonable idea to me, it just means you lot have to do a bit more work as well!! So, all being well, the next one should be appearing at the end of June. Until then, happy soaring!
Alan Dennis