LGC NEWS

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July 1998

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Exciting Flying!

Glider soaring the screes (122609 bytes)

"495 - Echo Delta Zulu, What ya doin' down there Peter? Over."

Around the first May bank holiday weekend we had some really good flying conditions, Graham Welch, Peter Lewis and John Burdett were all soaring on the Screes at Wast Water where Graham took some excellent photos like the one above (the others are on the bus if anyone wants to see them). The following weekend Dave North and I went to Wast Water and Sellafield in thermals.

Hus Bos

The second bank holiday saw Fifteen of us along with eight gliders, down at Hus Bos. We were all made very welcome once again by the club but unfortunately the weather was poor with not much flying being done at all. Dave Bull and I were in the K21, John M and Graham Welch in the Pegasus and the Vega respectively set off on the task, and all three landed out. The first day we were at Hus Bos Graham Sturgeon phoned us to say they had wave at Walney, however the Capstan landed out at Roanhead with Dick Redhead and Gordon Furness. This was one of several land outs recently. Graham Sturgeon and I in the K21 at Blease Hall, Dave North and I again in the K21 at Leece, you will note all three in the K21 had me in it, so you know who to avoid! At least the trailers have been out quite a bit so good news for our sponsors. Since then as you know the weather has been awful. Keith was over from France and although the weather was poor he did get some flying in. Walter Postlethwaite was aloft for 49 minutes several weeks ago in thermals, he didn't have a watch so opened his airbrakes to come down, narrowly missing out on an hour. Congratulations to Roger Copley who did a 300k in France to complete his Gold badge. Roger's also flown solo in a light aircraft at Blackpool as has Colin Williams. Gordon did his five hours on the Combe on the same day as Phil Storer did two hours for his cross country diploma. Neil and Linda recently bought a Discus 'a' from Austria, so we all look forward to seeing those angular wings at Walney.

Lyn

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Dates for your diary

Social: Sat 11th July - BBQ at the clubhouse.

Pocklington: Sat 22nd-30th August - two seater comp.

Portmoak: Sat 3rd-10th Oct - club trip.

Dinner: Sat 14th November - venue to be confirmed.

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Chairman's Column

The mobile phone on the bus has become faulty and has had to be replaced. As the original phone was in Phil Gilbert's name, Phil agreed to organise the replacement. Unfortun-ately this was not straightforward and has involved Phil in a lot of negotiations on our behalf but he has managed to obtain a new digital phone and over £40 credit.

His efforts are much appreciated so thank you Phil, but come gliding again soon.

Gliding generally is suffering from a lack of young pilots and in the past people who have started in their teens have gone on to become the back bone of the club. To try to help encourage young members we are offering them reduced membership and flying fees.

The two seater competition at Pocklington is 22nd -30th August and we have entered the Capstan and K21, now all we need is pilots. Please add your name to the list on the bus indicating which days you will be available. We are also allowed to take single seaters but they will not be launched until after the two seaters have taken off.

Plans are underway for the club trip to Portmoak which will be 3rd-10th of October. See Lyn for an accommodation booking form.

Having had a long spell of poor weather things can only get better so summer must be starting soon.

John M

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Letters

Old Oly 2B Pilot Threatens To Sue Scurrah.

Dear Editor, I take exception to the implication by that grey haired old tubby pilot from Millom that my flying was/is somewhat irresponsible. The suggestion that my first field landing was in any way hazardous is an affront to the training in field selection I received from the instructors at Walney. I demand an apology and that you print the facts.

It is true that we auto-towed from Haverigg behind my 1100cc car (fortunately front wheel drive as Scurrah used to pull back so hard at 35knots he would lift the back end up) and that having passed the point of no return that I was a little bit low (20 feet) as I approached the lay by on the road that runs along the base of Black Combe. To then go on to suggest that my field selection strategy was coincidental with my instantaneous position belittles the foresight, training and skill that was demonstrated.

What right had the mini driver to be on this isolated stretch of road on a Sunday, he should have been in church. The lay by was nearly flat and of adequate width for the Oly with one wing held up to avoid the wall. I had nearly touched down when he appeared from nowhere driving like a mad man. Fortunately I had some spare momentum and the slope of the road was only marginally below the optimum glide angle of the Oly.

Naturally any good pilot has an undershoot, main and overshoot field in mind. The main field just happened to be the next lay by. Well for clarity, it was the same one but a van was parked in the middle therefore equating to the hedge between the undershoot and main field. As I went to open the brakes and at the same time shove the skid into the ground to enhance braking I realised that the stopping distance needed was unlikely to be achieved in practice. It was at this point I chose to go for the overshoot field. It was not plan 'Sheeit' as Scurrah suggests.

The overshoot field did require me to negotiate the wall at the side of the road, which from memory I cleared by at least two feet, an adequate 32knots and a skilful co-ordinated 45 degree turn once I got the wing over the wall. Now it had been evident from several yards back (as my wing passed over the van and I looked in the window to note that the driver was resting) that the ground sloped away diagonally to my left, again matching my best glide angle. The second wall required even more skill as it had telephone poles with wires attached to the tops. Well thought out approach control, which is what we were taught long before Lewis became CFI, paid dividends as it was necessary to fly diagonally between the poles, under the wires and over the wall in order to fly underneath the main electricity cables and between the electricity pylons which happened to be supporting them whilst stopping before the third wall. This was achieved with great skill and foresight including the final ruddered turn at ground level to remove drift and land parallel to the third wall on the other side of the pylons. These particular techniques were well spelt out in the November issue of S&G of 1932. At no time was I in any danger or running out of well thought out ideas.

I had disappeared from the CFI's sight at Haverigg behind the trees and I think he was actually quite relieved that I had executed a good field landing. This field landing was beneficial to my flying progress as when the CFI arrived he failed to ask how I had got there and assumed I had landed parallel to and over the pylons. It was several years before I advised him how well his instructing had prepared me for this experience. He had always told me, "Clear field selection with a range of options to cover eventualities together with approach control are the fundamental ingredients of a good field landing. Last minute decisions will lead to prangs."

Having shared gliders, model gliders, women and motor bikes with Mr Scurrah for some 20 years I am saddened that he has cast nasturtiums on my flying. I will remove him from my Christmas card list.

I have a suspicion that he is likely to describe his flight to the Isle of Man next. An article which should only be read by retired pilots or after the nine o'clock threshold.

I would advise you to be more select and submit future articles in your magazine to the Club's barrack room lawyers for approval prior to printing.

PR 23

Over to you Gil..

15.5.98

Oi Editor!

I am writing in angry response to your 'website' article in the last edition of LGC News. in which you described those members without access to the 'Internet' as 'Luddites' what a cheek! Now, just because we all don't spend our free time glued to a screen, or fingering our digits doesn't mean we are opposed to "Industrial change or innovation", we've probably just got more creative or interesting things to occupy the intellect, the words 'life' and 'get one' spring to mind.

We are also not that short sighted enough to get sucked in by a world wide corporate consumer ploy designed to bloat the already massive profits of the Personal Computer Giants of which 'the net' is just an electronic billboard for the same, so put that in your programme and surf it!

On a lighter note the proposed insertion of an 'agony aunt' column in your fine tome is I think a splendid idea. But surely could only be trusted to a female member and I would like to hereby nominate our very own Hon Social Sec; the most 'Luvverly Lyn' to carry out this most important and demanding service for the future mental well being of our many dysfunctional members.

This will of course then enable me to write detailed accounts of my past sexual misdemeanours and my present erotic fantasies without fear or prosecution or exposure as you promised "anonymity assured'

I do hope you won't censure or refuse to print this letter (as opposed to fax or e-mail) as I shall be forced to let the tyres down on your trailer on the most soarable days only and even if you do manage to launch, you will return to earth feeling rather deflated, this of course is not a threat but 'think on' lad.

Lots of Love
from
"Incipient Syd"©

p.s. Keep up the good work.

Ouch! What can I say? I suppose I ought to be thankful I wasn't labelled a Nerd as well!! It occurs to me that Incipient Syd doth protest too much. Just as an alcoholic in denial wouldn't admit to drinking, I think Incipient Syd might just be a closet Internet Nerd himself. After all, they tend to hide behind absurd pseudonyms, and if this letter wasn't the start of a flame war then I don't know what is! Of course we all know that the only thing the Internet is really used for is distributing porn - I wonder if that has anything to do with the "present erotic fantasies"?

But enough of this psycho-analysis babble (I'll leave that to Uncle Bug) and psychological profiling to try and work out the identity (for I still don't know!) of this poor confused individual. To set the record straight, I have to point out that of the 60 members in the club, 20 to my knowledge are connected to the Internet, that's a third which whilst I admit is not quite a majority, is none the less a significant minority As for the web-site itself: it's been visited nearly 400 times since it went on-line two months ago and as a direct result we've had two very promising membership enquiries.

As for blatant threats - fear the day I find out your true identity....

Alan Dennis (Note the spelling Syd!)

p.s. in future no letters will be printed unless a name and address are supplied; (no matter what threats are used) I want to know exactly which "dysfunctional member" I'm insulting!

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Team France 1998

After two or three days back at work, the holiday seems light years away, and the dismal weather at home has served to bring into better, perspective the emotional roller-coaster that was this years' French gliding holiday.

When we arrived in Thouars the increasingly impenetrable maze of the French bureaucratic machine had (we thought) been all but conquered, with the assistance of Peter L., who had previously furnished the requisite paperwork to Poitiers; it seemed a simple matter to just get a check flight and go! The two Peters had demonstrated a week earlier the ease with which this could be accomplished. Whether it was the world cup football riots in Marseilles, or a lack of oestrogen, that had dulled the enthusiasm of their CFI Sebastian to co-operate, it is frankly difficult to say, but 4 frustrating days elapsed without even a hint of meeting the man, let alone flying with him!

The whole situation was inflamed by the fact that the Dutch, with their internationally recognised licenses, just turned up and flew not only their own machines, but the French ones as well! Even they were getting a little tense after a week of winching French style, (no weak links and a multi strand cable you could have launched the Titanic with!) and were equally anxious to welcome the promised tug from Poitiers. Peter R mysteriously decided to repeat his 500km , but this time in his new Mercedes lorry; he negotiated turning points at Le Blanc, Issoudun & Chauvigny before his final 'glide' returned him to the 'home' aerodrome.

In a fit of anti-Sebastian petulance, the rest of us decided to abandon Thouars temporarily in an attempt to secure the accursed check flight (which they infuriatingly kept calling 'ZE TEST'). After an abortive and almost farcical trip to Saumur, we eventually asked our friend & tug pilot Pierre Delineau to set up a flight at Poitiers; this finally did the trick.

We each had a 30min thermic blast with genial instructor Patric Esnault, in a K13, and then suffered in silence while Monsieur (Jean Luc?) Picard of the District Aeronautique Poitou-Charentes examined minutely our aforementioned paperwork. It seemed scarcely credible that a mere 5 days after leaving good old Blighty, we were both clutching in our sweaty mitts the elusive 'Validation d'un Certificat de Pilote de Planeur Britanique. ie. We could fly !!

The period that followed was the stuff of which gliding holidays are made; not all brilliant days it's true, but there was some fantastic soaring opportunities to be had for those so inclined. Peter R, was in good form and frequently demonstrated what could be described as the LOW technique; the low tug tow, the low winch release, the low thermal & the low final turn. [One such flight was in fact so low, it looked to the uninitiated eye like a re-light!] Does he suffer from vertigo above 1500ft I wonder?

We had some inverted days, some blue days, some even bluer days, but thankfully the tail end of a couple of the Uks' foul cyclonic systems chilled the air mass enough to create a better soaring environment, which in turn made a 300km task a realistic goal for me. The others busied themselves with the more daunting challenge of a 500km attempt.

Rogers TP at Cholet (112172 bytes)

Roger's 300km Turning Point at Cholet

I just about made it round the task, without repeating my previous speciality (a premature scrutiny of a French field), but not before giving myself a couple of frights on the way - not least, the latter stages of a 30mile final glide, which was as marginal as I would ever care to repeat! Peter L. hadn't realised that you have to do the 500km in one flight, and blew his chance by popping in to see some friends in Le Blanc.

John was unfortunate to be ill during his flight, but amazed everyone by flying home from Saumur with a map in one hand and a beanie hat full of sick in the other. It is amazing how parts of ones anatomy adapt in a crisis! In spite of the license hassles, the closure of the airfield bar, and also of our favourite little restaurant in St Generoux, we all managed to make the best of the situation, and had (believe it or not) a great holiday. It was sad to say 'au revoir' to Pierre for what could well be the last time, before our long plod home.

Personally I would still glide in France again, but not until the BGA & CAA have removed their digits from their nether orifices long enough to arrange for we Brits to be furnished with pukka internationally recognised gliding licenses, like the Dutch, (& apparently everyone else) have. Sebastian apart, I feel we have been as much a victim of our own organisations jingoistic, intransigent & petty minded bureaucrats as of the French.

Roger Copley

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Even lower than PR!

A Dutch glider pilot has been booted out of his aviation club for flying his plane so low it sliced the ear off a horse, police said yesterday. The horse has not fully recovered from the incident during a flight competition in the eastern town of Ommen, and the pilot may have to pay compensation if it dies.

(The Guardian, June 25, 1998)

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Reciprocal Membership

You might not know this, but as a member of the Lakes you are also automatically a member of the BGA. This means that you can also fly at other clubs on a temporary basis and not have to pay an annual membership to that club. Some clubs will charge a daily membership of a few pounds, but most don't charge anything. Chipping, near Preston, are one such club who are keen to welcome Lakes members for the day. They only launch using a winch, so if you've never experienced a winch launch before, or need to brush up your technique, why not pay them a visit.

Just for the record, our daily membership for visiting pilots is slightly different - it's not a fixed rate! We charge the visitor whatever we would be charged if we visited them. So for the "free" clubs like Chipping or Hus Bos we don't charge them anything. However for the likes of Sutton Bank who still insist on charging £7 a day, that's what we charge them! Hopefully some day everyone will see the light and charge nothing...

Alan D.

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Gliding Records

A PW5 in flight (3296 bytes)  

The diminutive PW5 (above) has been taking the limelight with some new records this time, although it has got a new class of its own so there are plenty of records to go at!

A single flight on may 16th 1998 by Diether MEMMERT (Germany) claimed three records in one go for a flight from Vogtareuth (Germany) to Oberalppass (Switzerland) and return. The records claimed were "Out and Return Distance" - 580 km, "Free Out and Return Distance" - 580km and "Speed Over an Out and Return Course of 500 km" - 67.90 km/h.

From the Internet

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A Cows Tale

Well, this has nothing to do with gliding. I've kept various animals now for 14 years, they never cease to amaze me, yesterday was no exception. Firstly I was wakened at 5am by four horses rampaging up the drive into the farm yard, a mare was in season hotly pursued by three huge horses all 17 hands. Later that day my cow was to go to the bull, I've had to find a different farm again this year as she always disgraces herself and has to come home. Two years ago at Crook she chased fell walkers and the farmer on his quad bike out of the field, so had to come home early. Last year at Coniston she wanted the bull for herself so fought off the other cows. Yet another phone call, please collect her.

She never likes going in the cattle wagon and yesterday was no exception, she and her calf, who is white and three months old, got down the drive and were two yards off the ramp into the wagon when she, hotly pursued by the calf, leapt a five foot dry stone wall, into my garden. The cow stopped, however the calf walked straight into my pond which is five feet deep. She emerged and swam to the other side, they both jumped over the wall again and walked right into the wagon.

The fun was not over yet. I'd not seen the farm past Ambleside before, it was three quarters of the way up Kirkstone pass, only 6'6" cars allowed. We crawled up in bottom gear with lots of holiday traffic reversing everywhere we couldn't put her in with the white bull as the wagon couldn't make it. So she's in with a red one who immediately jumped on her as she walked in the gate, the farmer wanted to know why I'd washed the calf? I wonder when I'll get a phone call to bring her home!

Lyn

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Mans best friend

Usually everyone who has a dog either calls him rover or some such name. I called mine "Sex". Well, Sex is a very embarrassing name. One day I took Sex for a walk and he ran away from me. I spent hours looking for that dog. A policeman came along and asked me what I was doing in an alley at 4am in the morning. I said, I'm looking for Sex. My case comes up next Thursday.

One day I went to the town hall to get a dog license for Sex. The clerk asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted a license for Sex. He said he would like to have one too. When I said "But this is a dog" he said he didn't care what she looked like. Then I said, "You don't understand, I've had Sex since I was a two year old". He replied "You must have been a strong boy".

When I decided I wanted to get married I told the minister that I wanted to have Sex at the wedding. He told me to wait until after the ceremony. I said, "But Sex has played a big part in my life and my whole lifestyle revolves around Sex". He said he did not want to hear about my personal life and would not marry us in church. I told him everyone coming to the wedding would enjoy having Sex there. The next day we were married by a Justice of the Peace. My family is barred from the church. My wife and I took the dog along with us on the Honeymoon. When I checked into the Motel I told the Clerk that I wanted a room in a Motel for Sex. Then I said, "You don't understand, Sex keeps me awake at night." and the Judge said "Me too."

When I told him that after I was married Sex had left me, he said, "Me Too". Well, now I've been thrown in jail, been married, divorced and had more damn trouble with that dog than I had ever gambled for. Why just the other day when I went for my first session with the Psychiatrist, she asked me "What seems to be the trouble?" I said "Well, Sex has died and left my life. Its like losing a best friend and I'm so lonely." The doctor looked at me and she said "Mister you and I both know that Sex doesn't last for ever. Go out and get yourself a dog!"

(You know who submitted this...)

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A Pilot's Tale......

The German controllers at Frankfurt Airport were a short-tempered lot. They not only expected you to know your parking location but how to get there without any assistance from them. The following exchange took place between Frankfurt ground and a British Airways 747 (radio call Speedbird 206) after landing:

Speedbird 206: "Good morning Frankfurt, Speedbird 206 clear of the active (runway)."

Ground: "Guten morgan, taxi to your gate."

The British Airways 747 pulls onto the main taxiway and stops.

Ground: "Speedbird, do you not know where you are going?"

Speedbird 206: "Stand by, ground, I'm looking up the gate location now."

Ground (with typical German impatience): "Speedbird 206, have you never flown to Frankfurt before?"

Speedbird 206 (coolly): "Yes, in 1944. But I didn't stop".

 

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A quick plug from Roy Partington

Did I say that my Roger (who spent much of his childhood at Walney) is now an instructor at the Borders (Milfield)? Also a naval architect - now where did that influence come from?? He has purchased a rather nice specimen of a T49 Capstan (ex RN) which he is enjoying flying v. much with his girlfriend, etc. As a consequence, he (we!) have for sale a truly excellent Cobra 15 outfit. Complete with aluminium clad trailer, oxygen, rigging aids, one man tow out, parachute, etc. We have had some wonderful flights in her - including Roger's excellent 300K. If you know of anyone wanting a wood glider with glass performance (38:1) with no vices and aerobatic, please put them in touch. Either me 01947 840 799 or Roger 0191 413 3884. We are prepared to be very reasonable for a good home and quick sale. Apologies for the plug - what are friends for??

Cheers, Roy

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Dave's Trailer Howidunnitt

So, there I was. A pile of metal, thanks Sturge, two welding sets, Gordon's and Peter's, and not a clue as to what I was doing.

Had a look at the Capstan trailer for the design. No problem, went to work the next day and did some sketches. Measured up the existing K8 trailer again to make sure it was going to be long enough, then measured one of the other single seat trailers for the width as it had already been decided that the trailer should be built with a view to covering it in the future. Then it was just a case of cutting all the bar into the correct lengths, welding them together and "Hey Presto" one new K8 trailer. Well it was nearly like that.

My original idea was to build the base and work up. The problem with that was how to make sure the sides remained straight when I started on them. Change of plan. Make the sides first then join them together with the base struts. Sounded more like it.

With Gordon's help I set to and cut all the pieces I needed to make one side, except for the diagonals. First challenge here was to extend the main longitudinal bars. That's when I realised that the hanger floor isn't as level as I thought. Still, managed that with help from Phil Storer. Finished one side after more cutting, this time for the diagonals which I measured and cut individually. Next bit was easy, I just had to make another one only in mirror image.

Now came the difficult bit, how to marry the two sides together and keep the whole thing square. First I cut the floor cross members, taking great care to ensure that they were all the same length. Once this was done they just had to be welded to the side frameworks. A bit easier said than done but with Roy Jones's assistance this was achieved by tacking the cross members to one side whilst checking that they were square. When these were secure we then lined up the other side and tacked this in position too. It was starting to look like a trailer now. Just a case of completing the welding, this was the easy bit. Although Gordon's welding set wasn't as enthusiastic as I was, it did a wonderful job. Once I had welded the main structure up I had to build the 'A' frame. This wasn't too difficult as by this time I had ordered and received the axle and towing hitch. So I made a template of the towing hitch, drilled the bars of the 'A' frame and then bolted them to the template. These were positioned on the main assembly, making sure that they were in the middle and square and the whole lot welded in position.

The next thing was to drill the holes for the axle. This was fairly taxing for my meagre brain capacity 'cos I knew that unless I got it right we'd have a trailer that didn't tow straight. I started off by measuring down both sides of the trailer and also using a square from one side to the other as I was fairly certain the trailer was square. This proved to be quite accurate as it turned out because just before I was going to set to with the drill I had a brain wave. I had already marked the centre of the trailer at the front for the 'A' frame so it was a simple task to measure from here to each side of the trailer and check that the axle holes were equally measured. Much to my surprise my original marks turned out to be correct +/- a couple of mm's.

The Trailer (20139 bytes)

At this point I was starting to think I'd have it on the road in a couple of weeks but as things turned out the job really slowed down at this point, partly due to my loathe of painting and partly due to the fact that we had a couple of good flying days. Anyway the painting was started one Sunday, after I had ground off all the rough bits where the aluminium sheets were going to sit. With the assistance of Alan Dennis, Dave Bull and Neil Houghton we managed to get half of the trailer rubbed down and primed. The rubbing down was the bit that took the longest as we had to get all the rust and mill-scale of it otherwise the paint would probably just fall off it. Due to an R/T course and more flying, things went on hold again for a couple of weeks but Alan and I finished the rubbing and priming one night.

After that the top coat was applied. I started on it one Saturday afternoon and with more assistance from Dave Bull we managed to get most of it done. It was finally finished through the evenings of the following week.

Time to start on the aluminium sheeting now. I started this thinking it was going to be fairly easy as I had all the sheets cut and bent to size. I made another mistake with the first sheet because I riveted it along the top of the trailer and because this wasn't straight it meant the side ended up buckling. Managed to rescue this though without it looking too bad. After I realised the mistake the rest of it went fairly easily and with Roy Jones's help we managed to complete one side and most of the other in one day.

It was now time to fit the axle, the bit I was dreading. So with the help of Gordon F, John B, Graham W, Roy J this was done along with the towing hitch. Surprise, surprise they both went straight on.

I spent another couple of nights doing some more riveting, until all the drills I had were blunt, but it was no good I would have to see what it looked like hitched to the car. So I hitched it to the car and straightened it along the line on the hangar floor, had a walk around it and blew my state of euphoria. It definitely wasn't straight behind the car. So the next weekend, with Roy's help, we towed it around the airfield a bit then back to the hanger dropped the axle off, did a bit of filing, back on with the axle, more measuring, off again, more filing, back on, another measure and then round the airfield again. It is now reasonably straight. Phew!

After sharpening the drills at Peter's I finished the riveting one Sunday morning. I then fitted all the lights, reflectors, mudguards and the brake cables. It finally looked like a road going trailer.

The pressure was on now 'cos I knew that the club would want it for the trip to Hus Bos so I said that I would finish the basic structure but someone else would have to start looking at the fittings. John Martindale was enlisted for this job so he started to measure up for this. The wings would be fairly straight forward, it was the fuselage that I thought would be the biggest problem.

As it turned out, due to a lack off people with tow bars it didn't go to Hus Bos. This was lucky 'cos I didn't have time to finish connecting the brakes before going on holiday.

My next job was to connect up the lights and fit the floor. The wiring was easy enough but I couldn't complete it without the floor being in place. I got the wood one Saturday morning. I had it cut to size so there were only a few minor mods to do, holes for cables etc. Just had to treat it now. I did this the morning of the May Bank Holiday. Then finished off the wiring during the following week.

So there it was. One brand new K8 trailer. Yes it took longer to make than I thought and it also cost more than I thought it would but I think it was worth it and yes I would do it again. It just needs a top on it now, one of those fancy glass fibre ones would be nice. I've seen one with 23 on the side and I'm sure I could get that off fairly easily. Wonder if anyone would notice!!

I would just like to thank all the people that assisted me in building the trailer. I think I have mentioned everyone but if I didn't please accept my humble apologies.

Dave N.

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Uncle B.U.G.

Uncle B.U.G. is here to take on the role of Agony Aunt to the club. Feel free to write in with any problems you may be having associated with gliding and we'll see what your friendly Uncle B.U.G. has to say about it.

Dear Uncle BUG

On a club visit to the Scottish Gliding Union at Portmoak last year, I saw demonstrated two rather interesting remote controlled mop heads - they were brought into the dining area, dropped onto the wooden floor, and, by dint of kicking their balls about, made to complete a full surface polish of the wooden area. Occasional encouragement in Jockanese was all the voice control required and they did a very effective job. Would it be feasible to hire these mopheads to clean our hangar floor and/or gliders?

The Captain

Dear Captain,

I have written to the owner of the remote controlled mopheads, and can confirm that she has patented a very interesting variant of the original concept, that could be readily adapted for your purpose. If vindaloo paste is liberally spread on their balls, they can be made to spin at surprisingly high speeds in a direction determined by the relative thickness of the paste; cutting polish or hard wax can then be applied to a glider with ease to achieve a highly creditable low drag finish.

Uncle Bug

Dear Uncle Bug,

Please can you help me with my problem.

I came home the other day after a hard weekend thermalling at Walney, to find my wife in bed with another glider pilot. My eldest daughter is on the game; my youngest daughter is on drugs; my mother has been charged with soliciting at the Lakes Gliding Club; my father is up before the court next week following an indecent act in a public toilet; my Uncle has been jailed for interfering with a minor, and all my cousins have police records.

My problem is - should I tell the CFI that I'm a member of the Conservative party?

Name withheld.

Dear Sir,

Yours is indeed a sorry plight, for I fear the root cause of your anguish is that you have a compulsion to see the worst in those that care for you. I have completed an in depth investigation of your circumstances, and have reached the following conclusions:

Your wife had in fact consulted the other pilot regarding a suitable Xmas present for you, and assures me that she had only been checking with him that the object in question had appropriately sized batteries.

Your eldest daughter positively revels in her backgammon, and you should be extremely proud that her mental gymnastics have made her an object of significant attention at her local club.

Your youngest daughters' boyfriend tells me that her pills are merely for the relief of acute angina.

Your mother happens to be one of the finest criminal lawyers the gliding club has ever appointed.

Your father was truly embarrassed to be caught rehearsing his part in 'A Midsummer Nights Dream' under those unfortunate circumstances, and will strenuously deny having met the pop star before that event.

Your Uncle informs me that he was actually arrested for forging the tax disc on his vintage Morris - not for interfering with a minor (sorry).

As for your cousins - well, there is nothing to be ashamed of in having a police record - indeed, one of my all time favourites is 'Message in a Bottle' (but would not admit to knowing the words)!

Do try to be more compassionate and tolerant to your loved ones, and on no account tell anyone you are a Tory or your credibility will surely suffer.

I enclose the address of the Right Honourable, The Leader of the Opposition, who has been trying for some months to locate his party.

Uncle Bug

Dear Uncle Bug

I am now over 60 and having trouble keeping it up. I have acquired the latest technical aids (which are not HIV positive but I now can fly the right way up) and still find that I cannot stay up as long as some of the younger and newer pilots. In fact I feel a bit like the wheel brake on my glider. My wife has suggested I should shower in warm water after landing. Do you think this would help?

Anon from Hawcoat

Dear Anon from Hawcoat

When people get to your age it might be advisable to give up trying to keep it up. Subconsciously this may in fact have been the reason you couldn't stay up when others were dashing round Sedburgh and the Yorkshire Dales and staying up all day. Certainly a cold shower will not enhance your ability to stay up; this is a well-known medical fact. Possibly you are a 'Pisces' and are in need of a new instrument.

Uncle Bug

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Gliding At Walney (part 4)

Gliding At Walney (part 1)

Gliding At Walney (part 2)

Gliding At Walney (part 3)

In my first year of flying at Walney with the 'Lakes' I had my greatest high and my most traumatic low in gliding up to that time. The low, I think, is worth repeating, if only it can bring home to others the frailty of the hold we have in this life, and how easily the fates can arrange circumstances that do not allow for any mistakes.

Ernie Dodd, blue eyed, ruddy brown faced, when he went to the barbers it was either 'matt' or 'gloss'. An ever ready sense of humour, always able to give or receive a practical joke.

When on the finals he would say "Land over there on the peri. track , imagine the runway is blocked". Then when one was nicely positioned for this new set of circumstances, he would trot out "No, back to the runway, the peri. track is blocked now, and land on the white line". I was going to have a late lunch in the town centre once, after a meeting at Bowater Scotts, when Ernie hailed me from across the road "Where are you going to Gill?" he questioned, and when I asked him to join me he said "No, you come down to the drome with me and help me to get the plane out" A challenge that overtook mere eating. We met Harvey Jackson on the way and he got in as well . Out came the Auster, I think that was the time the prop had got one of the ends curled up or something, and Ernie had measured from the prop. boss with a piece of string, and then sawed and filed smooth both tips, and was off to get it checked out. "Get in "he said, and as we were taking off he said "Here's the map, you get me to Carlisle airport and I'll just go where you tell me" And to my question he replied "Oh! don't worry about the return, we'll just thumb a lift back, I'm leaving the plane up there. Later, sitting in Binns restaurant, silver service, lots of wine glasses upside down on the tables, and more cutlery each than I had at home, a waiter pulled the chair out for each of us, dusted the dandruff off our collars and neatly placed a napkin as big as a tablecloth on each of our laps, called us "sir" and requested our pleasure, it was great until halfway through the main course, and at a time when only politely quiet conversation ruffled the tranquillity of the dining room, and Ernie in the blink of an eye, under the noses of the waiters standing to serve each table, and without pausing with a fork full of meat to his mouth, hurled a bread bun down the room, underhand from under the table, which ricocheted off the ceiling, and dropped on some table halfway down the room. I missed it, it was so quick, so the consternation on my face was as genuine as anyone's in the room, and the waiters ran about not knowing quite what to do when a bread bun just fell out of the sky from heaven knows where. It just did not happen in their restaurant.- Bread buns indeed!

He absolutely exuded life. An ex teacher who ran his own business in Dalton road.

One couldn't be around with him without happiness getting into top gear. We went up one day with the intention of buzzing a butcher friend of his who had a caravan out on one corner of a caravan park near Dunnerdale golf course. We came in over the moors like a fighter strafing an enemy camp, Machine gunned the caravan from a very low level and then pulled up into a stall turn to dive down and drop a stick of bombs on it like a J.U.87. Two more beat ups and then back to the drome; The only problem was that the butchers caravan had been moved to the other end of the park, and the petrified occupant of the target daren't come out to report him until after it had gone dark, and from his position from under the caravan hadn't quite been able to get the registration number. Another day he would show me how to loop an Auster, and I remember well, after the engine went into a coughing fit at about 45 degrees inverted, how much dust and bits of grit could rise up from the floor and get into the nostrils whilst the plane was trying to do an inverted falling leaf. One could confidently say "Never a dull moment" with Ernie around.

It was quite a pleasant day in the middle of October just after 1500 hrs, and I was sitting in the club house of the time looking out of the window, when somebody said "The tug has just gone in off the end of the runway" I went outside and went down to the end of the runway on a motor cycle, I cannot remember whose it was, and there over the hedge, nose buried in a little muddy gully, wings drooping down to the ground like a great shot bird, and tail askew up in the air was the Auster. Some people were around it and getting out a young lady and a little boy from the rear seats, completely soaked in fuel from the wing tanks, whilst Harvey Jackson and Ernie Dodd were sitting in the front seats rather ominously quiet and unmoving. Both were trapped by their feet and lower legs in a tangle of pedals and control cables, there were minor abrasions on Harvey, and Ernie seemed to have his head a little low on his shoulder, otherwise I felt relieved that we would get them both out. L.R. was sharp once when someone suggested giving one a cigarette while they waited to be cut out. Control cables are one of the most difficult things to cut without the correct tools, and time seemed to drag as Harvey was got out. I was holding Ernies head on my arm which was round his shoulder, whilst he looked at me with blue eyes and ashen face and then without a sound, was still looking at me, but not seeing me anymore, and I knew that he had just switched off. I had a few seconds considering the options of revival but decided against resuscitation, as he had no heartbeat and he had stopped breathing and his neck was so loose that I thought we wouldn't get the same Ernie back again. I told someone behind me that I thought he had gone, but didn't tell Harvey at this time. No one suggested any other course of conduct, and a quiet, busy silence descended over the whole scene as finally Harvey was freed and lifted away. Harvey said to me, between groans, at one point something like "He said we'd just get back to the bloody runway". But Harvey couldn't have known of the 184 yards of wire wrapped round the propeller boss, which as the plane descended in a tight diving turn back to the runway, caught in and dragged through the hedge and made the Auster continue in this diving turn. Ian Ronald, (His Majesty) I think was in the Tutor at about a thousand feet and still on the wire and saw the whole episode, and able to do nothing about it.

I was duty pilot on the day, and instructed someone to mark where the coils of wire were on the runway, and then help me to drag it off to one side into the grass to clear the runway in use.

This got me a little dressing down later on when the police and the C.I.D. came on the scene, and I told them where I had put the wire. One policeman was going mad with a stick of yellow crayon, and drawing circles around all the bits of debris that were scattered all over the intersection. I watched him circle a piece of the wooden propeller about a foot long, and then after the wind blew it some distance away he circled it again, after another movement, he started on his third circle, at which point I could not contain the emotions that were built up inside now there was little to do but think and wait, and told the policeman to stop being such a pillock. This got me up in front of the beak, in the form of a sergeant up in the club house, who was trying to read me a type of riot act about moving wire and obstructing the police in the course of their duty, interfering with evidence, not understanding the seriousness of the situation, and contravening all sorts of other things that I can not remember now. - Now I am always a little quiet sort of bloke, and always try to do the best in the circumstances, but this was the final straw, having done my very best, and I am sorry to say that I again informed them that I did understand, much better than they, and he was my friend. In a much stronger, but not rude way. I think I made my point because I didn't hear more about it as I was promised, as I walked out on them, or maybe they just thought it was the wrong time of the month for me. I must have been still boiling when I got home, as my wife asked immediately what was wrong, she'd never seen me so uptight before.

The consolation in all this is that he didn't leave this world alone, he was doing something he loved, surrounded by friends, and someone had their arm around him, and was holding his hand; and I still have that black and yellow piece of the wooden propeller.


There was once a length of rubber bands in the hanger, which had been a bungie possibly a left over from gliding from Ireleth, so it was decided to have a go at bungie launching down the runway. The end was tied onto my Jag and the glider fastened to the other, taking turns to go a little further with each launch. I think it was Pete in the craft when we had just about got the tension right and the take off O.K. when the ancient rubber bands parted company. I think we were lucky that the plane didn't land on the car during this exercise, so here endethed the elastic band launching, but I remember that it was a smooth acceleration to flying speed.

The next time I was grounded was one day when I didn't have a radio working and His Majesty was the duty instructor at the time and wouldn't let me have a launch because all planes had to have a working radio at that time, and also, (one of the daftest rules I can remember, about on a level with no beef on the bone) one had to radio back to base every fifteen minutes, which meant at least one call whilst still on tow to the Combe, and coming back from around the hills far side to radio in each time, meaning one couldn't get anywhere near Muncaster without turning back to radio in unless you had a good height at the Combe, which wasn't always the case. After the loss of Mike Dodd at sea, there seemed to be all sorts of barmy rules sprung up. Everyone had to have a life jacket on if flying over water, which as we fly from an island, meant every flight. About a year after this rule came into being, someone blew up a may west, which promptly went down again, as the neck piece had rotted at the seam through too much hair oil and neck rubbing for a year, and if my memory serves me correctly, this was relaxed to having one with you if flying over water. The next daft rule about the same time was the 45degree rule, which meant leaving Black Combe at 12000' and the slag bank at about 2000' if the tide was in. I don't know what happened to that one, but it was not used by myself at all. Looking back over my notes I see that we often left the slag bank at three hundred feet, and the Combe at less than 2500' and once, possibly during a bottom pinching straight run in, the slag bank at 200'. I can remember the comfort one felt on leaving the slag bank rather on the low side, in going through the hill lift which extended well out over the channel, and meant maintaining height for about a third of the way over, and then diving down to near the sea, out of the wind, to go further and then popping up over the hedge onto the runway.

Howard told me off once for this bad example setting. but didn't mention the big danger in doing this. This was brought home to most of us one summers day, when Pete and myself were in the two seater, I think the Tin Can, over the slag bank, and we were joined by L.R. in his Dart. The most beautiful looking glider ever to fly from Walney, (including an allowance for nostalgia.) As the lift was getting lower and it looked as if the two gliders may depart the bank at about the same time, Pete and I decided to go out to sea and approach the landing point from the west, and land on the left of the runway, leaving L.R. with a clear view of our plane, and the right hand side of the runway to land on. We were a hundred yards or so ahead of L.R. and he was doing a high speed, low level run in, avoiding the winds at higher levels, and as he 'popped up' to go over the hedge, he got in the down off the end of the field, and popped straight through the hedge instead of over it. His good luck or good judgement, saw the Darts fuselage going between two stronger hawthorn bushes, which removed most of the wings, whilst the fuselage came to a rest on the grass towards the runway. Pete this time had a good excuse to get me to push the glider back on my own, and ran back to see if Dad was all right.

L.R. was out of the plane his usual self; "careful with that instrument panel" - "Hold that battery the right way up".- "Don't lift the wing with the aileron" - "some of you come round this side and lift up here" Etc. Mrs. Redshaw was running around like a mother hen, all concerned and in his way, when he came out with a gem "Pete, for heavens sake take your mother for a walk". I think a few years later a Vickers plane did the same thing at the same place.

Another humorous incident was in 1975 when I was doing a little passenger flying and one Wednesday afternoon had arranged a tug to give me a tow with the project manager from Bowater-Scott who was up from the city and wanted to see the lake district, and the Rothay Manor Hotel where he was staying. I think that he thought that a glider just went up when you wanted it to, and could go around wherever you liked. "And could we go and see some mountains as well?" We were towed out to Bardsea on this hazy day, to where it looked as if there might be wave, and there was, this enabled me to go inland and up wind and get the main one, and we went up like a rocket to 12000' with me never stopping talking and pointing things out. At that height I said that we really weren't supposed to go much higher than this without oxygen, but if he was O.K. at this we would go to fifteen, where I had been several times in the R.A.F. without oxygen and seemed all right. He seemed a bit slow, and finally said, "If it --is O.K.--w-ith--you, I c-can-t --brea-th. I am --an asthmatic--sorry."

At 10000 he perked up a little and at 8000 he wanted to go on. We went over Coniston, then on to Ambleside and looked at his hotel, came back over Sca Fell and down over Millom to Walney, and he is more than ever sure that gliders just keep going up and can go wherever one pleases. The down side of this episode was that he asked me to go racing with him in his yacht, and being a good customer I didn't want to refuse, and went in a race from Burnham-on-Crouch with him. There were about 20 boats, and I think Morning Cloud was one of them. My job was to drag the sails inboard of the rails as we tacked, this wasn't too bad, but going with the waves to the Hook of Holland it got choppier and windier, and I got sicker and sicker, which culminated in me just managing to catch my false teeth as they went into the oggin, and convinced me that I needed much more work given to me before I took up the challenge of sailing again, and would do better in the air in future.

By now I was flying the Skylark, one of the 'hot' ships of the day, but it wasn't as much fun as the Oly, and was not as easy doing semi aerobatics as the Oly but had a better penetration, and developed ones back muscles more with rigging it.

Cec had a good idea one fine day, and would take the Skylark to the Combe. This particular day I had visitors at Millom and had to be content with gardening with a pair of binoculars round my neck. The visitors asked if it was dangerous flying near the mountains. I pointed out the glider and the cap on the Combe and told them all one had to do if the cloud advanced, was to put the speed up and fly 270 degrees, and one would fly out.

Whilst I was watching the cloud advanced several hundred metres rather quickly and we lost sight of the glider. I said "no problem, he'll be north of the hill, or out of our sight out to the west". The next thing was a telephone call from the Lakes, and would I like to go to the Combe and see how Cec had landed. When I saw Cec, lying down on David Lewthwaites couch in a manner that didn't seem at all like him, and not knowing which bit to rub next, I was apprehensive as to his landing. After his last message to the ground. "Oh-I'm in trouble here" or words to that effect, he took the glider through various gyrations, including flying upside down, something I never managed in the Skylark, exceeded the V.N.E. by a goodly margin, he heard noises and got flutterings that no one has ever stopped in a plane long enough to hear or feel, and all this in dense cloud. I think he finally tired of all this, and put the glider, or it put him, into a steep dive with full air brakes above V.N.E. and came out of the cloud looking at what appeared to him to be a rocky field right in front of his nose. I think his lightening reactions at this time saved him, and putting both feet on the instrument panel (something he can't do now) he heaved gallantly back on the stick. This had the desired effect on the plane, and got it to try and point up the hill that he now realised was White Combe.

Maybe he was planning a stall turn, and a beat up down the valley on his right or something-but this never happened. I have no idea of the speed of impact, and I Don't think Cec has, but it must have been pretty damn quick. This heaving back on the stick had the effect of nearly breaking off the wings, and the striking of the ground violently completed the job. First breaking the outboard sections off in a forward direction, whilst at the same time the wheel attempted to leave tyre marks on Cec's nether regions, but luckily it couldn't quite get through the plywood seat bottom; In the meantime the rest of the wing parted company with the fuselage, which by now was devoid of anything sticking out, like fin and rudder and tail planes. The fuselage split off just behind the cockpit and what was left with Cec still in it carried on up the slope at a fair rate of knots, looking a little like a primitive escape module from a space ship; The nose cone came off, and Cec with great forethought managed to get his capsule on to its side, still tearing uphill, until it came to a great rock which knocked the perspex canopy off, and very nearly Cec's head with it, and brought everything to a dead stop. All this could be ascertained simply by following the ploughed groove up the hill for about 100 metres, and note at which point the various bits had been deposited. However, it was a good landing, for when he recovered consciousness he got up and walked down the mountain. No one saw this, but I wouldn't be surprised if he still had his straps and the seat back still on him, holding a bit of stick in his right hand, and a Halfords compass in his left, muttering something like" The bloody thing never worked right before either".. The skylark never flew again.

The Wreckage (103556 bytes)

The Skylark wreckage that Cec walked away from

The tenacity of the pilots and the club members at that time never ceased to amaze me, and though I suppose that todays youth must have the same strengths, or maybe more, than the last generation had, I think that they couldn't have had more fun.

One man who set an example in trying was a man called Pickup; He had polio or something, that only allowed one leg to work a little, and the other hardly at all. We had to pick him up in our arms and sit him in the two seater, and then with some sort of a stirrup on his good leg, clip it under one of the pedals. He came for a season or two and then seemed to drop out, I was sad to read in the paper that he had died, but happy that he had some time in the air with us. Another example of grit and determination was a gentleman called Frank Roynan. Frank was a more elderly man who travelled from Kendal, and whose ambition was to solo in the Tutor, and I am pleased to say that he achieved this ambition, but to say that the path there was the straight and narrow, and strewn with pitfalls was the years understatement.

Many times frank would spend many flights in the two seater building up to the time for a solo, get into the Tutor only to find that the previous few weeks instruction began to desert him shortly after take off, and by the time he had pulled the plug, it had all gone, but Frank, not to be dismayed, gritted his teeth, along with all of us on the ground, and did his best to conjure up some sort of a landing at the right end of the runway. If his approach was too high we were all able to relax a little, but if it was low, or aimed at the caravan, then it was a terse time for us, and a rapid queue could be quickly formed behind the caravan on the down side.

If you were one of the catchers some way down the runway, you would often see Frank proceeding past you, striking the ground violently several times, head jerking, face fixed on some indeterminate point on the runway and fists clamped round the stick enough to leave finger marks on it, but he would always go back to the two seater and begin the whole process again, this time determined that, as this time he nearly got it, with some more dual he would solo and get to Oly standard. I can't remember if he did get into the Oly, but I will always remember his attempts to get back to the runway from about fifty feet in a stalling position, and how quickly the Tutor could go from there to a dive for the next try.

One happy time for me, but one that I really shouldn't have felt, was one day after His Majesty had given me a telling off for nothing at all, he went and landed the Oly out on the wrong side of the sand hills and gave us a hard job getting the glider back through the soft sand. I might have been a bit of a pain at times, but apart from the time I landed the Cadet on the heap of sand, I always landed where I wanted, and I always put the glider away as I got it out

One year Jack Paley took the two seater, and myself the single seater to Millom, to give an aerobatics display for the Schools Gala day, Me stopping up at five thousand until J.P. came back again on the tow to three thousand. The day was quite a lot of work, as we had the glider radio going through the ground Tannoy We had planned a little formation, and some separate aerobatics flying. J.P. returning to Walney, and me finishing with a beat-up and landing on the school field. The day was a great success. Every one appearing interested and crowding round the glider, but not one new member joined from this. I think the people of Millom at the time didn't have a visa for Barrow or thought the gates were closed at six P.M., or something, but they all seemed singularly reticent to do anything about getting in the air. A common thought was that gliding was an expensive sport, but in my first year of gliding I had 142 flights totalling 14 hours 21 minutes, all at a cost of £46.7.9. Two years later I had 57 flights totalling 24hrs.20 mins at a cost of £46.2.5. (I couldn't be bothered to change them all into new money for you) Most of the hanger flights lasted 4 minutes. My shortest being a 2 minute cable break with Sid Wearing, and my longest 5hrs 31 minutes on the Combe, Finishing up with the difficult task of undoing my harness, and doing a series of short diving turns when I pushed the stick over and forward to get my vacuum flask in to have a series of short bursts of peeing into it, each time having to stop and get the plane into a near stall with one wing down, to enable the next diving turn to be as long as possible to carry on with the next, desperate burst. When you have an inner flying suit, and all the clothes on, the parachute harness and the glider straps, that's about three inches of obstruction, and only a two inch drain pipe, it gets a bit difficult!. but desperate situations need desperate remedies, and I can assure you, it is difficult to fly with one hand and move the flask, whilst the other one is pinching the spout to stop it leaking while one gets in the right position for the next try. I found myself laughing aloud at my own antics at the time.

As my mother used to say to me, "Go when you can, because you never know just when you can't" I hope airborne conveniences have improved since then.

Gil Scurrah

Gliding At Walney (part 5)

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Per ardua ad astra

First Instalment

Second Instalment

I reported to No. 203 AFS at RAF Driffield in March 1952 and completed the course in June of the same year. The jet conversion course consisted of fifty hours flying, of which thirty hours were solo and twenty dual. Night flying and instrument training were part of the syllabus and we had to pass the course with an instrument rating and a final handling test - each a separate examination. Two weeks were spent in ground school before being allowed to fly; during this phase we studied aerodynamics relevant to high speed flight and learned about jet engines and all the systems that made the Meteor tick.

We also had lectures in aviation medicine and were sent up the ramp in the static ejector seat (claimed to be the biggest boot up the backside that anyone would ever get!) During the aviation medicine lectures we were introduced to the symptoms of anoxia, i.e. lack of oxygen, and how it affected the individual. Each person's reaction was different and the drill was to put a group of about six of us into the decompression chamber for about an hour and then pump the air out to a simulated altitude of 40,000 feet. Needless to say we were breathing oxygen during the exercise and were accompanied by the Station Medical Officer, whose job it was to give each of us a simple task to perform (e.g. write your name down several times, simple addition of the two plus two variety, write the alphabet etc.). The oxygen supply was individual to each seat and, out of sight of the student, the Doctor would turn off the supply to each, one at a time. Those, of course watching, could see who was selected, which was part of the instruction because we needed to observe the insidious effects of oxygen starvation. What brought it home to us far more effectively than anything else was when one of the boys sneakily turned off the Doc's supply when he was too busy to notice. Poor old Doc collapsed in a heap. It gave us much food for thought to see that a man who spent so much time lecturing and demonstrating oxygen starvation was unable to recognise for himself the symptoms he demonstrated several times a week. When the victim pilot was put back onto oxygen he was shown the results of his simple task. They were so outrageous that they were ridiculous, but nobody laughed - it was a very effective demonstration. After everyone had completed the instruction it was time for a simulated maximum rate descent to ground level. This was necessary because all our descents in the Meteor where what we called maximum rate, which were several thousands of feet per minute. Anyone with ear trouble would have a major problem. We were not allowed to go into the decompression chamber, or to fly, with a cold or any form of nasal or sinus congestion. Nowadays when I fly as a passenger in airlines, it always surprises me that passengers are not briefed on how to clear their ears in descent, or the hazards if you fly with a cold or congestion.

Harvard IIB (78613 bytes)

Harvard IIB - One of RIPs Earlier Trainers

We had examinations at the end of the ground school phase, on successful completion of which we started our jet conversion.

Today, anyone who has flown to holiday destinations abroad considers high altitudes and airspeeds old hat. In 1952 it was different. There were no jet airliners in service and altitude and high speeds were the domain of military aviation. The views through our all round canopy were fantastic, but there were one or two minus points to the Meteor. First of all it handled like a brick at altitudes. Control response at medium and low levels was excellent but at height - forget it. Even a gentle turn could cause the aircraft to mush and stall. We learned to be gentle on the controls. High speed flight got exciting as the Mach number increased. The symptoms were stick loads getting heavier and heavier until, at critical Mach number, the aircraft broke away and there you were, out of control until recovery could be achieved at a lower altitude in denser air. The recovery was quite straight-forward - pop the airbrakes, throttle back, and ride it down until it all came together again, but it was a rough ride. High speed runs to critical Mach number were a regular exercise. Problems could occur if someone was in the way when you were in the dive to lower altitudes as the aircraft was actually uncontrollable and coming down like the proverbial brick! To my knowledge no-one ever was!!

Flying the Meteor was quite easy in comparison to propeller aircraft. With no prop turning there was no torque to balance during changes of power, so the rudder corrections that used to be necessary to achieve balanced flight during this and turning manoeuvres were none existent. Optimum propeller performance is achieved by a pitch control lever, which is used frequently - there was no need for that. Optimum engine performance on most of the piston engines of the day was achieved by a mixture control, there was no need for that. Against this in terms of ease of engine handling was the fact that the jet engines of the day had poor acceleration response from a low rpm and one always had to keep the revs above a certain figure, about 6,000 if I remember. Throttles were not closed fully until absolutely certain of achieving touchdown. Woe betide the pilot who allowed his revs to get too low and needed a rapid throttle response. He didn't get it, and risked a flame out if he was too hamfisted, or a heavy landing in the undershoot area.

The fuel consumption was another factor that was a big change from previous. I see from my records that sorties only lasted forty to forty-five minutes. A ventral tank increased this to one hour fifteen minutes, but the majority of sorties were of short duration. We had to come back in the circuit with 80 gallons, which was enough for one missed approach and a further circuit. High speeds and short fuel endurance certainly concentrated the mind as you can imagine. An aircraft flying at 300-360 knots covers a lot of ground in just a few minutes, in 20 minutes one could be 100 miles or more away from base without even trying. First class military air traffic control and an excellent triangular fixing system was an essential part of safe operations and there were few mishaps.

Flying at the AFS was intense, as many as 90 take-offs and landings in an hour would be accomplished in good weather, with aircraft turnaround taking some 11 minutes by means of rapid refuelling and servicing. The school would consist of some fifty pupils at various stages of the conversion course.

The Meteor was a great trainer for single engined flight, which had always been fraught with danger and often resulted in full emergency being declared and the aircraft landed as quickly as possible. On piston engined twins, the asymmetric (single engined) approach was usually flown high and fast, but with slower normal threshold speeds this was not critical. The introduction of the Meteor opened up a whole new concept; the higher thrust meant that there was a more severe problem to maintaining control during an engine failure on take off. In flight there was enough thrust to fly within a good sized flight envelope, including aerobatics. Low level navigation flights could be flown on one engine to increase range and/or endurance, but single engined approaches had to be much more accurate because threshold speeds and landing runs were higher and left much less margin for error. The RAF learned a lot about single engined flying from the Meteor and perhaps the greatest incentive was the fact that if you did not obey vital rules it would kill you. An excellent training syllabus ensured that we were very competent but there were accidents and hairy incidents. My personal tally for single engined landings during the course was thirty.

Meteor (35731 bytes)

A Meteor - Actually WL419, a Gloster Meteor T.71/2, displaying at Duxford in the Classic Jets air show, 2/6/1996 

Engine failures on take off were simulated by the instructor pulling off a high pressure cock at about 140-150 knots. The pilot's reaction to this had to be pretty quick to correct a violent swing in the direction of the dead engine which could rapidly develop into a roll if left uncorrected and a dive into the ground. On take off there were two critical situations in which one could lose an engine. Before unstick and with runway remaining the second engine had to be chopped and the aircraft braked. Airborne, above safety speed, or at worst above critical speed, control could be maintained and the Meteor would accelerate, although loads on the "live" leg could be murderous. Because of the adverse effect of drag the gear was always selected "up" immediately after take off. Although the gap between unstick speed and critical speed was relatively narrow, it needed to be transitioned as rapidly as possible. Loss of an engine (and half the thrust) during this period could not readily be countered either by lowering the nose or by reducing power. For these reasons the Meteor was held down until critical speed, and then safety speed was achieved. Safety speed can be defined as that speed at which an individual pilot could hold direction at sea level with full power on the live engine, the other flamed out and full rudder trim against the "live". Critical speed was established for each pilot and was a function of strength and the aircraft's geometry. During training, when one did a succession of engine failures and subsequent single engined circuits or overshoots with their associated heavy footloads, I can recall staggering away from the aircraft with a trembling aching leg (it gets you in the muscles above the knee). Pilots who could not achieve a laid down safety speed were posted onto a different type of aircraft.

With hindsight and from the comfort of an armchair, many of the incidents occurring during the training involving single engined flying can be looked upon as humorous. One in particular comes to mind. Towards the end of the sortie in question the instructor pilot requested a controlled descent through cloud, and became somewhat apprehensive when we broke though the overcast over the North Sea east of Flamborough Head with only 100 gallons of fuel remaining. To conserve this fuel he flamed out the port engine and set course for base, which was at Full Sutton, near York and about 40 miles away. When we approached the Full Sutton circuit, the last few gallons of fuel were sloshing about the bottom of the tanks, but he saw the short 900 yard runway was well placed to starboard and elected to make a right hand turn to land on it. To make a good single engined landing on a 900 yard runway with a railway embankment just short of touchdown point and no wind down the runway, presented a man-sized problem, but the instructor was well able to accept the challenge. He made a beautifully judged approach, lowering flap to reduce his airspeed to the precise threshold speed. At this delicate stage, the fickle finger of fate decided to intervene. A goods train en route from Hull to York chose the worst possible moment to pass the beginning of the runway. The nose of the Meteor went between the wagons, and dealt the train a mighty blow. Several trucks were knocked off the rails and a huge pile of wreckage was deposited in the undershoot area. Rescuers were soon on the scene and they found that the cockpit area was intact and the canopy broken open. Fate was having a field day, because some of the wrecked wagons had been filled with overripe fish, which had spilled into the cockpit. The student, in the front seat, was about chest high in stinking fish, but was soon extracted suffering from a broken arm and vivid memories of a close up train smash. The instructor was in much better shape but was in grave danger of suffocating under a load of fish, He was soon dug out from his thoroughly unpleasant cockpit and continued undaunted with a fine flying career. The epilogue to this incident occurred when the Station Engineering Officer puffed up on his bicycle, took one look and smell at the wrecked Meteor and announced "I'm not having that bloody thing in my hangar!"

Wheels were absolutely essential to our forays around the local area to explore the fleshpots. Being young and very fit we were all more interested in the flesh rather than pots and we exploited the opportunities in Bridlington and Scarborough to the full, especially when the holiday season got under way. In those days, so soon after the war, pilots, especially jet pilots, were heroes and we lost no opportunity to shoot the most tremendous lines. It wasn't only flying we were learning about!!

The line up of wheels was mainly motorcycles. There were only two cars belonging to students - a 1932 Morris Minor and a Wolseley Hornet saloon of about the same vintage, both useful passion wagons which were lent freely. One had to be pretty agile in the Morris, but everything was possible with a co-operative partner, and many a permanent relationship was formed behind the steamed up windows of these vehicles.

The motorcycle park would make a classic enthusiast's mouth water. We swapped rides as a matter of course, either for fun or because one's own machine had a problem, so I rode a variety of machines. There was a BSA A7, Matchless, AJS, BSA Empire Star, Ivory Calthorpe, Panther, Douglas Ariel, and many others. I remember the Douglas particularly as it had a flat tank, a hand throttle and gear lever on the tank. I'm sure the engine was a Vee twin and it may even have been belt drive. It was pleasant to ride. The A7 gave the smoothest ride and purred along with, for those days, bags of power at the twist grip. It was a comfortable bike with a dual seat. It was unbelievable now that motorcycle adverts used to advertise "dual seat, pillion, saddle tank, foot change, tele forks" all of which added a few pounds to the asking price. My own particular machine was the Empire Star, complete with saddle tank, pillion and foot change. Pillions then were just a square of sorbo rubber supported on the rear mudguard with their own set of footrests, yet we all rode around for miles on these.

I think back on the 350 Empire Star with mixed feelings. It had a nasty habit of seizing up after about fifty and when I first picked it up it almost caught me out. My best friend was riding line astern on the A7 and nearly piled into the back of me when everything seized and my back wheel locked solid. After that I came to recognise the symptoms, recovery was the simple expedient of clutch out and slow down to about forty five. Also it suffered engine failure in the rain and my heart used to sink if I was caught in a rainstorm and I went through the programme of misfiring, occasional bursts of power and, eventually, silence. I used to push it miles sometimes, returning to camp. Even a thorough overhaul failed to cure these problems. I suppose nowadays one could work winders with WD40, but then it was push or abandon. Even so, I rode many miles on this machine, commuting between Norfolk, Yorkshire, Westmorland (Cumbria) and Cambridgeshire. Journeys were a matter of necessity and grim determination. Girder forks made it imperative to ride with teeth clenched against the possibility of some road imperfection, pot hole, manhole cover, or pebble clanging your jaws together if you didn't. I also used to freeze to death in winter. Thinking back on it to one particularly lengthy journey, I must have been on the verge of hypothermia. I couldn't straighten up and took literally hours in a warm house before I stopped shivering. How many of us remember negotiating wet tram lined streets on a motorbike? Those were the days, or were they?

Rip

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Adventures in a Lanuk

This letter, originally to Pilot magazine from Ron Reid, was inspired by a picture published previously of a Czech glider, a LETOV LF107, owned by Graham Shaw at Booker.

In 1946, when I was CFI of London Gliding Club at Dunstable, I met a Czech called Laddi Marmol. We became close friends and in 1949 he asked me if I would fly to Prague in his Auster, along with another pilot call John Keats, and fly his Lanuk glider back which he had just purchased. He would accompany us as far as Nuremberg; John and I would carry on and John would tow me back.

Things did not go exactly as planned.

On arriving at Nuremberg we were just about out of Petrol, having re-fuelled once from a five-gallon fuel can on a quiet road. We decided to land at an American motor transport base and got down between rows of three-ton trucks. Within a minute of landing we were confronted by military police that took us to the Station Intelligence Officer. His opening remarks were "What the god-dam-hell are you doing here?" After we explained our mission, he became quite friendly. Laddi, who for some reason, dare not go into Czechoslovakia, asked if he could stay at the base until we returned. The Officer said that was OK and provided a jeep and driver to take us to the Allied Officers accommodation to have dinner and stay the night.

John and I took off the following morning. I flew the Auster and John did the navigating. We arrived at Prague after flying through a lot of muck and to our surprise, no glider in sight. After climbing out of the Auster, officials took my glider parachute and towrope and wheeled the plane away into a hangar.

Laddi had given me a sealed letter, which was addressed to a bank manager in Prague that was to be used if we had any problems. There was no one who could speak English and I handed this to the officials. Within a very short time we were taken into Prague and locked up in a hotel room! We were there for three days and John was very worried, being a married man with a family, more so when I said jokingly "Have you ever dug for salt in Siberia?" However, after three days a couple of guys came, bundled us into a dark windowed car and took us back to the airport. Thank god the Auster was there on the apron. We were taken into two separate rooms and searched, what for, I don't know. They produced the towrope and parachute and a girl who could speak a little English said, to get them back, we had to pay for them. Rather than face a crisis, I produced some English money and she took the amount they were asking. I said to John, "Swing the prop and let's get the hell out of here!" We were just walking towards the aircraft when they stopped us again and jabbered something. The girl came to our rescue and said, "They want to see your pilot's licences". We produced these and got the hell out of it back to Nuremberg.

The glider eventually reached the UK via Switzerland. Now, the story becomes really interesting!

Laddi rang me and asked if I would fly the Lanuk from Southend to Grenoble and then to Gap the following weekend. I said after what I had been through to get it, it would be a pleasure.

I arrived at Southend Airport the following Friday to be told by Laddi, "Jump in, we are going to Grinbergen in Belgium first". I said, "Hang on, I haven't even sat in the damn thing before". He said, "Don't worry, we'll sort things out as we go." "Where's my parachute?" I asked. "I'll get you one when we get to Grinbergen", he replied. With that, he hooked me to his Miles Gemini, he and his wife climbed in and off we went.

I am still wondering why the hell we had to go to Grinbergen, we were only there a short time, then took off for Paris - still minus a parachute. I remember flying over Paris; it was dark and Laddi had his navigation lights on. We landed at an airfield just outside Paris and stayed the night.

Next morning, Saturday, we took off - me still without a parachute - and eventually reached a large airfield at St. Auban. I remember releasing from tow at 2,000 feet and Laddi went in and landed. I thought I would make a spectacular approach and dived until the ASI was showing 160mph. This glider was stressed to +12g and -5g. There was a twin engine going in and I overtook it. As I went past, the pilot of this aircraft waved clenched fists and indicated for me to go round again. As my speed fell off they went ahead of me and landed quite a long way up the runway. I spot landed by the hangar. This aircraft came back down the runway at a fair rate of knots, and was obviously going to give me a fair old rollicking. When they saw the wingtip on the ground they realised it was a glider. I must say I was treated like royalty after that. When we said that we were going into Grenoble, they said, "You must stay here. The weather is very bad down there and it will be dark by the time you get there". Laddi, being the person he is, said, "No problem, Ron and I will get there", so off we went with STILL no parachute for me.

After several hours of a rough ride, we finally reached Grenoble. As predicted, it was dark. All I could see were mountain peaks and I thought to myself, where the hell are we going to land? Within seconds of this, I saw Laddi's navigation lights rocking up and down, in other words, pull off tow. By this time I thought, what the hell am I doing here in the French Alps, in the dark, in a glider. After hanging on for 2 tight turns, I thought the only thing for me to do was to pull the release and watch the Gemini. I must have been doing fairly tight turns for about a minute when I saw Laddi's landing lights come on. I couldn't see the field but after he landed, I saw car headlights lighting up the landing area and brother - did it look small. I thought if I undershoot I'm in the side of a mountain and if I overshoot I am on the other side!

After using airbrakes as a throttle and also the Lanuk has flaps, I made a perfect landing in the middle of the field. I was completely knackered and they had to lift me from the glider which, incidentally was knee deep in cherrystones! The guys at St Auban gave me a bag of about 10lbs to eat on the way down (probably thought poor sod that's the last meal he will be having). It was 11 p.m. when we left the field by car down the mountainside to stay in a nice hotel.

When I awoke next morning (Sunday) I couldn't believe my eyes. To think I was floating about among these peaks last night and without a parachute - I must be mad! However, we took off and I soared the Lanuk up to Gap. The Mistral was blowing and it didn't take long.

Laddi stole the airshow that day, coming off tow at about 3,000 feet and soaring the glider to about 6,000 feet - inverted. He finished his aerobatic display by coming down very fast and into an upward hesitation roll.

The sad ending to this story is a top French glider pilot asked Laddi if he could have a flight in it, then got into difficulties with it, crashed, and was killed.

The problem for Laddi was, he hadn't had time to insure it so lost everything. I found out later that's why he didn't give me a parachute!

Ron Reid

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Quotes

Here's a few quotes I came across that I thought were worth sharing...

"Experience is the knowledge that enables you to recognise a mistake when you make it again."

"Accidents happen when you run out of experience"

"The nice thing about a mistake is the pleasure it gives others"

"Flying is the second greatest thrill known to man...landing is the first!"

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Empennage

I was surprised, but very pleased, at the response to the last newsletter. It's good to receive letters, even if they are slagging me off! It proves at least somebody's reading this... I hope the letters page will be the start of something regular.

I'm also very grateful that we've got a "volunteer" to do the "agony aunt" column, again please feel free to pass on anything that might be troubling you about your gliding activities.

Finally, once again a big thank you to everyone that's taken the trouble to provide material for this ever growing tome; and once again apologies to those people whose pieces I've left out to stop it being even bigger! They will all appear sooner or later. Don't forget if you do anything even remotely out of the ordinary, do let me know and I'll tell everyone about it. I'm always on the lookout for photos or other pictures which help to brighten the newsletter up. Basically anything goes - so keep it rolling in.

Thanks

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