Tales

Through this gap we observed an F-86 Sabre jet fighter with Canadian markings, the pilot looking sideways in amazement as he slowly slid past before vanishing earthward, having stalled his aircraft in the process. An hour after landing I received a call from the OC flying at RAF Luffenham: could I please confirm a statement by one of his officers who was offering high odds to anyone willing to bet that he had encountered a ‘Gooney Bird’, (the affectionate American term for the C-47), at such a ridiculous altitude?

All attempts at a personal side bet were of no avail as a relieved squadron commander learned that his man was not hallucinating.

(Courtesy RR Magazine)

Wrong Place, Wrong Time –

I was reading through one of my old registration logbooks from my plane spotting days in the UK during the 1970s, and found this gem.

We visited the USAF base at Mildenhall and had a guided tour by a young Flight Lieutenant.

On the way the coach we were travelling in broke down (the gear stick unbelievably came off in the driver’s hand) so to make up time to be able to complete the tour we did not have the usual rest breaks. Meanwhile, my travel companion (who we’ll call Flash) had consumed several cans of cola and by the time we reached Mildenhall he was in dire need to relieve himself. So Flash decided to nip between two hangars.

The next thing we hear is an alarm going off and a jeep with three burly gun toting MPs stop and rush between the hangars and bring out our Flash at gun point. Unbeknown to Flash he had relieved himself right next to the female officers quarters, who had reported a ‘Flasher’. After much explaining ‘Flash’ was released and we continued the tour.

Another tale concerns Concorde. London Heathrow was fog bound so the BA Concorde diverted to Manchester Ringway where I heard a young lad say to his mother, who had earlier asked me why the Concorde was here. “Mummy it must be very foggy in London, its bumped into something and bent its nose!”

(P Cavanagh, Aldinga Beach)

(Un) Happy Landings

During the mid 1970s, Rhodesia was in the grip of crippling international sanctions which included a total arms embargo.

The Rhodesian Air Force was desperate to upgrade its helicopter squadron to larger and more modern craft to meet the ongoing demands made upon the squadron by the protracted bush war that was being waged on three fronts. The old Alouette IIIs had served well but their age and limitations were being felt both by the air force and the army.

Canadair Sabre

By some rather devious means and back door negotiations, the Rhodesians managed to procure a number of serviceable Bell Iroquois helicopters. These were fully stripped, overhauled and then reassembled over a period of about a year. After their overhauls, they began flight trials and also crew training in readiness for operational duties.

Part of the training included simulated engine failure and employing auto rotation of the main rotor as the aircraft rapidly lost altitude, then applying positive pitch to the rotor blades which would slow the descent sufficient enough to flare and make a safe touchdown. This was a common procedure on the Alouettes and pilots were familiar with the way the aircraft responded. However, the first pilot to practice a simulated engine failure on the newly commissioned Iroquois was a well liked and stocky young man of about 165cm. Unfortunately, due to the dubious circumstances under which the aircraft had been acquired, there was scant information supplied on their handling characteristics. This young pilot took the copter up and put it through its paces. As most readers will be aware, the Iroquois is a far larger and heavier craft than the Alouette III and our young pilot did not compensate enough for that fact when attempting to pull up at the end of the autorotation.

The copter slowed somewhat but still pancaked flat onto terra firma at considerable velocity. The ground technicians wept as the wreckage was dragged back into a hangar and dumped in a far corner in its forlorn state for all and sundry to come and gawk at! Both landing skids were splayed out flat, the whole engine, gearbox and rotor drive assembly had plunged through the cabin roof, the tail boom was broken, the twin machine guns on their mounting pylon by the left door had torn their way through the floor and last but not least, the pilot’s seat had also punched its way through the floor.

Our hapless young pilot did not escape unscathed either. Once back in the officers mess after a week or two in hospital he had to endure the constant ribbing by his fellow officers and the comments that they were all certain he now only stood at 160cm.

(N Surgeon, Roleystone)

Definitely Not Cricket –

In the mid 1980s I was in the jump seat of a 727 landing at Canberra. We landed on runway 35 and taxied down Taxiway Juliet to the RPT stand, pulling up at the holding point for runway 30.

The crew were eager to shut down and catch up with the Test Match which was at a crucial stage.

The FO transmitted “Canberra Ground, TAX, Request Cross 30”. We waited, and waited. As kilos of Jet A1 burned, everyone in the cockpit strained their necks looking for the elusive traffic that could be the cause of the delay. No one could see any.

Finally the Captain snarled “ask them what the score is”. The FO transmitted “Ground, TAX, what’s the score?” TAX, three for a hundred and twenty three. Cross 30!” came the prompt and cheery reply.

(G Cook, Windsor)