Tales

All went well until start-up and taxi at Sandakan. For a number of reasons, not least the late arrival of both our Gurkha and RMR passengers at their respective enplanement airfields, we were well behind schedule. Though my Log Book only shows a little over two hours flying for the day (in ‘116’), it was mid-afternoon when we left Sandakan—or at least tried to do so!

There may have been just a little bit of “get-home-itis” around as we rolled along the unfamiliar taxiway and ran our port wingtip straight into a power pole-cum-lamp post about 500 metres from the runway threshold, coming to an abrupt and embarrassing halt in a cloud of dust and a shower of sparks!

We had just refuelled, so seeing a sizeable chunk of wing hanging loose near the shorting-out power pole, and not knowing if a fuel tank had been ruptured, we rapidly vacated first the aircraft, then the immediate area.

“Rapidly” may be something of an overstatement, actually, considering that both the Bev’s cockpit and passenger boom were seven metres above the ground, and no passenger steps or inter-deck ladders were in place. Nevertheless, my Air Movements team certainly would have given the local orangutans a good run in the speed and agility stakes that day as we scrambled down the inside of the fuselage and left the aircraft through the nearest door.

After the dust had settled, and no immediate conflagration had occurred, we made our way gingerly back to the poor old Bev. She had lost about a metre off the port wingtip, the port aileron was hanging off the outboard hinge, and, yes, the outboard tank was seeping avgas. Clearly ‘116’ wasn’t going anywhere for some time!

Nor, with the fuel leak, was anyone keen to reboard the aircraft, crank up the generators and call Labuan to inform them of our predicament. Instead, we trooped forlornly back to the huddle of airport buildings. Sandakan was then a small airport with limited facilities. As we arrived at what passed for the terminal, we met a small, dapper, Anglo-Indian gentleman in an immaculate khaki uniform leaving the building.

Definitely the lighter side of aviation!

Aircraft Captain: “Can we use your phone, please? We’ve a small problem.”

Airport Official: “Oh dear me no, Sir. We are having no telephone service in the terminal at this time.” (Peter Sellers would have been proud of the accent!)

Captain: “Can we use the radio in the Tower, then, please? We really need to contact Labuan urgently.”

Official: “I am most exceedingly sorry, Sir, but the Air Traffic Control Tower is having no radio either. Some bloody fool has knocked down a power pole somewhere, and we are having no electricity or telephone whatsoever to the airport.”

We left the Captain to explain the situation, slunk back to ‘116’, drew lots for who would fire up the system (unfortunate choice of words) and radio Air Headquarters at Labuan—and eventually returned home ignominiously in the back of an RMAF Herald much later that night!

(Len Bowen, Chisholm ACT)

Sign Language

This next contribution comes from F/A Alison Fox, who has been able to add to our collection of interesting signs spotted around the world.

The following gems were noted in a number of the world’s hotel rooms.

From Japan: It is forbidden to steal bath robes please. If you are not a person to do such thing, is please not to read notis.

Acapulco: The manager has personally passed all the water served here.

Athens: The flattening of underwear with pleasure is the job of the chambermaid.

Paris: Please leave your values at the front desk.

Cairo: Visitors are expected to complain at the office between the hours of 9am and 11am daily.

Japan: You are invited to take advantage of the chambermaid.

Zurich: Because of the impropriety of entertaining guests of the opposite sex in the bedroom, it is suggested that the lobby be used for this purpose.

Barcelona: Do not enter the lift backwards and only when lit up.

In a Belgrade hotel elevator: The lift is being fixed for the next day. During the next time we regret you will be unbearable.

In the garden bed of an Indian hotel: No plucking in the park!

On menus:

Turkey: Meat rissoles in the boiled and pounded.

Turkey: Wool stuffed with rice.

Turkey: Large oven in the lamb.

Prague: Salad a firm’s own make, red beet soup with dumplings in the form of a finger, roasted duck let loose; beef rashers beaten up in the country people’s fashion.

Damn! We’ve Left a Flight Attendant Behind

I was recently returning home from Melbourne to Hobart with one of our domestic airlines which had best remain anonymous.

All the passengers had boarded the 737, the door closed, the tug had pushed us back and both engines had been fired up.

The cabin crew was halfway through the safety demonstration when suddenly, the video was stopped and there seemed to be some confusion amongst the crew. After a couple of minutes we started taxying forward, not towards the runway but back to the gate. The first officer also announced we were returning to the gate to correct a minor problem and that our delay would be brief.

On returning to the terminal, the engines were shut down, the air bridge extended and the door opened. After about five minutes we were on our way again—pushed back and engines fired up once more.

The cabin crew was again positioned for the safety demonstration and I enquired of the flight attendant near me what we’d forgotten. With a very embarrassed look on her face, she pointed to herself and replied “Me!” Not long after this, the purser confirmed on the PA that, believe it or not, we’d left a flight attendant behind.

(Anonymous)