B.Umble Flys again-part 19,

It is not all fun but mostly (part 1)…by B.Umble.

My duels with the Falcon and its owner-my man ‘Biggles’-continued apace as the end of the year approached but flying is not all fun, fear and frolic, there is a more serious side to be considered from time to time.

“Do you want to go to Oxford?” ‘Biggles asked me.

I quite liked Oxford in the old days so I said that I would be happy to go along with him as and when we could arrange a visit.

“I have booked us in to a Meteorology seminar organised by ‘GASCo’ to be held at Kiddlington Airport” he told me. 

‘GASCo’ or the General Aviation Safety Council to give it its full title is a marvellous organisation devoted to safety in the air and is not the local gaslight and coke company of old which the name might imply.

 “Sounds a bit ‘dry’ to my way of thinking”, I suggested “a little erudite and boring possibly?” I queried, “neither do I think it a good idea to make the ‘grand entrance’ and fly there if we want to arrive on time or even on the same day as the proposed seminar-we could go by car of course” I suggested.

“I will pick you up first thing Saturday morning-say 0645hrs.” he assured me.

Pitch black and pouring with rain; I trundled out to the ‘Biggles’ car and climbed aboard.  We set off for Oxford along various Motor Ways and as the day became lighter so did my frame of mind.

I have to admit to not being a ‘morning’ person whereas ‘Biggles’ tends to be all bright and cheerful and wishes to engage in idle chitchat.  I expect I did my best when called upon to give him an answer or answers during the course of the journey but I doubt that any responses that I had made were intelligible.  I was also entrusted with the map reading when we neared Kiddlington so ensuring a few extra circuits of previously unknown local beauty spots, all in the pouring rain!

In the event I need not have worried at all about the suitability of the seminar’s content.  The seminar was extremely well organised and what is more, run to time.

Our keynote speaker was Miss Helen Young the Lead Television Presenter from the BBC Weather Centre who really knew about weather and its ramifications, as one would expect, but as an experienced pilot in her own right she could speak with authority in other words ‘she really knew her stuff’ from both sides of the fence.

There then followed a small procession of immensely interesting speakers all with different experiences ranging from over flying the south Atlantic (Royal Air Force Hercules) to more mundane areas of the planet. 

In a twinkling of an eye the seminar was over and I can say with all honesty that ‘Biggles’ and I not only greatly enjoyed the day but learnt a great deal from the experience too.

In future I will listen to the airfield forecasters with greater interest instead of my more normal  attitude of ‘Suck it and see!’

Nearer to Christmas we again set off in ‘Biggles’s gentleman’s carriage, this time on our way to Birmingham in order to attend the annual Microlight Show.  We were slightly less early in our departure time on this occasion giving me more time to compose myself for the forth-coming journey and the inevitable map reading ordeal.  I really would not mind the map reading part of our journeys together but he does not give me half a chance, as he tends to drive his gentleman’s carriage at speeds far in excess of the speeds even vaguely attainable by ‘AT’. 

We arrived in good time and parked the car in a designated car park, which as the crow flies I would estimate was some three miles from the actual hall in which the show was taking place.  After receiving instructions as to how to reach our final destination on foot from the car park attendant-we travelled by bus taking it would seem, the pretty route.

The hall inside the NEC (National Exhibition Centre) complex to which the Microlight Show had been assigned covered a small area of a fairly small hall on first impressions and indeed we expressed our surprise that there was obviously ‘not a lot to be seen’ and that we should be back home by mid afternoon.

A curious phenomenon then took hold.

‘Biggles’, at this point decided to make himself comfortable and asked directions of a passing stranger as to the nearest lavatorial dispositions and was directed ‘through the curtain’ the ‘curtain’ being the demarcation line between the show and the empty spaces beyond.  At this juncture he handed me his impressive and fairly heavy flight bag, for safekeeping and pushed through the curtain and disappeared from my view.

Being curious as to what lay beyond and ever mindful of his navigational skills I also decided to push through the curtain and stand in a position where I thought he would be able to see me on his return.  The flight bag was already weighing heavy in my grasp.

Once through the ‘curtain’ I found that ‘Biggles’ had disappeared from view and as expected I was presented with an empty vista of unused, uninviting, floor space.

At this point I thought I had suffered a ‘nasty turn’ unnoticed by me at the time and that the journey had been too much for me.  I was rooted to the spot not daring to move from ‘Biggles’s last known position when I found myself asking myself a perfectly simple question along the lines of: -

Why had the local constabulary employed ‘Pigmy’ policemen and policewomen? 

We had left slightly later than on the occasion of the ‘Whether to Fly’ seminar held a few weeks previously at Kidlington Airport but not all that much later so I could again be having another ‘nasty turn’.

I supposed it was something to do with my age and the ‘Biggles’ influence.  Getting older is fascinating to an extent as one never quite knows what ‘Mother Nature’ will throw up next in the ageing process but up to this moment I had considered my eyes to be the best remaining pieces left to me of my original equipment.

I supposed that it was something to do with dropping the height requirement for joining the police force and in Birmingham, for some extraordinary reason, they could only manage to recruit ‘PIGMIES’.

The proof was there for all to see for lolling-standing in a relaxed manner- against some rear doors, presumably emergency exit doors, were two groups of policemen and women on their smoke or sandwich eating break and they were all without exception diminutive in stature.

We were in Birmingham, a foreign country for the most part as judged by the unintelligible local dialect, giving them the right to do things in their own way but…

‘Biggles’ was nowhere to be seen as yet so I studied the situation further and thought the doors upon which the two groups were leaning were somewhat on the small side too for their presumed purpose of emergency exits.

It suddenly dawned upon me; it was still early or at least before midday, so causing me to be in my slow to sleepy mode and it took me some time to work out that these representatives of the Birmingham Constabulary were not Pigmies at all and that it was a simple question of scale, perspective and distance.  The sheer size of the place dwarfed all in the hall and its environs.  The two groups were probably some one hundred yards or more away from where I was standing but because we were inside a building, the distance did not immediately register. 

The Birmingham Constabulary had not on this occasion draughted in a load of Pigmies, indeed one of the policewomen whom I ran across later would have challenged a heavy weight boxer.

I breathed a long sigh of relief for two reasons the first being that my mind was not cracking up and the second that ‘Biggles’ was at that very moment tracking back towards me.

The place was enormous as I was soon to find out when busily engaged on the show side of the ‘curtain’ trying to see everything on offer at the show and trying to keep Biggles’ under control although this proved almost impossible.

‘Gadgets’ were the order of the day as far as ‘Biggles’ was concerned and there were many, many gadgets on display.  He lost me at an early stage only to reappear some time later with another gadget induced broad grin on his face.  I gloomily forecast that no good would come of this state of affairs.

The social scene was there too.  ‘Tick-Tock and Rosemary (Mr and Mrs Tony Harrison-Smith) were the first home-grown club members with whom we made contact and a little later ‘Big Dave’ and ‘Aspirin’ jointly insisting on buying us a cup of tea-each-and by this time ‘Biggles’s flight bag was not only bulging but probably weighed twice as much as when he had left it with me for safekeeping a couple of hours previously

I wandered the show mainly solo as ‘Biggles’ went in search of more gadgetry and a super abundance of literature in the form of ‘hand outs’ advertising various manufacturer’s products and was greatly amused to come upon a section devoted to, ‘now you see them-now you don’t’.

As I approached this particular aisle I noticed that pairs of feet momentarily appeared and just as swiftly, disappeared only to reappear a few seconds later.  I had reached the ‘Paragliding’ section of the show and the feet belonged to persons ‘trying out’ various arrangements for a more comfortable seating position when attached to their flying equipment.  It was apparent that it had been deemed necessary by the exhibitors to allow would be purchasers to freely swing to and fro to test the equipment on offer for comfort and suitability but not to allow complete freedom on the swings probably to save injury to any unwary passer by.

The feet continued to appear and just as swiftly disappear over the remainder of the afternoon.  

‘Biggles’ reappeared yet again now even more heavily laden carrying or almost dragging his flight bag, which had now been supplemented, by various plastic carrier bags from which sprouted the tops of various glossy hand outs.

“One last job to be done before we leave” he told me, “I have been looking at all the fuel gauges on offer and have decided on the one I need”.

He then went on to explain the intricacies of the gauge in question and how he would have to remove ‘AT’s existing fuel tanks and replace them with new tanks but have to cut the new ones to fit the ‘probe’ being something to do with the fitting inside the tank being square and the hole into the tank being round.  He would also have to cut the fitting plate diagonally to get it too into the tank-in other words he had chosen the most complicated arrangement as a challenge to his undoubted, ‘Super Arch Tinkering Skills’.

“Try the NUMBER ONE EYEBALL AS NATURE INTENDED”, I suggested and added, “What you can see in the tank is what you’ve got left”.

The petrol gauge stallholder was in the process of shutting down his operation for the night when ‘Biggles’, with me in tow, arrived back at his stall, ‘Biggles’ insisting that he wished to make his purchase after his long deliberations on the merits of all the other gauges on offer that afternoon.  The stallholder complied with ‘Biggles’s request and I could not help thinking that he, the stallholder had probably had a quiet afternoon and the sale of just one more gauge would mean a half-way decent evening meal for him and his assistant.

We went home shortly after this, ‘Biggles’s final purchase of the day, via all points north, east and west when we should of course have been travelling in a generally southerly or southeasterly direction and all at high speed.