The Demise of the ‘Orrible Little Beast’, by B. Umble.

What had I done?

On my arrival at the Banana Strip, I popped into the factory and was met by Chris Draper.

“What have you done?” he asked, echoing my query and then answered his own question by stating that,

“You have given ‘OR’ away”.

I tried to explain to Chris, that based on his estimate of work required including all new skins, a complete new engine, a ‘Rotax Blue Top 582 with oil injection’ for preference and other sundry bits and pieces such as all new bolts, washers, nuts, fastenings and a certain amount of rewiring and rust chasing, although very little rust was apparent, the cost would be more or less equal to the amount that I could expect when selling her. 

I explained my reasoning that in ‘giving her away,’ I was about to receive a profit in monetary terms without the necessary expenditure as outlined in his verbal estimate.

Other factors influenced my decision.  ‘OR’ would soon have to move outside, with a return to the dreaded covers and be tied down while awaiting her transformation by Chris and I knew him to be very busy in the factory, building a number of ordered ‘SLA’s and that he had little time to spare.  There was no way that I could undertake the necessary work in the open air even with the aid of my man ‘Biggles’, who had eagerly volunteered to oversee such a project and had gleefully denuded ‘OR’ of her wing skins a week or two previously without reference to me!  In the mean time I would be paying two sums of money each month in respect of hangarage/parking on the Banana Strip, one for ‘OR’ and one for my new Sky Ranger.

It all made perfect sense to me. 

The weather on the day was appalling, with strong winds and very heavy prolonged rain showers.

After my conversation with Chris in the factory and taking advantage of a break in the rain, I walked up to ‘OR’s hangar and with heavy heart and muddy boots, removed the hangar doors and pushed her outside and quickly replaced the doors.

Will she start I wondered?

For the last time in her career, mine too, I climbed aboard, set the choke, shouted to a drab, rain sodden, deserted, wind blown field the words, ‘Contact’ and ‘Clear Prop’ and pressed the red starter button.  Her response was both immediate and unexpected-she burst into life.

“Why could you not do that every time?”  I asked her and thought back to some of the more memorable occasions she had stubbornly refused to utter even the odd, would have been encouraging, cough. 

I taxyed her along the Banana Strip to the club hut end and parked on the spot normally reserved for Alan Cashin’s school, Thruster-with his prior permission-jumped out and quickly anchored her to the tie-down points.

As I walked the short distance to the club hut I could feel her ‘eyes’ boring into my back.  I felt as guilty as the condemned man must feel when being led to the scaffold.

I was betraying a trust.

A man with a trailer attached to his 4WD vehicle had arrived at the Banana Strip to take her away.  He had battled the elements on Motor Ways and country roads alike and had finally driven into the entrance and parked alongside the oversized Nissen hut that is the Medway Microlights factory.

Paul, for that was his name, had suffered in traffic jams and hold ups along his route from Dorset and considering the very tiresome road conditions, had made very good time.

I led Paul over to the club hut and on the way showed him where I thought it would be best for him to park his trailer, just short of the railway gates leading to the strip.  We would then push or manhandle ‘OR’ over the railway and dismantle her there.  Due to the weather conditions, Chris Draper had asked me not to allow the trailer onto the actual airfield, a most reasonable, sensible request.

We went into the club hut where Suzzi, Alan Cashin our CFI and Big Dave were awaiting our arrival.  The gang was assembled; the deed was about to be done!

Again it was pouring with rain.

Before Paul, walked back to the factory and brought the trailer over to the prearranged loading spot, I introduced him to ‘OR’.  He walked round her and expressed surprise at her general overall appearance, but then she always looked better when soaking wet.  He expressed a view, when turning over her propeller that my assessment of the situation was correct and that the only cure for her ailments in that department was to find a new engine and return the old one to the sawmill from whence it had probably come.

Trailer in position, ‘gang’ assembled, ‘OR’ untied from her moorings, we pushed and dragged her to the railway line crossing.  She did not wish to make the crossing and at one time I envisaged her arrival in the local container docks further down the line, impaled on the front of one of their locomotives.

We finally persuaded her to cross.  Once over the railway, work started on the de-rigging process.  Paul proved to be an expert, first folding her tail feathers in an upward direction and securing them to her fin.

We next removed her wings, as a matter of urgency as the wind had also increased in strength with the increase in rain.  We hid the wings in the lee of his vehicle and set about loading her fuselage onto the trailer.

‘OR’ was not about to leave the Banana Strip gracefully.    

Paul’s very sturdy trailer had been designed to carry two small farm tractors or one larger tractor, from farm to farm, he explained, as he farmed a number of agricultural holdings in Dorset and in this way does not need to duplicate machinery.  

After a very comprehensive de-rigging session and numerous ‘cuppas’ supplied by Suzzi, to keep up our spirits in the heavy rain, it was time to get ‘OR’s fuselage onto the trailer. 

The trailer had been designed to take four wheeled vehicles-‘OR’ was three wheeled and she obviously spotted this fact.  Paul had brought with him a sturdy plank of wood to fill the gap between forward decking and trailer end.  All we had to do was to keep her nose wheel on the plank of wood and simply, push.  Easy as falling off a log or so we thought.

Twice she slid off sideways forcing us to realign her with the bridging plank.  The third time, she decided to make a final escape attempt and broke the plank into two halves!

I felt or at least sensed that tempers were becoming frayed.  Alan Cashin looked as though he had suffered a temporary bout of dunking in the estuary.  Dave’s normal state of composure had disappeared.  Dave was glowing bright red and visibly steaming and I was not best pleased as the rain water had seeped under my outer clothing and was streaming a veritable cascade of water down the centre of my back the stream, dividing at the crotch was filling my rubber boots in equal amounts. 

Paul was the only ‘gang’ member who was suitably dressed for the occasion and had kept his aplomb.

Suzzi reappeared from the club hut carrying a tray upon which rested four mugs of liquid refreshment.

We took a very short break, watching the raindrops bouncing on the surface of our mugs of tea, before rescuing ‘OR’ yet again.  With one final effort and a new, hastily rigged lump of wood to span the gap, we succeeded in positioning her on the trailer.  Paul took no chances at this stage and immediately made sure of her capture by tying her down.

 “Do these wings collapse?” asked Paul.

I had to admit that they did not collapse as of right, because there is a fixed wingtip tube on each wing that holds the framework rigid.  I knew this as fact because I recently had the wings apart for the replacement of all their fixtures and fittings.

Thinking about the situation I made my only sensible contribution to the days’ play.

“Take out all the batons and further slacken the skins and I think I can remove the constraining wingtip tubes without having to remove the very soggy skins.”

I based this announcement on the fact that when ‘Biggles’ and I had replaced the skins previously, I had to reposition the tubes after the skins were in place-by feel.  All I had to do at this juncture was to reverse the process. 

Fortunately theory turned into fact so saving Paul the transport problems of having six or more feet of wings dangling over the tail end of the trailer.

To give a little more clearance between wings and fuselage we hoisted ‘OR’ onto sturdy blocks of wood placed under her wheels and re-anchored her to the trailer.  The now collapsed wings slid very neatly into the newfound space under the body of ‘OR’ without overhang of the trailer.

G-BYOR-‘The Orrible Little Beast’, had put up a good fight, but was now ready to go.

Two things occurred at this juncture.

A Boeing ‘747’ appeared from the low cloud and flew twice around our circuit, at a guess of, no more than four hundred feet above us and the black leather suited, topped by black furry hat, apparition of ‘Biggles’ could be seen picking his way carefully along the puddled path leading from the factory. 

The ‘747’ had probably just left SouthendAirport or was maybe looking for SouthendAirport, but either way it was a spectacular sight.   ‘Biggles’ had been scheduled as the fifth man in our ‘gang’ but had failed to put in an appearance up to this time but by now the dastardly deed was done.

We stared in awe at the ‘747s’ stately progress and in envy at ‘Biggles’s dry clothing.

The ‘747’ disappeared from sight and mind but unfortunately, ‘Biggles’ did not-he had made a beeline for the club hut.

We, the ‘gang of four’, followed his lead and grouped ourselves around the small electric heater in an attempt to warm ourselves and to speed up the drying out process.

I removed my rubber boots and socks, emptied each boot in turn of the accumulated rainwater and rang out my socks putting the socks back on my feet, with great difficulty.

I was about to perform my final act of ‘OR’ betrayal.

I had brought all the relevant documentation with me that morning including of course, log books, invoices and receipts, and the plethora of my own and inherited paperwork, which tends to collect over the years.  Paul sifted through the files and selected the more recent documents and handed back the remainder.

I did make the suggestion that he should take everything with him and decide later, in the comfort of his own home, what he needed and then he could throw away that which was of no further interest to him.  I think he thought better of my suggestion as I still have a file or two-marked ‘OR’, lurking in my abode.

We concluded the financial aspect and ‘OR’ was his.  She had, to all intents and purposes, thrown several tantrums right up to the bitter end and the ‘gang of four’ were soaking wet just to prove her point. 

I will miss her ‘B’-mindedness.

Suzzi was cooking a breakfast or two in the club hut kitchen, although it was now lunchtime and Dave was expounding on a theory that, given the building of the proposed ‘Wind Farm’-the site to finish about a mile short of Runway Two Four-it might be politic to fly inland circuits on the other side of the railway and pylon lines as the possible turbulence created by the giant windmills when landing on Runway Zero Six would probably affect the aircraft less, on the downwind, base and final approach legs of the circuit.  Another advantage would be that we could avoid flying directly overhead the 300 ft high, windmills.

I have often walked away from the club hut in a confused state of mind while mulling over theories expressed earlier by knowledgeable pundits but today we all left in a state of confused befuddlement, shock and disbelief, all that is but ‘Biggles’.

Dave Hughes was busy with pen and paper.  He was drawing a rough map of the airfield and its environs to graphically illustrate his theory as to why one might need to change the long-standing circuit pattern, particularly for Runway Zero Six.

The finished drawing had all the essential landmarks including the railway, the pylons, the club hut, hangars, river bank, runways and the proposed wind farm to our north and was immediately recognisable as a plan of the Banana Strip.  He had added some light scrollwork to show the possible path of any turbulence from the windmills.

“Northerly wind”, Dave said, “Turbulence straight down the runway but in my opinion the effects could be minimised by flying the left hand circuit, inland route.”

“Further away from the turbulence source the better one might be”, said Alan Cashin.

There was, for the most part, general agreement on the subject for the actual turbulence/disturbance caused downwind of the windmills is still an unknown factor in this area. 

I had carried out a considerable amount of research on the subject on behalf of Chris Draper, reading scientific reports from Germany, Holland and particularly from Scandinavian countries and all appeared to be conflicting.  Depending on the destination of ones letter and to whom it was addressed one used the information so garnered to support ones case.

“You are wrong there, ‘Knowledge’, you’ve got the wind in the wrong direction”.

‘Biggles’ had spoken.  ‘Knowledge’ was his name for Dave Hughes and was often uttered in a mocking, deprecating tone of voice.

“You said a northerly wind but you have indicated with your arrows a southerly wind”, he told Dave.

Dave made a grab for his piece of paper, studied it for a moment or two and pronounced the wind direction as shown on his hand drawn map, to be correct.

“No it is not”, averred ‘Biggles’ and told ‘Knowledge’ that, “if the wind was northerly then that meant that it was blowing towards the north-your arrows are pointing to the south therefore it is a southerly wind!”

We all had the grace to laugh at this statement from ‘Biggles’ and I had the idea that it was obviously a ‘Biggles’ joke with a view to antagonising ‘Knowledge’.  ‘Biggles’ was in that sort of mood having missed all the fun of trying to load ‘OR’.

I think I expressed the view that all the respectable textbooks usually started their sections devoted to Meteorology or Navigation by informing the student that, in aviation terms the wind is expressed in degrees at the point from which it is blowing and in knots as a speed.  A northerly wind of ten knots would therefore be expressed as 360°/10.

I am certain ‘Biggles’ must be aware of this point but by this time the discussion was becoming warmer if not heated.   All thoughts of the possibilities of a circuit change due to the windmills were now forgotten.

Dave was appalled and asked him in which direction he would take off with the wind at 060°/10? 

‘Biggles’ thought for a moment and then said, “ Runway Two Four of course-straight into wind”.

Dave Hughes reacted as a man possessed!

He asked poor old ‘Biggles’ which runway he would use if the wind was given as 240/10?

“Zero Six”, was the reply from my man ‘Biggles’!

In explanation ‘Biggles’ pointed out that the ‘numbers’ were in white paint on the end of each runway, clearly visible to any pilot when passing over them on take off.

I tried to interject with the comment that if this were the case ‘Zero Six’ would become ‘Nine Zero’ i.e.’06’ in numbers inverted would equal ‘90’ and that there would be no translation available for ‘Two Four’ but generally this comment was lost in the welter of incredulity that abounded aplenty at the time.

Dave was now becoming apoplectic!

Before bursting a blood vessel or suffering any other major setback, stroke or heart attack, he slumped down on the bench seat located to the left of the front door, when entering the hut, supported his head in his hands and gave a loud groan.  He had become hunched and defeated.

Alan Cashin who had made no comment to this time summed up with the immortal words, “Quirky-Very Quirky” and also fell silent.

Suzzi, who had remained aloof while cooking, addressed ‘Biggles’ by name and asked him if he was certain of his facts?  As Suzzi is a non-pilot, she was ignored by my man ‘Biggles’.

I said nothing as I was by that time totally confused, so joined the now silent majority in the club hut that, soggy afternoon. 

It was left to Paul to break the silence.

“Time I was on my way”, he said, standing up and making for the door.

I had the idea that Paul was not looking forward to his long journey home towing the ‘Demonic OR’ but that, most of all he was making good his escape before he also became infected by this stranger, to him, still wearing the black furry hat.

I accompanied Paul to his vehicle but had to return to the club hut to confirm the number of the combination padlock on the end-of-lane gate as it would be easier to use this exit than to manoeuvre ‘OR’ and trailer by the more direct route and by so doing, save the now semi-flooded grass strip that leads around behind the factory, from rutting.

I started to apologise and to assure Paul, that we had not all been beamed down from the ‘Planet R (for Romeo) Suppards’ that morning, but tailed off as he assured me that he had thoroughly enjoyed his visit and the stimulating diatribe/discussion.

We parted company.

My last view of ‘OR’ was as Paul drove from sight along the scruffy lane leading to the main road.  By this time ‘OR’ looked forlorn, bedraggled and somewhat seedy as she was trailered away in a veritable deluge of rain, her last ‘words’ were expressed in the form of a rolling clap of thunder.

I really felt that I had just seen my favourite hunter ‘put down’ by the knacker’s man.

I returned to the club hut where Dave was still shaking his head in disbelief and Alan Cashin was still muttering, ‘quirky-very quirky’, more to himself than to anyone in particular.

Suzzi had cleaned up and cleared up in the kitchen and ‘Biggles’, while still in posturing mode, was finding it very hard to make contact with Alan and Dave.  A joke has to have a punch line no matter how heavy handed-his did not.

I sat down, immediately reminding myself that I was still very damp especially below the waist.

My hangar doors were closed, I had seen to that earlier and apart from making the transfer of my new Sky Ranger from Dave’s hangar to my hangar which could wait till a later date when the weather was dry, I had no excuse to stay longer.

The party broke up.  I thanked the ‘gang’ for all their efforts.

Dave and I set off for our respective vehicles parked outside the factory, Alan and Suzzi with ‘Biggles’ in tow, headed for their ‘Little House’ as they had named their mobile home.

“You know what?”  I said to Dave when walking back along the path to the factory

“I think we have gone someway to solving the ‘Biggles’ magnetic conundrum of figure of eight circuits!”

Dave thought for a moment, “Must have been one of his heavy handed wind-ups?” he queried, “Must have been!” he repeated.

“I am not so sure as it would be in keeping with his standard convoluted thought processes”, I told Dave, who then admitted to being so confused by all the ‘Biggles’ loud voiced haranguing and the acquiescence of Alan Cashin, me, Suzzi-anything for a quiet life-and even Paul, that he was beginning to question his own sanity!

I have the feeling that we all felt the same way.

The following Tuesday, I arrived at the Banana Strip and walked up to my hangar.  On arrival I was for a fleeting instant thrown into panic-the hangar was empty-no ‘OR’- she had gone.

Of course I knew she had gone but I then began to wonder if, not that I had done the right thing but if she would still exact a terrible revenge at some later date?

I cast these thoughts aside as Dave Hughes came into view.

It took us no more than a few minutes to transfer the Sky Ranger from his hangar into my now opened hangar. 

A period of instruction then followed on what to do and when to do it and most importantly, what not to do at any time-he wrote down all the instructions so that I had no excuses if I got it wrong.

One of Dave’s instructions and the last on the list and heavily underlined caused me to chuckle, namely: ‘Do Not Allow ‘Biggles’ Anywhere Near It!’

I thought this a little unfair to ‘Biggles’ but to that date I had acquiesced as of course I was allowed to fly the Sky Ranger, solo only or with Dave as official observer-or vice versa-as neither Dave nor I had achieved a break through with the BMAA, at this stage, also the weather over this period had not been particularly conducive to flying.

We retired to the club hut for a cup of tea and Dave brought me up-to-date on the BMAA, position as it then stood and gave me all the paperwork, which would from then on be progressed by me and as it transpired, by Dave as well.

In the meantime I took to the skies with ‘Biggles’ in ‘AT’ and continued my ‘hate relationship’ with the cumbersome ‘Alfie’.

In fairness I should explain that the Falcon is, in other guises, a perfectly respectable   flying machine depending upon the engine installed in the aircraft, usually a far better suited Jabiru engine. 

‘AT’, the ‘Biggles’ Falcon, is fitted with the ‘Rotax 912’ engine, a marvellous engine without doubt but probably not necessarily the most suitable engine for the Falcon.  I believe there are but two examples of the Falcon 912, flying in the UK at this time and both are based at the Banana Strip. 

The ‘Rotax 912’ engine as fitted to the Falcon, tends, among other things to be to too heavy for the aircraft and would appear to be mounted slightly above the thrust line which does lead to some strange handling characteristics to say the least, particularly if one closes the throttle whereupon, ‘AT’ heads for the ground at an alarming rate of feet per minute and miles per hour.  It would appear that the elevator loses a certain amount of authority without the benefit of prop-wash/slipstream.   Add to this the ‘Biggles’ craze for adding an impressive array of totally unnecessary gadgets and instruments to ‘AT’ and you will leave the ‘Microlight’ class and arrive in the ‘Microheavy’ category of aircraft.

These are my personal views and comments in respect of ‘AT’ and should not be considered as authoritative for I understand from Alan Cashin that ‘AT’s twin Falcon 912, flies and performs in a totally different and more kindly manner.

It had been a few weeks since I had last flown with ‘Biggles’ but he talked me into a proposed short trip upon which he was about to embark, one afternoon when I had nothing of immediate importance to do   I was missing his company in the air as one would miss a prolonged bout of influenza or a bad headache-funny what one may become acclimatised to.

‘Biggles’ carried out a take off and climbed to all of five hundred feet before handing control to me.

Something was different.  Something was not quite right or as it should have been so I asked the standard BU question,

“With what have you now been tinkering?  We flew on towards the Isle of Sheppey.

Standard ‘Biggles’ response-“Nothing!”

Standard BU response, “Then why….?”  “Never mind, let us return to base and have a look”.

B. Umble, March 2008.