Vicky’s Step Too Far…. By B. Umble.
The Sky Ranger that I had recently purchased from the constructor, Dave Hughes, sans paperwork, was still commanding my full attention but not in the flying sense only in a secretarial duties mode in my more or less non-existent contacts with the august body of the BMAA.
‘My’ paperwork was, according to the BMAA office spokesman with whom I communicated from time to time upon the telephone "All ready for sending" and "I can see it from here"
"Where?" I had the temerity to ask on one occasion.
"My desk" was the reply but as I did not know the exact layout of his office or the position of his desk within the office, I was still none the wiser. The favourite response to my weekly telephonic enquiry was the one that most amused me,
"It will all be in the post this evening". Very cheering news of course but not worth the paper upon which it was obviously not written. The spokesman had done his job and rid himself of the unseen, but vocal complainant once more so peace, tranquillity only interrupted by the gentle chink of cup on saucer, would reign in Oxford for a few more days at least.
A slight improvement had been achieved within the Internet sector of communications in that ‘Big’ Dave Hughes had finally been contacted by e-mail by the BMAA after numerous reminders of his correct electronic mail address had been sent to them by Dave himself, me and Chris Draper among others. As far as I was able to ascertain, this near miracle had taken about three months to achieve such was the comprehension and learning level at the BMAA, but it had finally happened although Dave, was now no longer involved in the scheme of things having passed ownership of the Sky Ranger to me.
I was not frustrated or even annoyed by this apparent incompetence as I could fly at will under the auspices of the ‘test certificate’ and I actually enjoyed the beurercratic challenge and deliberately set about in my communications with a will to register a response of a querulous nature from my targeted recipient. I was never disappointed which is where the fun element came in to play.
Other sessions included a run on knots as opposed to miles per hour.
At the time of the first test flight, the test pilot had recorded the air speed indicator readings during the flight in knots, when in fact these figures should have been headed ‘miles per hour’. This quickly became the centre of debate or put another way-the Crime of the Century!
All you have to do is cross out the word or words, ‘knots’ where they appear in the text and substitute MPH-simple as that, I was heard to say.
This could not be done as they appeared to have mislaid their office bottle of Tipp-Ex and so a new test flight was ordered.
"No problem. I will have a word with Chris Draper and/or Martin Ingleton and one or other or both will be happy to oblige".
"We would like Mr X", was the response from the BMAA.
"Tough!" I did add a further word but modesty and in fear of shocking the ladies precludes the word from this narrative.
"No! I own it and I will make my own arrangements and what is more it will be done this weekend".
I wrote and confirmed the arrangement, subsequently agreed by an e-mail to Chris Draper from the BMAA, later in that week.
Another little battle won by the good guys-we brushed-off our white Stetsons and went about our business.
My personal plan was to rewrite the paper work using the figures as originally recorded but in MPH, possibly change the odd entry to suit an inquisitive BMAA mind and add an authenticity to the document then resubmit the whole without actually taking to the air.
Simple office work.
I was unable to persuade Chris Draper to agree to my plan and I suppose this was very much to his credit and would have been much to my detriment had he so agreed, but then my aim was to defeat the final recipient at ‘GHQ’ without his knowledge-then crow about it later!
I do countenance evil thoughts from time to time but Chris was absolutely correct and was simply not prepared to cut corners on my behalf. Any satisfaction that I might have felt in the future would represent a minor empiric victory at best and leave a sour taste in my mouth-but a victory nevertheless.
The new flight test was carried out over the appointed weekend and on inspecting the figures, graphs and words, I made absolutely no sense of any part of the report with the possible exception of the entry of the ambient air temperature and the date. I was inclined to change the ‘MPH’ headings back to ‘KNOTS’ prior to resubmitting the forms to the BMAA but Chris Draper thought that might be taking the ‘fun’ element a stage too far.
Eventually I received a demand from the BMAA for a ‘Noise Certificate’ as issued by the Civil Aviation Authority. I suggested that as everything was ‘standard’ on my new Sky Ranger including the propeller driven by an engine-one had to point these things out-this was an unnecessary time wasting ploy to further the delay of the BMAA decision making process, for that, I had decided was the crux of the matter-decision making.
It is all very well employing a boy to do a man’s job but if the ‘boy’ wishes never to commit to a decision the whole system will and does grind to a halt.
I was not alone in my trials. Reports were coming into my office emanating from all areas of the country from persons outlining their problems in dealing with their ‘pet hate’, namely the BMAA.
My computer was experiencing great difficulty in zeroing in on random signals from the BMAA’s GHQ somewhere in Oxfordshire not so much the fault of the BMAA as a simple lack within the computer of an updated disc that would handle-download-various forms that they wished me to complete and return to them.
Enter the CAA (Civil Aviation Authority) who had no hesitation in sending the ‘Noise Certificate’ form actually as I sat by my computer and whilst in conversation with the young CAA lady upon the telephone. The form, as sent through downloaded immediately. How very pleasant, I thought to deal with a truly professional and helpful organisation.
I have to admit to a phobia at this point which concerns my total inability to complete ‘forms’-any forms at any time. Some people dislike arachnids, some snakes, heights, the list is endless but put a form before me and my mind ceases to function. I also have wild urges if persuaded to take pen in hand, to make my own wild claims and comments therefore invalidating all the answers.
"Chris-I have a form will you fill it in for me please?" Chris looked at the piece of paper and asked from whence it had come and to whom it was to be forwarded the answer to each query being the same, "The CAA, then back to me and then on to the BMAA" I told him.
He tended to be a trifle uncomplimentary at this point but between the two of us we coped.
Chris had left a number of technical items unanswered for my completion at a later time and until I had consulted Dave Hughes.
In the mean time the CAA were informed when I e-mailed my version of the completed work to their Gatwick Office. The ‘Noise Certificate’ was in motion but again reappeared on my computer screen within minutes of transmission.
The friendly young lady had returned it to me for confirmation and clarification on one or two points.
Apparently some of my answers did not exactly fit the bill.
My answer to the question regarding the position of the engine, ‘at the front’ and to a query as to its Vertical or Inverted plane of ‘the right way up and who cares anyway so long as it keeps going?’ did not meet the technical requirements and original information-gleaning purpose of the form.
Further queries were raised as to the propeller pitch and accompanying measurements from a point some many feet or was that centimetres-none of this foreign rubbish for me if I can avoid it- from the middle bit? Neither did my answer to this question slightly conform in that;
‘Looks to be bent in all the right places’ was deemed to be an insufficiently technically correct answer.
The returned form asked me, along with a kind and enquiring e-mail from the, by now, favourite CAA young lady asking if I would be kind enough to confirm the following answers.
I was then able to troll through the previously unopened Sky Ranger files as supplied by Dave Hughes and actually find the figures and numbers exactly matching those suggested.
I was so amazed at this stroke of fortune especially after I had spoken to Dave upon the telephone asking for final confirmation that my form went back to the CAA that very day causing me to fall out with our local relief postman.
The following morning there was the sound of scuffling at the front door. The post had arrived. I rushed to the door and flung it back shouting as I did so,
"Don’t you dare bend that envelope!"
"Won’t fit", was the surly reply from the highly startled relief man.
"Of course it will-give it to me", I demanded, at the same time snatching it from his grasp.
There was absolutely no way that I wanted a folded in half ‘Noise Certificate’. It had to stay pristine for all time. I made a copy of the Certificate and posted it to GHQ Oxford. I
I do however; rue the day that aircraft in general became relatively, quieter.
Aircraft in my opinion should be big, brash, beautiful, exciting and above all, raucously noisy-the noisier the better.
Aircraft should be in the skies making a statement, not pussy footing around the clouds trying to hide away from those on the ground lying on their deck chairs and staring through their binoculars in an attempt to read registration markings. From experience I have found that most of these would-be complainants are very observant and very intelligent because they always know that the first letter is a ‘G’ but the other letters are hidden from view at the time of their observation-how-by magic?
Noise is all important when related to aircraft and other forms of vehicular sport and travel.
Who has not thrilled to the sights and sounds of an air show, particularly the sounds?
The all pervading ripping calico noise given off by a fast jet aircraft hurtling at breakneck speed just a few feet above the runway, its reheat glowing bright orange at its tail? Aircraft and noise are and/or should be synonymous. Luxuriate in the sound. Thrill to the sound. Revel in the sound.
I used to make an annual visit to the Farnborough Air Show and one of my abiding memories is of the ‘V’ Bomber Force lifting off on a practice scramble.
The trio of Avro Vulcan aircraft started their engines in unison and each aircraft started all of its four engines at the same time-not singly this was, after all a simulation of the real thing. The noise grew as each Olympus engine gained power within the group of twelve.
The aircraft slowly at first lumbered onto the end of the runway, in line astern and without pause, opened their engines to full power and charged forward as one, in a veritable haze of black unburnt-fuel smoke. First one appeared from the ground swirl of smoke, shining white in the afternoon sunshine and rose towards the heavens looking for the entire world like a giant dart.
A short pause and the second Vulcan lifted into the sunlight closely followed by the third giant dart. The smoke slowly cleared as the aircraft reversed course above the Laffan’s Plain end of the runway and returned to fly above our heads in a ‘Vic’ formation of three, to disappear from view travelling in a symbolically, easterly direction.
All three aircraft had launched in a well drilled and rehearsed, simultaneous movement.
The symphony of sound was totally incredible and bathed one in an all-consuming ear hurting experience where even the ground beneath ones feet appeared to be turning to liquid as it trembled in time with the vibrations. Every muscle, every sinew within ones body reacted to the glorious stunning sounds on that day and in those times when the Cold War was an every day reality and Mutual Assured Destruction was guaranteed.
As comparative silence returned to Farnborough, the crowd appeared slightly stunned by recent events but suddenly, with one of those spontaneous unprompted gestures of approval the crowd applauded and raised a great cheer for the crews and ground crews that had made it possible.
The actual spectacle was, I supposed, a public relations exercise designed to make one feel better about being wiped out in a blinding flash; now that might be a noise-albeit short lived to the listener-well worth hearing?
Although not quite so noisy I was equally thrilled by the spectacular departure of another ‘V’ bomber, a Handley Page Victor, that took off and climbed into an ever steeper climb until inverted above the runway and then promptly rolled off the top of the loop. Again the noise was stupendous and added to the general excitement of the manoeuvre-a ‘Stand off Bomb’ technique or so I believe, probably ‘Blue Steel’ one of our sides’ inventions with nuclear war head of course.
The noises emanating from aircraft do not have to be raucous. Visit a Duxford air show and luxuriate in the evocative, nostalgic sounds of the Rolls Royce Merlin engines purring past in host Spitfire or Hurricane when grown men can be seen shedding a tear of joy as they are overtaken by their memories.
I often wonder how many people would bother to attend even a minor motor race meeting let alone a ‘F1’ event if all the cars were cloaked in silence.
Eventually all good things have to come to an end and my dealings with the BMAA were no exception to the rule. This left me with a hole to fill in my mundane and seriously boring working life-part time stable boy.
I was looking for a new adventure but for some reason I shunned the excitements of the ‘Biggles’ experience amply covered in past episodes. My Sky Ranger had been explored by me in great detail and I was beginning to feel at home in her. My ‘Permit’ would soon be in the post as it was no longer visible within the BMAA office I was told, but of course I had been reminded that the CAA had to finally stamp this document and "They are running some six to eight weeks in arrears at the moment", my BMAA informant confided in a telephone conversation regarding the Permit’s whereabouts.
This proved to be another false claim as the final issue took place within six days thanks to CAA efficiency.
I had been flying in other types of aircraft at this time Chris Draper being particularly generous when persuading me to take ‘Lilac Lil’, his demonstrator SLA, out for a bit of exercise and Jeff McCall arrived in his Eurostar and allowed me to sit in with him and play with the controls.
I walked over to the strip one morning after having been warned by Chris Draper earlier while visiting the factory that Vicky Grayson wished to speak to me, I presumed on an urgent matter for it would appear that I had in some way and unbeknown to me ‘fallen out with her’.
The black wing of a Medway Raven stood out in sharp contrast to the green of grass and hangar roof background parked along side the railway fence. I turned towards the Raven on my way to my own hangar further along the strip when a small, brown haired, slightly rotund figure detached from the pod of the Raven and advanced at speed towards me. My first reaction was to think that a fox was about to fight back and as I was alone was about to take a lump out of me before running for cover.
The ‘fox’ turned into the shape of Vicky who certainly looked more ferocious than dog or vixen in a bad mood.
Vicky is a very experienced flex wing and fixed wing pilot currently owning and flying her ‘Medway Raven’ and her ‘Mini Max’ single seater.
I tried to exchange pleasantries once we were in closer proximity but she ignored my friendly queries after her health and observations on the weather.
Vicky came straight to the point.
"You" she said and again repeated, "You, tried to kill me and you blooming well nearly succeeded".
I must have looked somewhat abashed but she continued in the same vain,
"You tried to kill me on purpose, absolutely on purpose", she claimed.
I was still a little non-plussed by her claims for while I have not led a totally blameless life I have only once made a deliberate attack on another human’s life and very nearly succeeded, but then the recipient of my wrath was a German POW and that was in war time when, possibly, as now there was only one ‘Good’ German’ and that was a ‘Dead One’, as the saying went then.
It was the first time I had heard a grown man scream and I enjoy that remembered undignified blood curdling sound-clearly audible over the other sounds of tractor and grain elevator-to this day ranking along side the Vulcan experience.
At a later, on-site enquiry into the circumstances of this near ‘tragic accident’ my murderous actions brought me a casual admonition from the Commanding Officer of the POW camp where the German was housed and a request to be more careful in future when executing tricky manoeuvres on tractor with trailer within confined spaces. I had missed killing him by a hair’s breadth and so my murderous day had ended in abject failure and a black gloom of despond.
Patriotism? No Just sheer unadulterated hatred.
Right then, however I was facing the fury of a small ferret like creature-she had changed from fox-like to ferret-like in a flash-working herself up into an uncalled for frenzied state of agitation and fury, making totally unfounded accusations of my murderous intentions towards her person.
I was somewhat puzzled. Vicky is English through and through unlike my previous target.
She paused momentarily for breath and in the short space afforded I did not ask quietly to what she referred but shouted-
"HOW?"
"You know very well how", she charged.
Obviously I did not have a clue or inkling as I stumbled on towards my hangar impeded by the fox-ferret-now terrier type activity of my accuser as she snapped at my ankles.
"I got the biggest ‘rollicking’ of my entire life when we arrived and I can’t forgive you for that either", she claimed-I think she said ‘rollicking’ as opposed to….
"WHERE?" I shouted.
She again assured me that I knew very well ‘where’.
I did not, but a small insignificant thought was coming alive within my verbally battered senses as her arms began a wind milling motion as if to strike me in emphasis of each word, about to be uttered,
"At Popham of all places-Popham!" she exploded "I had friends at Popham and now I can’t go back".
Obviously mistaken identity I thought because I have been nowhere near Popham for months by air or land.
"You set me up!"
Vicky was not about to let me into her secret immediately but the clues were there for one well versed in the ‘Magic of the ‘Biggles’ Experience’.
I made a wild stab in the dark by asking her a direct question,
"Have you been somewhere with ‘Biggles’, namely Popham?" I asked her.
We came back to her usual response of my actually knowing that, that is exactly where she had been.
At this point my conscience was clear as Vicky is a ‘medium’ aged lady, ‘medium’, coming between middle and OAP status in the scale of age groups therefore putting her into a category of self determining, responsible adult hood.
"Nothing to do with me" I told her, "You are a free agent to come and go as you please", I added.
She re-launched her attack upon my person.
"You told me that he, ‘Biggles’, was much improved as a pilot and was safe to fly with".
I remembered a short conversation at this point that I had, had with Vicky some two weeks previously when she told me that ‘Biggles’ had mentioned to a number of pilots at the Banana Strip, including her, that he would quite like to fly to Sandown on the Isle of Wight in ‘AT’ and was looking for company. There were no volunteers eager to rush to the IOW in ‘AT’ then or since or so I believe, but I had obviously made an incautious statement but do remember qualifying it at the time.
Vicky was by this time going through another metamorphosis by cooling down as the memories of her recent ordeal came flooding back. I could not help noticing that she was trembling and now ashen of features resembling a shaky white poodle puppy.
"You told me he was alright" she further averred before finally falling silent.
I had to agree because he is or was at that time indeed ‘alright’ but I always added the proviso that one had to watch him like a hawk and be prepared to intervene as he himself expected of one.
I had explained during our previous conversation on the subject that ‘Biggles’ was always in need of a certain amount of fairly firm guidance when in the air as he tends to lack any spatial or directional awareness but he was competent enough in his operation of the controls, or the radio, or map reading, or other minor functions such as checking the fuel level, reading the plethora of added instruments, some of which give readings but most do not, but he can only carry out one function at any one time so totally forgets the flying part of the equation. The one thing I did stress was that she should not be shy in offering advice as he really expects and relies upon one to be there when needed.
"Do not allow him access to a camera", I had told her "because that will sign your death warrant as the world viewed through his viewfinder bears no relation to the real world of ‘AT’s attitude, speed, direction, height or position.
"If you remember Vicky, your response at the time was one of incredulity and you kept telling me that nobody could be that inept". I also explained that the word ‘inept’ was not the correct word to use as related to his skills because he is totally capable as a pilot but has these funny quirks while in target fixation mode.
I was not describing ineptitude but the ‘Biggles’ habit of single minded, one hundred percent attention to one facet of flying at one time which tends to preclude any other thoughts or actions within the confines of the ‘AT’ cockpit. This is probably a very worthy trait under different circumstances particularly in business, but not in the air where a wider view is often more desirable.
I had instructed Vicky in the art of unseen controlling and given her a number of tips as to where to place her hands, feet and knees in order to anticipate any sudden unwarranted moves on the part of the pilot.
"If you should need a turn to the left" I had told her, "place your right knee on the right hand side of the stick and your left foot on the left hand rudder pedal with your loosely clasped hands about the stick thus ensuring that the controls are locked and may only be used to turn left."
‘AT’ will very readily turn to the right but not to the left without considerable exertions on the part of the pilot due mainly to engine torque.
I had expanded on all the positions needed and finally issued her with one last warning namely;
"If and when you arrive at your chosen destination do not allow him to deviate from the circuit pattern by starting a serious dive at the club or airport buildings in order to announce his arrival" and continued that "This manoeuvre tended to be frowned upon by controllers and others, sometimes causing a feint air of hostility at a later date".
This last manoeuvre is then followed by a climb back into the circuit usually resulting in his oft demonstrated and uncanny knack of choosing to fly in the face of convention and direction by facing all the unsuspecting oncoming traffic. This manoeuvre then allows him to execute his well practiced figure of eight circuit.
At the time I think this is where our friendly chat had finished.
I may have added that a swift blow to the region of his midriff using left hand-but do not hit his seat belt buckle it hurts your hand-would usually acquaint him with the fact that he was about to kill the both of you. The ‘Strike Out’ manoeuvre is designed to give one just sufficient time to possibly lessen the danger.
"You must have suffered some of these ‘Biggles’ features I presume but why did you go with him in the first place?" I asked her.
She had been at a loose-end; she told me and was certain that I had probably overstated the possible problems she might encounter.
"Did I?" I asked her.
Very unusually, Vicky could not muster her usual ready smile as we reached my hangar.
Vicky started a long ramble covering all the aspects of what she called ‘The Flight to Hell and Back’ resulting in the biggest fright and rollicking of her life.
I could not understand this aspect of her day’s outing because ‘Biggles’ was the PIC-Pilot-In-Charge-any unfavourable comments by those on the ground should have been addressed to him.
I think the problem is that Vicky is a well known personality at Popham and she therefore made an easy target for the welter of complaints from ground personnel, surviving pilots and controllers alike.
‘Biggles’ had run through his complete repertoire of horror tactics, she told me and that she did not have the temerity to intervene.
She had sat there in a state, firstly of disbelief, then horror, terror and finally stark fear unable to move a muscle. Any polite requests had been ignored by the ‘man in charge’.
Vicky had then been treated to the usual ’fast landing’ procedure causing bruising to her right knee on all the contacts with the runway.
Her one big worry after the event was the fact that she was about to have to fly home with him and she told me that she had seriously contemplated hitch hiking as an alternative as she had not thought to take sufficient funds with her and was therefore unable to resort to public transport. She was to all intents and purposes penniless, destitute and feeling totally alone and frightened at the prospect of the return!
The Popham authorities were of the opinion that she should have taken control immediately at the outset, simply based on safety grounds.
The airfield had issued warnings to all other pilots in the air at the time and all took evasive action effectively closing the field, or so it is alleged.
I think I was fairly unkind when Vicky finished her account as I could contain my mirth no longer having experienced all the quirks at the hands of ‘Biggles’ in our past travels in ‘AT’ or ‘OR’ and laughed so much I had to sit down to relieve my aching ‘chuckle muscles’. Even Vicky at this distance from the event finally managed a wan smile.
‘Biggles’ had not let me down.
"Mike here", the voice on the other end of the line announced as I answered the telephone one evening. "Do you fancy a trip in the Damyns Hall ‘Jabiru’ tomorrow?"
Mike had ordered one of these aircraft at the Popham Microlight Show, earlier in the year and it was nearing the shores of the UK from Australia. He wished to reacquaint himself with the type.
I readily agreed and arrangements were made and executed but he broke into a sweat as we met ‘Biggles’ coming the other way shortly after our ‘Jabiru’ take off.
Mike had good cause to be afraid, very afraid, having suffered the ‘Biggles Treatment’ within the Headcorn circuit a few weeks previously and became somewhat animated on this occasion as we both searched the skies for the approaching ‘AT’.
‘Biggles’ had given us a clue and a timely warning by proclaiming by means of his radio that he was approaching Damyns Hall from the North West. It was now my turn to become animated as Mike became more relaxed because we were to the South East of Damyns and heading east.
I realized in that moment that I was beginning to think like ‘Biggles’ or at least interpret his claims of position without conscious thought or realisation.
This was very definitely an extraordinarily worrying thought and led me to query my own sanity.
Should I retire gracefully from the flying scene before it was too late?
B. Umble.
July 2008.
