POPHAM-my first encounter, circa 1995/96.

by B.Umble

I answered the telephone one Friday evening.  It was a call from my Brother-in Law to ask if I wanted a ride down to Popham the following morning?  ‘Why?’ I asked.

I was not too certain as to where Popham was situated or why we should want to go there.

‘Some kind of show there-annual job for Microlights’, was the reply to my query.

The following morning found the two of us driving around the M25 Motorway looking for the M3 junction.  Some time later and after an excursion into a ‘ghost town’ named Basingstoke, we arrived at an airfield rejoicing in the name of ‘Popham’.

We had parked our vehicle in a field and had walked through to the airfield.

A desolate sight greeted us, there was no activity of an aerial nature, but a few disconsolate, dejected looking chaps were wandering around although it was still fairly early in the morning.  I happen to be a person that dislikes any form of discussion before twelve noon, so could sympathise with the few persons to be seen at that time.  We wondered if we had come to the right place?  There were however a few tents and grander looking small marquees dotted about the airfield so a show of some kind was obviously expected.  I did query as to whether we had chosen the correct date for our visit .  The one saving grace was the smell of frying bacon.  We followed the aroma, which led us to a clubhouse and found very much to our delight that breakfasts were being served to order.

After breakfast the airfield seemed a brighter place.

We took stock of our surroundings.

Viewed from the clubhouse the airfield appeared to be divided into two parts.  The first part, probably a main runway, saucer shaped in aspect, started its downhill run from where we had entered the field.

The line of this runway was marked on one side by parked and tied down aircraft, pieces of essential equipment including grass cutters, the odd vehicle, some buildings and ‘long boxes’ which on closer inspection we found to be DIY hangars for aircraft of the de-rigable variety.  A boundary hedge-separating airfield from main road marked the other side.  I was amused to see that this saucer shaped grass runway ended its run into a grass bank and upon this grass bank but a few yards further on was a petrol filling station with café.  Potential flambé Piper/Cessna/whatever under the wrong circumstances?

The second part of the field set slightly out of line with the ‘main runway’ was another grass strip lined on this day with the few tents and minor marquees already mentioned.  This strip appeared to be quite short and had a very temporary look about it, but it had it’s own fair share of obstructions at the far end in the shape of one or two large trees and a wood and of course the rear of the filling station/restaurant/main road formed the boundary along the longitudinal axis.  

We could not help thinking that we were set for a fairly amusing day!

The fun started around mid-morning when, gradually the air was filled with the sound of angry bees.  The ‘bees’ transformed themselves into strange airborne mechanical shapes, which in turn appeared to be circling the field prior to landing?  The scene was reminisant of one of those poorly produced ‘sci-fi’ monochrome films much loved by ‘forward-looking’ directors between the wars and endlessly repeated on television to this day.  One knew, when viewing these ‘B movies’ that in real life not one of the depicted aircraft would be capable of flight, or would they?  Living proof appeared to be in the air around Popham.

After a period of jockeying for position one of the ‘bees’ broke away from the swarm and made, what one might describe as, a ‘dirty dart at the deck’.  The ‘bee’ in question flew straight towards the clubhouse, lurching and bouncing as he passed over the trees situated on the far side of the main road, made a sharp turn to his right and still descending, lined up for a landing on the secondary strip.  The fact that he arrived and controlled his collision with the ground without apparently breaking anything was, we felt, a most impressive feat of airmanship probably prompted by a strong sense of self-preservation.

This manoeuvre must have encouraged the ‘swarm’ still circling overhead for not one but probably nearer a dozen decided at the same time to ‘have a go’ at emulating their loan friend.

I’m sure it was not as dangerous as it appeared from our vantage point firmly anchored to the ground, as we were, but I would be inclined to say that chaos reigned.  There were ‘bees’ coming in, in line astern, echelon right and echelon left, some high some low, some fast some slow, some overtaking the one in front, some trailing behind and getting in the way.  We had never seen anything like it in our lives!

Amazingly nobody seemed to worry and took this highly dangerous manoeuvring-to a casual observer-as par for the course.  Nobody got hurt, no tempers were frayed and there were no ‘air-road rages’ on offer once the swarm had settled upon the ground in spite of the fact that quite a number of the swarm had made more than one attempt at landing and been thwarted at the very last minute.  One chap had gone round three times to my knowledge before being able to touch down and stay down.  Pilots were actually greeting each other as one might long lost friends and then charging off to the clubhouse for their eggs and bacon.  I looked at my Brother-in Law-‘Madness, complete and utter Madness’ we agreed.

The excitement had hardly died down before the next wave of ‘bees’ arrived overhead.  This was the first time I had ever seen a motorised ‘frame tent’ purporting to be a flying machine in the sky.  The fact that they did fly was entirely self evident because there they were, buzzing above us.  The formula for getting down closely followed the antics of the first swarm.  One made it in, in an orderly manner and the remainder fought it out over the skies of Popham, again resulting in no breakages or injuries.  Sneaky was one way of describing the arrival of two ‘autogyro’ types who crept down the main runway at some few feet above the surface and literally plopped down on the very beginning of the secondary strip more or less in exactly the right place to jump out of their machines and go straight into the clubhouse for breakfast.

Other aircraft were by this time arriving in the circuit, more conventional and vaguely more recognisable types mainly of American design and manufacture but they were flying a circuit designed to bring them to earth on the main runway.  We watched in awe as one of these aircraft demonstrated a very long steady approach and an extremely short landing thumping head on into the grass bank just short of the petrol station!  A few clods of earth flew into the air when the single engined, low winged monoplane struck the obstruction but that was all.  Not a single soul on the airfield showed any concern what so ever least of all the pilot for he could be seen sitting in his seat collecting up his various belongings before calmly climbing out of the cabin as if nothing untoward had happened and strolling away.

My Brother-in Law and I looked at each other then back at the stricken and bent machine then again at each other.  ‘Pinch me or punch me I don’t care which, is this a dream or are we really here?’ he asked.

We supposed the pilot must have reported his unconventional arrival because about half an hour later a small group of men wandered over to the machine and extricated it from the bank, carried out a make shift repair to the fence atop the bank and then pushed the machine to a parking place on the clubhouse side of the main runway dutifully tying it down hence saving it from further damage-maybe?

To our untrained eyes it appeared that the airfield was in a state of anarchy but then we assured ourselves that we simply did not understand the workings of Microlights or light aircraft and that anyone can have an accident and because nobody had been hurt it was just one of those things, unfortunate but in the every day scheme of things.

All these machines having arrived at Popham the pilots were now thinking of ways to impress the spectators and to demonstrate their undoubted skills of airmanship and the capabilities of their aircraft.  More chaos was about to reign.

We were standing near one of the marquees when a well-built young man emerged carrying vast quantities of material plus a ‘caged engine’ with propeller attached.  This should be fun.

The young man in question was dressed in what one might describe as a ‘bush outfit’, kaki shirt with pockets, kaki shorts, too tight and too short to be decent, short kaki woollen socks and an enormous pair of black boots.  Upon his head he wore a kaki coloured bush hat.  I couldn’t help wondering if he might not be a visitor from the colonies.

We watched his every move.  We were fascinated to know what he had in mind.  We followed him to a space behind the marquee from which he had emerged.

Firstly he laid out the vast quantities of material, brightly coloured material, so that it formed a crescent shape upon the ground.  We realised then that it was some form of parachute, particularly as there were masses of strings attached to the material.   After some time the man had everything laid out to his satisfaction and turned his attention to the ‘caged engine’, which he donned as one might a haversack, upon his back.  The engine started quite easily with a few pulls on a lanyard.  He stood there revving his engine and making odd adjustments to the engine harness and possibly the engine as well.  Finally he replaced his bush hat with a crash helmet, fixed the parachute lines to himself and the rest of the equipment, jiggled the lines in unison with blasts of air from the engine and the parachute canopy, until this time lying inert upon the ground, started to fill and take shape.  The canopy rose skywards helped by engine and prevailing wind.  He walked forward revving the little engine to its full extent and then lurched into a run.  The canopy, by now, some many feet above, stiffened and in its turn started to follow him through the air.  There was only one foreseeable result possible-he had lift off.

His feet left the ground and the canopy almost caught up with him.  The engine was still blasting away and slowly but surely he ascended, not to any great height but high enough, possibly to give him a clear view over the next few tents and marquees in the line.

At this time there was a considerable amount of activity on the strip.  There were some very interesting powered gliders taking off and of course the motorised frame tents and more conventional looking fixed wing Microlights some turning left after take off some right and yet more going off into the distance.  One can only assume that ‘our man’ hanging from his parachute having gained sufficient height to see all this activity for himself decided that a certain amount of discretion (panic?) was called for because he immediately turned left through 180º and retraced his flight path.  He was now travelling down wind and to an extent was running out of ‘air space’ so his next move was to turn to the right through 90º and away from all the runway activity.

This was not the best move he had made all day.

He really did very well to extricate himself from the top most branches of the large oak tree in which he found himself and in which he had become entangled.  Because he had ceased forward movement his canopy was looking decidedly sloppy although it did jerk into a better shape when our intrepid parachute man appeared to fall through some of the branches.  He finally emerged from this tree many feet lower but intact, as far as one could ascertain, and still airborne to an extent.  His troubles did not end there for being much lower he was forced to run along the top of the hedge, which marked the rear boundary of the airfield-a curious sight to us casual onlookers-but another tree was looming large and one could see from the ‘body language’ that he was concerned to say the least.  The fact that he did acquire almost enough height to clear the second tree must have been of great relief to him.  Sure, he had to scrabble through the top most branches but he made it without too much trouble.

Again, but only as a casual observer, I suspect the flight was now taking on nightmare proportions as far as he was concerned for he now found that he had rejoined the main stream of aerial activity.  He turned down wind and headed back from whence he had come and I swear he did not hurt himself half as much as he claimed when he thundered into the side of his marquee!

Obviously trying to make amends for his less than impressive flight he decided that he would do a ‘spot’ landing right outside the entrance to the marquee.  I think he slightly miscalculated the down wind factor.  He had shut down the engine and was manoeuvring the canopy by string pulling but a slight miscalculation had him hit the side of the marquee somewhere towards the top half of the vertical wall and there happened to be an internal bracing strut at this point. 

The tattered remains of a once proud para-glider pilot sat on the ground moaning and groaning and swearing like a trooper.  His canopy sort of fluttered downwards around him and over the top of the tent.  His short socks had not saved his legs from the branches, twigs and brambles that he had fought to the last barb and lost.  We had glimpses of other parts of his anatomy through tears in his outer clothing but then he had just come through a hedge or two, if not backwards, certainly sideways and forwards.  ‘Enjoy your trip?’ asked my Brother-in Law.

We helped him to his feet but he was in no way grateful for our aid, mainly because we could not stop laughing long enough to be of any real comfort or use.

In retrospect this particular excursion into the heavens had to be the highlight of the day for us.  It had in fact made our day.

We retired to the clubhouse for lunch.  The clubhouse was crowded so we took our food outside and sat at a table and bench combined arrangement, difficult to get seated but comfortable enough once in position.

A young couple joined us.  They were both probably in their middle to late thirties.  The woman was an attractive enough fair haired fresh faced quietly spoken person wearing what one might call a ‘prison pallor’ in that she looked quite ill.  The man was the complete opposite in appearance and looked to be in rude health.

‘Did you fly in today?’ he asked.  We had to admit that we had not flown in.

‘Did you fly in?  I asked him.

‘No, my aeroplane is broken at the moment’ he told me, then added that he had not had sufficient time to get it repaired or rebuilt due to domestic problems.

Small talk.  I was quite prepared to leave it there.  ‘Wife has been in hospital after our last crash’ he said.  The way he said ‘last crash’ led me to suppose that he and his wife were in the habit of crashing.  ‘You nearly killed me this time’, she said.

I do not care who you are you cannot just sit there and show complete disinterest.  I felt I had to follow up her last statement. ‘Really?’ I said.

The whole sorry tale then unfolded.  It appeared that they had taken off from an airfield and had suffered an engine failure at a few hundred feet on the climb out so he had turned back on a left-hand circuit, ‘flown a reasonable down wind leg’, his words, but had left his final turn of 180º a little bit late, had missed the actual runway but only by a matter of yards but for some reason the machine, at this point, had ceased to fly.  He complained that not only had it ceased to fly it had turned right although he was in a left-hand turn and had then immediately struck the ground right wing first.

The collision with the ground had caused the right wing to buckle, bend and come off it’s mountings and one of the internal frame work tubes had been driven through his wife sitting on that side of the aircraft so that she had, in effect become an integral part of the broken machinery.  ‘What was worse’, he complained ‘was that she was unable to get out of the wreckage unaided!’  ‘I didn’t have a scratch’ he added-good for him!  We asked her if she had given up flying now?  ‘With him’ she said.  How nicely restrained.

Apparently it had taken some considerable time to separate the poor woman from the remains of the aircraft necessitating a lengthy stay in hospital hence the previously mentioned ‘domestic problems’.  I suggested that a quick funeral might have solved the domestic problems more speedily!  ‘At least you would have known where you stood and could have organised things from there’ I added.  I could not really believe that we then entered into a serious debate on the subject but debate it we did.  On balance it was decided that the present arrangement was for the better.

My Brother-in Law and I were obviously in NUTTERS CORNER.

A couple of men arrived and sat down at the table, one young, one older, father and son we thought.

The older of the two men looked windswept and worried and one could detect a slight trembling of hand when he reached across the table for the ashtray.  He picked up the ashtray which then flew out of his fingers when an extra shudder and shake ran through his body.  The younger of the two men then stood up and brushed the previous contents of the ashtray from his flying overalls and went in search of food.

We tried at this point to include the older of the duo in our conversation but he appeared preoccupied until suddenly he announced  ‘I’ll walk home, that’s what I’ll do, I’ll blooming well walk home!’  ‘Must be the way I’ve brought him up’ he added as an after thought.  We had now established a relation ship-father and son.  Father sat there silent for the moment.

We waited for his next pronouncement.  ‘Made a lot of money in his business and bought that’ he waved his arm toward an immaculately presented pre-war or possibly post-war biplane parked some few yards away from where we were sitting.  ‘Had his licence for two weeks and now thinks he’s an ace’, father continued, more to himself than to us. 

He was obviously serious about finding alternative transport home because he then asked us a direct question; ‘do you know where I can catch a bus that will take me to any railway station from where I can catch a train to London and from London a train home’?  As visitors we had to admit that we had no ideas on the subject at all.  He looked panic stricken, half stood up, sat down again and continued to shake.

‘I’ve got to try or die’ he said and with that he stood up again, nimbly disengaged himself from the bench/table and hurried away towards the airfield entrance.  We last saw him walking up the centre of the main runway apparently oblivious to dangers to life and limb posed by landing aircraft.

His lunch arrived, carried by his son.  ‘Where is the Old Man?’ asked the son.  ‘Gone to catch a bus’ we told him.  ‘Silly old fool’ says the son ‘Always has been a nervous type and he knows he has no money with him’.  ‘Son’ sat down and launched into his lunch.  ‘He will be back or he will have to hitch hike’ he said.

 We could see that ‘Crash Man’ was warming to the son.  ‘My wife’s like that you know-very nervous-right pain’.  Maybe she had cause?

It appeared that ‘son’ had been reading a book on aerobatics, in deed seriously studying the subject and had tried a few manoeuvres on his way to Popham; they had not necessarily worked out very well and in turn had upset father.  ‘I feel I am getting there but I’m not yet too sure about the landing off a flick roll!’   

He finished his lunch and then went in search of his father.  I have no idea as to whether he found him or not but later on that afternoon we did see the smart little biplane take off with but one occupant.

My Brother-in Law and I kept returning to ‘NUTTERS CORNER’ throughout the rest of the day and met numerous other keen types all with strange agenda, all marvellously entertaining and all, in our opinion, quite mad.

The runway direction had changed, we noticed, through 180º so that all the action was now from left to right from our vantage point by the tents and marquees.  There was a small problem however in that many of the previous right to left pilots had failed to notice the change so that even more chaos reigned for a time.  We fell about laughing because we had now entered into the spirit of the day and really felt part of it.

We saw a para glider parachute appear above and beyond the line of tents.  We rushed to see the fun but were greatly disappointed to find a trim young lady hanging under the contraption and she turned out to be very skilled in the art.  She flew nowhere near the trees or hedges-very tame, after her colleague’s morning efforts.

Aircraft of all shapes and sizes were taking off and landing on both the strip and the main runway.  There appeared to be a lot of swerving going on in the air as pilots endeavoured to avoid flying directly over the filling station but

once a common direction had been established for these manoeuvres all returned to normal. 

We wandered the tents to see what was on offer and I found myself being castigated by a stallholder for being cruel to cats!  Being a bit deaf I had got hold of entirely the wrong end of the stick and thought she was trying to reduce the numbers of stray cats.  I told her that they were very difficult to shoot because they were very crafty and could smell a gun from a mile away.  It had been one of my jobs on the farm as a lad to reduce the numbers by whatever means but the gun was the best bet I told her.  This did not go down too well as she was there to promote the care and preservation of strays.  I was only trying to be helpful!

We left Popham in the late afternoon and drove home.  We had experienced one of the best days out either of us could remember for a very long time and I am sure that all the participants and spectators must have felt the same.  We even toyed with the idea of returning the following day and we certainly would be there the following year.

On our return home we sent the organisers a card of thanks and congratulation for their splendid arrangements and on being able to maintain such a very high level of entertainment.  Splendid place, splendid show-who needs a ‘theme park’ when one can go to Popham?

B.Umble March 2004.