“Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.”
Leonardo da Vinci
“There are old pilots
There are bold pilots
But there are no, old, bold, pilots.”
My Instructor - ha, ha...
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Chapter One
The Barton Air Show
Barton Aerodrome 1980’s
A Vulcan bomber made a low pass, rumbling overhead. Its huge black triangular wing filled the sky. It looked unnatural, as if it shouldn’t be there and it appeared to travel so slowly, I half expected it to fall from the sky like a ceramic plate onto a tiled floor, a flat vertical descent, smashing into a million pieces as it hit the ground. A whale of the sky, it turned ever so gradually, showing off its top side. A few minutes later it was gone.
I strolled up close to a Phantom mingling in amongst numerous people. It was much bigger than I expected. Grey, sleek, missile shaped at the front. The nose was at least five feet above my head and further back a glass cockpit hood was swung open.
A queue of people were taking turns, climbing a ladder to peer in. I wondered if the pilot calls it a she or it. I wouldn’t personify it at all. It was a weapon of war and not at all like anything associated with the female form in my view.
Beneath its short wing were two huge bombs, dummies I suspect. They were bigger than me, so god knows how it managed to lift them off the ground, especially with two more of equal size on the other side?
“Come on, Mike, keep walking, let’s go and watch from over there,” said Mum, as she and Dad walked toward the grass strip and a rope fence.
The Vulcan returned for a second run then disappeared out of sight again. It didn’t really do anything for me; no thrills or chills, it was noisy and slow.
Hundreds of spectators waited for the next aircraft to do a flyby, and we mingled in amongst them, about two rows back, patiently searching the high cloud in anticipation. The sound of the Vulcan’s thunderous engines faded away; something else was coming, a different sound. I listened to the faint higher pitch rumble getting louder.
The man on the mic’s., voice changed from enthusiasm, he sounded much more excited, as if someone had walked into the tower and given him an unexpected present. “Now we’ve got a real treat for you,” he started. “I’ve been keeping this one a secret for days and it wasn’t easy, I can tell you.”
What was he talking about, a real treat... keeping secrets? His tone impacted on me immediately. I sensed excitement, curiosity, and anticipation; something really special was about to happen.
“Here she comes, folks!” The aircraft approached, dropping out of the cloud. It was about the size of a swooping falcon, but very rapidly grew bigger and bigger. “The new air 2000 B757 is making a low pass, so we can all get a good look at her. I doubt you’ll ever see anything like this again. She’s on route to Manchester and has kindly detoured for our pleasure.”
