Chapter 7 - Last Posting

In my preference for posting, I had always stated flying duties; I was now 45+ and was delighted when I knew that I was to become the Officer Commanding No. 11 Air Experience Flight at RAF Ouston in April 1966. Ouston was a few miles west of Newcastle-upon-Tyne and was commanded by a Squadron Leader. While still at Topcliffe, I went to see the retiring OC of No. 11 AEF, who had been fortunate enough to have had a very good working relationship with the OC Ouston. Unfortunately, this Squadron Leader was posted overseas, so I started a tour of over 3 years with a new Station Commander. 

I was a lodger unit on the station, and officially responsible to HQ Air Cadets: this created problems. Three other lodger units were on the station - the Northumberland University Air Squadron, a Signals Unit, and an Air Training Corps Gliding School. I was an Air Cadet Liaison Officer, President of the Officers' Mess, Messing Officer, Bar Officer, and Officer in Charge of Summer and Easter Camps. 

My job basically was to give flying experience to Air Cadets of Northumberland, Westmoreland, and Durham, and the cadets of the Combined Cadet Force of various public schools, also the Girls Air Training Corps. I had 3 Chipmunk aircraft, and 15 RAF volunteer reserve officers who were part-time pilots and all ex-RAF pilots. My deputy flight commander was a volunteer reserve officer with the rank of Flight Lieutenant, all the other pilots were Flying Officers. These officers received only travelling expenses and were mainly employed at weekends. The reserve pilots came from all walks of life - teachers, business, the civil service: their main interest was to fly, not financial gain, and it was a pleasure to work with them. We had a course of training for the cadets - very basic, simple exercises like 'how to fly straight and level', 'climbing and gliding', turns' and 'climbing turns'. Training cadets from the various Wings were generally a Saturday and Sunday operation, the cadets stayed at Ouston for the weekend and had their meals in the Airmen's mess. 

The running of the Summer and Easter camps was a responsibility of the Station Commander - which he gave to me in toto. The Summer camp lasted approx. 8 weeks, and the Easter camp 2 weeks. Air Training Wings from all over the country came to RAF Ouston; I arranged all flying programmes and other activities such as obstacle courses, swimming, visits to places of interest, cinema programmes, shooting, etc. I was fortunate in having a schoolmaster who was an authority on Hadrian's and willing to talk about it. I did some photographic work for him from the air to back up his presentation. 

I had a number of young officers who had completed their pilot training posted to me from time to time, to give them something to do between postings. Ouston, being a small station, did not have much demand from Air Traffic Control. A couple of the young officers decided they would like to alert the Senior Air Traffic Controller (SATC0), and his staff of one or two airmen. They first wanted to make a distress call with a portable transmitter, which I vetoed; I was willing to let them make any call, provided I stayed in Air Traffic Control, so that if things got out of hand, I could do something. I went to ATC on this particularly quiet day and chatted to SATCO. A call was made - 'Ouston, this is Delta Oscar, over'. The call was acknowledged by Ouston. 'Ouston, this is Delta Oscar, I have 5 VIPs on board; understand all arrangements made; estimate you in 20 minutes, over'. 

The poor SATCO was in a panic - he shouted to his airman 'What information do you have on this aircraft'? 'None, sir', replied the airman. 'Jesus Christ', said SATCO. Turning to me, he asked if I knew anything about the visit; I denied all knowledge. The two pilot officers with a portable transmitter in a hangar about 300 yards away were having a ball, passing messages from Delta Oscar. When SATCO was almost in a state of collapse, I told him the truth. His first words were 'You bastard'. It took 2 crates of beer to smooth that one over. 

One cadet I took on a flight looked very much like Billy Bunter; on the Chipmunk, we had a mirror, so that from the front cockpit we could see the occupant of the rear cockpit. From the time I called him to ask if he was comfortable, I did not have a moment's peace. The conversation went something like this - 

• Cadet: 'Pilot, how fast are we going?'
• Pilot: 'We're not moving yet.'
• Cadet: 'It's raining.'
• Pilot: 'yes'.
• Cadet: 'Can we take off if it's raining?'
• Pilot: 'Yes.' All I can see of the cadet is a large pair of spectacles peering over the bulkhead.
• Cadet: 'Are we doing 100 m.p.h.?'
• Pilot: 'No; we haven't taken off.'
• Cadet: Why have we stopped?'
• Pilot: 'To do our pre-take-off checks.'
• Cadet: Why?'
• Pilot: Because we always do pre-take-off checks for safety reasons.'
• Cadet: Will the engine stop?'
• Pilot: No’
• Cadet: Will we do a loop?'
• Pilot: 'Not unless you want to.' This began to stretch my patience. However, there was a short silence, then he said...
• Cadet: 'Pilot?'
• Pilot: 'What now, son?' in a tired tone.
• Cadet: 'Pilot, were you in the World War?'
• With a certain amount of pride, forgiving all his questions, I answered 'Yes, I was, son.' There was a long delay.
• Cadet: 'Pilot? Which World War were you in?' I felt like asking him to undo his safety straps and turning the aircraft upside down with the canopy open. 

The outstanding memory of Ouston was when I had to look after the Red Arrows as President of the Officers' Mess. They were giving a formation display and were kind enough to give RAF Ouston a private show; my - kids had a signed programme to remember the day by. 

The CO of Northumberland University Air Squadron was Tony Back, and when he decided to return to civilian life, the RAF suffered a loss; he was a great chap, 100% for his students. He would often 'pinch' or 'borrow' aircraft for his camps, so that his students could get maximum flying hours. I had a Chipmunk on my inventory which was used for demonstration purposes; he conned me into having the wings sawn off so his Squadron could use it on a float in a Newcastle parade, and they won a prize with their entry. 

 

Back to Civilian Life 

On October 10th, 1969, I did my last flight in an RAF aircraft, Chipmunk WP899, and left the service officially on 29th October. 

I had applied for a number of jobs without success. The type of job which I thought I was particularly suited for was that of Administrative Officer for an ATC Wing, as I had spent over 3 years working with the Air Training Corps. I had looked after a particular Wing during one of the camps held at RAF Ouston, and they were advertising for an Administrative Officer; when I telephoned and stated that I was interested in the position, I was told that it was being held for a senior RAF Officer was retiring in a few months' time, but the position had had to be advertised : a typical example of 'not what you know, but who you know'. 

I then applied for a position with the Civil Service. I was at first told that with my service background I could be considered for a position as Executive Officer; there was a quick change of heart when the interviewer found that I did not have any 0 or A Levels. 

Within a short time, I had the urge to fly again, so I went to see the local flying school at Newcastle-upon-Tyne Airport. On leaving the RAF, I was given an executive-type house by the local council, only it seemed because they could not find many people who would pay the rent they were asking for, and I badly needed accommodation. The house was only a few miles from the Airport. 

An ex-RAF Flight Lieutenant, Nike Gill, was running a flying school for the Newcastle-upon-Tyne Aero Club; we had a chat, and he told me that it was necessary for me to take an examination in Aviation Law to obtain a Private Pilot's Licence, which I did, and obtained the licence. I then thought it might be a good idea to obtain a civilian instructor's rating. The nearest place for this was Carlisle Airport; I did 5 hr. 25 min there, flying the Beagle 100, and in due course received my civilian instructor's rating. 

Mike Gill offered me a job as his Chief Flying Instructor, because he was tied up with commercial flying. We had 2 aircraft - a Beagle 100 G-AXPB and a Cherokee 140 G-AVWI; also, a blonde secretary called Hilary. I was authorised by the Civil Aviation Authority to test student pilots for the issue of a Private Pilot's Licence.

Radio Licence

Mike, because of his commercial flying commitments, eventually opted out of the instructional flying for the Aero Club; also, flying clubs are, in the main, not a money-making business. So, one day, Mike informed Hilary and myself that we were unemployed; but we became employed again by the Aero Club, who wanted to keep the flying school going. We worked every weekend and were supposed to have Monday and Tuesday off; in practice, this did not work out, because I had to take the aircraft over to Carlisle for servicing on either Monday or Tuesday, and this was an all-day job. 

Mike had sold the Beagle 100, so we were operating with one aircraft -a Cherokee, Whisky India, which the club bought from Mike. I was running the flying school from February 1970. Nearly all flying schools operate on a shoestring - there is generally a lot of talk from well-meaning members, but almost invariably a shortage of cash to meet the ideas proposed. Few schools make money; if they break even, they are doing well. In 1982, the cost of flying instruction is around £30 an hour, and the minimum requirement to obtain a licence is 40 hrs. (in special schools, 35 hr.). Add to this the cost of medical books, and ground examinations, and the cost is considerable. And this is for the basic licence only - night and instrument ratings are extra in terms of time and cost. 

Many students are middle-aged, for the simple reason that young people cannot as a rule afford the outlay, and these older people need more flying hours than 40 to qualify for a licence. The youngest student I have instructed was 14 - too young to hold a licence, the minimum age for which is 17; the oldest was well into his 60s. Ladies are excellent students, and usually make first class pilots, but they are in the minority - flying is a male-dominated field. 

The sad thing about many private pilots is that often, for a variety of reasons - usually financial. - they do not keep their licence valid once they have obtained it.  For this, a minimum of hours per 13-month period must be flown, and an annual medical must be taken. The saddest time was when I was asked to give a young boy a flight: he was very bright, asked intelligent questions about the flying, and I was most impressed. When we were on the ground, I remarked to his parents what a bright son they had, and that he would have a great future if he took up flying as a career when he was older. They then told me that he was suffering from an incurable disease and had not long to live.

In order to keep his licence valid, the qualified pilot asked me to fly with him so that he could clock up the necessary hours. It turned out that he had had an accident and was frightened to fly on his own. Two regular members of the social side of the aero club were Alf and his wife Margaret. Alf was ‘Primula Cheese’. We often had a drink together, and Margaret confessed to being frightened of flying. One day my wife persuaded her to have her flight; I took her up in the Cherokee, and she was terrified. A year later, she had a private pilot's licence, and a night rating, and became most accomplished pilot. She was in her 40s. Flying does fascinate people: we used to give a trial lesson for a few pounds and once someone handled the controls, he or she was usually hooked. Most of the time, we had about forty students at different stages of training. We also bought a simulator (Link Trainer).

When I was flying at the Newcastle Aero Club, we received a lot of publicity from the media – papers, BBC and ITV. On one occasion, we were asked to produce a training film. Although we had a few 'dollybird' students, the film crew settled for a training film with the attractive wife of ‘Mr. Primula Cheese’. The film was shown on television, and the company kindly gave a colour copy to the star. 

I have often been asked how one goes about getting a pilot's licence. The first thing to do is to get in touch with a flying school. How? Look in the Yellow Pages or ask the information department of the local airfield. Or contact BLAC (British Light Aircraft Centre) - they will be pleased to help. 

When you have found the nearest club or school, ask for details - cost, time, requirements. If you are satisfied that you qualify, take a trial lesson. This will cost a few pounds and last around 20 min, but it will give you a chance to handle the controls - most people are bitten by the bug at the end of this stage. The next step is a medical, given by a doctor appointed by the Civil Aviation Authority. Passing this medical gives you a 'student licence', and you are ready to start flying. Most schools operate the Cessna150 (a high-wing monoplane), or the Cherokee 140 (a low-wing monoplane). The minimum requirement is around 40 hrs., and this qualifies one only for the basic licence. There will be exercises on aircraft familiarisation, effect of controls, straight and level climbing and gliding, climbing and gliding turns, stalls and spin recovery, steep turns, forced landings, short landings, take-offs and landings, and short take-offs. The ground subjects will include navigation, meteorology, and aviation law.

It is also necessary to obtain a radio licence. 

Prospective pilots often say that they don't have the sort of academic qualifications to make the grade. In fact, academic qualifications are far less important than basic common sense and good training and, from the actual flying point of view, co-ordination. If you can drive a car, you can fly an aeroplane.

A flying school will look after your interests and show you the way to success. 

At Newcastle, we were fortunate in having an Airport Director, Jimmy Denyer, who was an ex-RAF pilot and very pro light aviation. He trained as a pilot in the United States during the war and gave a lot of assistance to the club. We were also fortunate in having an ATC who helped the club in every way. Newcastle was a very busy airfield, and it was not at all uncommon to have this sort of conversation on the radio: 

• Club Aircraft (CA): Whisky India, down wind for touch and go.
• Air Traffic (ATC): Whisky India, we have an aircraft 6 miles final. Do a close base leg and be prepared to overshoot.
• CA: Wilco.
• ATC: Whisky India, the jet is 4 miles final.
• CA: Roger.
• CA: Finals.
• ATC: Whisky India, continue, the jet is 3 miles final.
• CA: Wilco.
• ATC: Whisky India, cleared touch and co, break right, expedite.
• CA: Wilco. 

ATC really bent over backwards to assist our club aircraft. 

One day when I was flying with a student, the instruments suddenly looked unreal and out of focus.  I was at this time doing a circuit of the airfield and was downwind, a few minutes before landing. On the approach to land, the runway appeared to be moving up and down. I was doing a solo check on the student; we landed, and I told him to go solo and staggered back to the office - the airfield appeared to be spinning around. The club doctor was fortunately in the clubhouse; he examined me but couldn't find anything wrong. When I got home, I was sick. Later, when I contacted the Civil Aviation Authority to explain the situation, they recommended that I should not fly for a few weeks, as it was probably an ear viral infection.   

We often held local flying events at the Aero Club - competitive flying and Open Days. We also entered competitions. In June 1973 we took part in the Swiss Watch Rally competition, and flew to Basel, where the French ATC were being awkward. On arrival at Basel, I went to fill in a flight plan to continue our journey to Biel but was told that it was not necessary. We had plenty of time to spare, so we had a coffee and talked, then went out to the aircraft, which was an appreciable distance from ATC. On asking for taxi clearance on the radio, the ATC said that as we had not completed a flight plan, we must stop the engine and return to ATC to complete it. In view of the time factor, this in effect meant that we were out of the competition. Later, our Swiss friends told us that this had been a deliberate attempt by French ATC to upset the competition, as ATC were in the middle of a dispute. After almost 8 hours flying, this was very hard. We also took part in the Scottish International Rally and won several prizes. 

On our Open Days, we have pleasure flights and trial lessons. We always had a well-known celebrity to open the event, and on one occasion, the Scottish comedian who had done the honours asked if he and his wife might be flown back to a castle in Scotland. I took off in poor weather conditions. For the first part of the trip, he told jokes; then the weather became worse, the radio went unserviceable, and as we flew along the west coast the jokes stopped. I was going lower and lower to maintain contact with the ground; the altimeter was reading zero and spray from the waves was hitting the aircraft. By this time, he and his wife were holding hands. We arrived at the airfield - literally just a field. He completed his business, and we flew back to Newcastle above the clouds, I think he was relieved to be back on the ground! His wife certainly was. 

Near the end of my stay at Newcastle, I arranged a flying competition for an International Rally to be held. We received entries from France, Germany, Switzerland, Scotland and Ireland. The day was a great success, and the competition was won by a German pilot.  We also took part in the Dusseldorf Rally but did not win anything. We also visited La Baule, our sister flying club in Brittany regularly.  They were great hosts, and we returned the hospitality when they visited us. 

Talking of Brittany reminds me of the time, on the first day of a two-week holiday, when we called into the bar of the Club for a quiet drink. The Club Secretary, finding we had made no arrangements to go away, handed us some keys: “These are the keys to my villa in Brittany; take the club aircraft and have your holiday there. There is a car in the garage and drinks in the house, just replace what you use!” We had a marvelous holiday. 

 

Still at Newcastle Aero Club

In April 1974, I saw a specialist, who said it would be a few weeks before I would be safe to fly again; I started flying again, in fact, a month later. 

In May 1974, one of my neighbours, who was a doctor, suggested I might like to see an ENT specialist, just to reassure myself. He arranged this as a favour to me, but when I had been examined suggested that as I was getting on in years, it would be a good idea to change my profession. He submitted a report to the CAA, and in July I was told by them to stop flying in view of what he had said. There followed visits to the central Medical Establishment in London for medical boards; I did not start flying again until October 1975, but then only on condition that I had 6-monthly medicals - very costly in travelling and examining fees. Not until July 1977 was I finally cleared by the CAA to have a medical for bi-annual renewal of my licence with a local doctor. 

In this struggle to have my licence renewed, I was very fortunate to know personally an ENT specialist in a Newcastle hospital. He and his staff examined me, but could find nothing wrong, and said as much to the CAA. Nonetheless, while I had been prevented from flying solo, I was unable to give flying instruction, and my future with the Aero Club became precarious.  Finally, I left the Club at the end of August 1974. 

In September 1974, I began a full-time executive development course at the Newcastle-upon-Tyne Polytechnic. The course was very worthwhile, and at the end I presented a project on 'Reclamation and Recycling of Paper, Glass and Metal Containers'. I was unemployed, however, so we sold our house and moved to Tavistock in Devon, staying first for a time with Sid, my wartime engineer, and his wife, in Mary Tavy, Devon. I then took a post in the same factory near Plymouth where Sid was employed, working in the packing and post department.  After my executive development course, I had hardly become a captain of industry! 

After living with Sid and his wife in Mary Tavy for six weeks, we moved first to rented accommodation in Whitchurch and then for a year to a farm at Woodtown where Lucy, my wife, enjoyed herself looking after the Dexters, a small breed of cattle. 

In 1977 we purchased a three-bedroomed bungalow near the moors after a long search for suitable property. 

Finding that Plymouth did not have a flying club, I maintained my interest in flying at the Exeter Flying Club. Even the cost of flying the minimum hours to keep my licence was a strain and the travelling time between Tavistock and Exeter Airport (0.5 hours) made the whole enterprise unsatisfactory. 

During one of my visits to Plymouth for my compulsory six-monthly medical with a CAA doctor, a new possibility arose. The doctor suggested that in view of my flying experience that I should get in touch with a Mr. Richman who was a part-owner of a Cessna 172 based at Roborough (Plymouth) airport. Early in 1979 I met Sam Richman, a successful Plymouth Company Director, and have been flying most Wednesday evenings with him since. Sam is himself a qualified pilot (over 500 hours), with a house conveniently adjoining Roborough Airfield. After I finish work at 16:30, the weekly flying routine begins of course with a cup of tea at Sam's place - then it's off to the airport, a visit to Air Traffic Control, then it's up in the Cessna. (The first Cessna was G - BBKG which has now been replaced by a Cessna Skylane G-BHDO). Our destinations vary; sometimes to Exeter where we practise a few landings, the Channel Islands, Lands End, and the Cornwall Flying Club at Bodmin.  While at Plymouth we practise instrument flying and non-directional beacon let-downs. After paying the bill for fuel and the landing fees at the Air Traffic Control, a very pleasant Wednesday routine ends with a chat and over a couple of beers back home with Sam and his family. 

Despite all tribulations, I remain an undaunted Do-It-Yourself addict. My new toilet, for instance, has somehow finished up in the middle of the bathroom and you can almost step out of the bath into the toilet! However, it works and there it must remain until I find the time to fix it. An unexpected source for D.I. Y. tips and borrowed tools turns out to be the local pub, "The Mariner", which is a haven not only for seadogs, but lovers of the real canine variety, model railway enthusiasts and in fact people of all walks of life. 

One Sunday lunchtime I remarked to "Keith the Teeth" (alias Surgeon Commander Pendrill, RN) that I would like to hold a reunion of my wartime crew with the present-day 57 squadron. By chance he knew an ex-57 Squadron navigator who made a few discreet enquiries. It was suggested that I write directly to the Officer Commanding Royal Air Force Marham, Kings Lynn, Norfolk. A month later, June 1979, I received a letter from Wing Commander R. C. Betts, BA, RAF, Officer Commanding No. 57 Squadron, who wrote that approval had been given for our visit and a 57 Squadron Officer, Flight Lieutenant Mike Dane MBE had agreed to act as Project Officer. Together with my gunner, Bill Harmer, who had travelled up to Tavistock from Cornwall, I drove to RAF Marham and in the evening met the rest of the crew to be briefed by Flight Lieutenant Dane on our activities. The one absentee from the crew was Stan, our wireless operator, who was not able to travel because of illness. (On our way home, we were to call in on Stan and give him all the news about the reunion.) 

The service and civilian personnel at RAF Marham gave us a wonderful time. That first night in the mess broke up around midnight. After which Mike invited us to his home where Julie, his wife, quite unperturbed, accepted a group of middle-aged (old) men for more food and drinks. On Monday July 2nd, we were entertained at a top-table luncheon topped off with a Moselblumchen wine. Good food, good wine and good company. 

During our stay at Marham we were shown the Vulcan bomber, now used as a fuel tanker. We toured the operations room and had a go at the Flight Simulator. We even became celebrities, appearing on television and featured in newspaper articles. It was a visit well and truly enjoyed by all - the finest full reunion in 34 years. Sadly, we did not renew acquaintance with a Lancaster, which was away giving a display.