H OLID AY READ IN G
Spitfire down BY C LIVE C UNNINGHAM
I
T was a perfect day. Sun shining, light breeze, small tufts of cloud. Why would you want to do anything but fly an aeroplane? After months of rain and nasty wind - finally a day made just for it. True, there had been the odd day over winter where I could have committed aviation but, as every opportunity arose, my work or other commitments kept me grounded. What was worse, my workplace is under the flightpath of my local airport and I can clearly hear the happy crackle of aero engines frolicking overhead. I was sick of being down here, wishing I was up there. At last the time had come. I performed the morning ritual, the three S’s then coffee and kissed the missus, grabbed the flight bag and headed off to the airfield. The drive usually takes about 30 minutes. On the way I normally like to go through a mental pre-flight briefing. I try to visualise my checks and emergency procedures, so I am already in flight mode when I open the hangar door. This morning, as I was doing this, I let out a huge yawn. I shook my head a bit to clear it out and realised I had a bit of a fuzzy brain feeling. I thought back to the previous night. A nice steak done superbly by the missus. A few smooth reds washed it down. One or two, or maybe four? Not a lot, just an average wine with meal dosage. Then we settled down to watch a movie, which finished about 11.30 and we retired. A bit later than I like to hit the hay, perhaps, but a nice end to a long day. But the yawn had made me wonder if I was firing on all cylinders. By now. I was sliding open the hangar door. I paused, looking at my baby. She was as keen to go as I was. But somehow I didn’t feel quite right. Nothing I could put my finger on, I was just not 100% confident in myself.
“I had to make a hard choice”
Maybe the little voice (think Gazoo on Fred Flintstone’s shoulder) was the decider, but I had to make a hard choice. I shrugged my shoulders, let out a long sigh and re-closed the hangar door. I still had the need to fly, just the sense not to. Instead I picked up my little model Spitfire and took little ‘Douglas Bader’ out for a treat. She gracefully rose into the air, as always a thing of beauty to watch. A few sweeping turns, a lazy barrel roll, magnificent! Suddenly, it all went pear shaped. It was inverted and heading down. I pulled back stick which, as we know, is usually up, but at this particular point, it was down. The impact was loud and horrific. I rushed to the scene. There were bits everywhere and I immediately knew it would never grace the skies again. I still don’t know exactly what happened. I just know I wasn’t 100% switched on. As I stared at the wreckage, I knew it could have just as easily been me this day. At the time I chose not to fly, I wasn’t happy about it. But I know I made the right choice. I share this with you, so when you hear that little voice, or you have the feeling in your gut, you might take heed. If something had gone wrong for me that day, maybe I wouldn’t have acted quickly or correctly enough to save my bacon? And maybe more than just my beautiful little model Douglas Bader might have faced the consequences.
29 / SPORT PILOT