Sloping Off - September 2006
The Diary of a Flier - Part 5
by Leonard B. Wise
Today is the day. The one I have awaited for so long. I have at last got my SpitfIre, purchased from the Second Time Around Shop. I have the Fuel purchased from that Clown of a Model Shop Owner. I have the Car to transport it all to the Site and I know I have the skill to fly it. I have connected it all up in the Garage and moved the sticks. When I pull the right hand stick back the flap thing at the back goes up so the plane will go up. The Flap things on the wing also work. I hung it up in the Garage and when Crispin, my son and Clarrissa my wife were out I tried a dummy flight without the engine. It all worked perfectly.
I can see myself now at the Flying site showing those people how to fly a Spitfire. I drove to the site. It is an open one, owned by the Council so I understand. I unloaded the Plane from the Car and then took out the flight Box and starter etc. People started to gather around they admired the plane. As well they should. Someone asked me if I had built it. I was astonished to be asked such a question. Then another chap told us that it was the one built by Jimmy Flint. which was why it was so good.
I took out the Radio and switched it on. There were many shouts of Turn it off turn it off. Why I asked, it is an open site I have the right to fly here and I twiddled the Sticks just to show that I could not be intimidated. There was a loud engine noise and a plane which had been flying overhead did a loop and plunged into the ground not twenty feet from me. There was naturally much consternation. I pride myself that I can remain calm in difficult times and so I left them to it and continued to put the plane together.
A very angry man came over and said that I had shot him down and he demanded £150. I ask you, who does he think he is dealing with. I asked him where was the gun how could I have shot him down. Your radio he said same frequency as mine. You did not look at the board. You are a fool. You owe me £150. I had had enough of him by then so after telling him I thought it was a lot of ridiculous nonsense I turned my back on him. Either you pay me £150 or you will hear from my Solicitor he shouted. Give me your name and address. I will do better than that I will give you the name and address of my solicitor as well. Telling him that he would get no money from me. He took down this information and stormed off shouting that I would hear from him.
I expect people thought that I would be too upset to fly, but I am made of sterner stuff. So I applied the thing to the plug top applied the starter and tried to get the engine going. It would not start. I kept trying but no luck. A Teenager and an older man came over and watched. Eventually the older man told me his name was Walter and could he help with the engine. By then I could see that I was not going to get it started so I agreed. He fiddled with a long screw sticking out of the engine. He asked me to give him the starter and suggested that I stand with a foot each side of the plane near the tail to stop it moving. This seemed quite reasonable to me, so did that. I might say that I felt all along that I should raise the standard of dress worn by these people. They all had old overalls on or rather scruffy clothes. I had on my lemon trousers, white shirt and my matching lemon Pullover, and Suede boots.
I stood there for some time as Walter messed about with the screw and the starter. When suddenly the engine burst into life. I was appalled that so much muck could come out of such a small exhaust. My Shoes and trousers were covered m what looked like oil. What Clarrissa will say I shudder to think. Walter handed me the Radio, and told me to open the throttle whilst for some reason he pointed the plane skywards. The engine stopped. So we went through the whole process again, the fiddling with the screw thing, the starting, the smotherng my shoes and trousers with oil and the pointing it skywards. This time it seemed to be satisfactory to him but not to me. For some reason as I held the plane aloft he opened the throttle fully, the engine screamed and deposited some more oil down the sleeve of my lemon pullover and onto my shirt. I am sure that was not necessary.
Walter asked me if I wanted him and the teenager who was called Mike to help me get it into the air. I told him that I did not. I wanted to fly it myself and was determined to do so. I pointed the plane towards the runway and opened the throttle to taxi out, All it did was spin round in circles, tip over and stop the engine. I was mortified. No one else had done that I noticed. There was clearly something wrong with the plane.
Lets start it again and this time I will carry it out for you Walter told me. So he did and he carried it out to the flightline. He asked if I wanted him to take it off for me. These people seem so eager to interfere. I replied rather sharply that I had always wanted to fly Spitfire and was now going to do so. Just use the throttle gently then he told me.
So here I was at last. A Spitfire at my feet the engine gently ticking over. I thought of the Battle of Britain Pilots who I had read about, and felt that I was carrying on in that great tradition. I remembered my Uncle George who was in the Battle of Britain. He did not actually fly the planes, but as he told me those who cooked the food to feed the Pilots were just as essential to the Battle as the flyers. I must say for a moment a few tears came to my eyes. Then I blinked, cleared my head took a firm grip of myself and opened the throttle.
...and? AND??? Even I don’t know if the Spitfire flew, as I have not had the next installment yet - Ed
