COMBAT AND COMPETITION.pdf - Lakes Gliding Club

COMBAT AND COMPETITION
No oxygen. Time to beat a hasty retreat before the cunim carried
me even higher. That was easier said than done. It took minutes of
careful flying, riding the turbulence, to break out under the anvil.
When the ice eventually melted, and the canopy cleared, I found
myself descending over a sea of broken cloud. Through the gaps ahead
was nothing but urban sprawl. Acres of factory buildings. Chimney
stacks belching smoke. The heart of Britain's industrial life - yet it
looked strangely empty and hostile as the Olympia sank lower. And all
around the showers were closing in.
I had made silver 'C distance and gold 'C height. Quite enough for
a first cross country outing which had almost come unstuck. It seemed
sensible to play it safe and land at a decent airfield.
At Elmdon they were more than kind. Treated it as an emergency
- waived the landing fee - and even threw in a free telephone call to
the Mynd. And the ever generous Will Nadin flew his Auster across
and towed me home.
At Boulton Paul the following spring I was moved to the project
office under Charlie Kenmir the chief aerodynamicist. He could add
little to the published information about the fatal accident which had
occurred during my absence. The two test pilots had been flying
together, carrying out diving trials on the prototype Merlin engined
Balliol, and the windscreen had collapsed killing them both instantly.
Their replacements had been through ETPS and one of them was an
old friend.
Dickie Mancus looked thinner than ever, but it was great to see
him again and catch the familiar smile.
"Technical Dave! Welcome back! Charlie said you'd be looking in.
Come and meet Ben."
There was a great deal of noise from the adjoining office. Its
occupant was shouting - reading the riot act to some unfortunate on
the other end of the phone. He hung up and turned to meet us as we
walked through the door. His vitality and the sheer force of his
personality filled the little room.
"David Ince" - the accent was marvellous untamed Glaswegian and
he spat out the words like a machine gun - "Dickie says you've been
to ETPS" - his voice shot up an octave - "And what in the hell are
you doing up in the design office" - it subsided ever so slightly -
"Better come over here and get some flying." He grinned at me
mischieviously and slipped another cigarette into the long ivory holder
- "C'mon lad, lets sit down and talk it over."
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