Yesterday, I talked about ticking a box in the ‘things to do before I die’ column. Here’s the second box I managed to tick, all in one day. Non-aeroplane geeks, please look away now….
Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had a thing about the Lancaster that flies with the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight. It’s probably entirely my grandfather’s fault. He was an airframe mechanic in World War Two and in addition to spending several years in North Africa fixing aircraft, he was also based in Lincolnshire working on Lancasters. Pretty much every Christmas or New Year, he’d have a few beers and then sit me on his knee and talk to me about Lancasters, the harsh European winters of that period and the searing heat and conditions in North Africa.
But it was the Lancaster he spoke about with such emotion, so as I grew up, whenever I saw PA474 at an airshow, or heard it’s Merlins overhead, I always thought about him.
Fast forward a few decades and, as discussed yesterday, I’m working at RAF Leeming talking to people about Supercar driving experiences when the BBMF rolls in overhead for it’s display. All talking stops as we stand with faces pointing skywards for the next ten minutes before a run and break to land. I wonder… Just possibly… I guess you’ve got to ask…
Stroll over to where the Lancaster’s parked, flight and ground crew collecting their gear together. There’s a small queue of people near the tail waiting to climb inside. “So how do I get in there, then?”
“You going to give me a ride in that Lambo?”
“Yup”
“Step this way, feller”
We stroll around, under the wing, to the rear access door. Ahead of me, there’s an old gent with a blue blazer, straw boater hat and RAF tie and the genuine silver moustache. It’s a bit of a stretch for him to climb the access ladder, but he manages. “I’m not getting any younger”
We laugh as a bang my head on the way in.
“It used to be much easier when I was younger” He comments.
“Used to be?”
“The last time I was in one of these, I got shot down….”
He’d been on a mission over Europe when things had gone wrong. Too low to use his parachute, he survived the forced landing and became a prisoner.
So up we climb, over the main spar, across the bomb bay and upwards at what feels like a thirty degree incline before emerging into the sunshine of the cockpit. A final climb up and I’m in the pilot’s seat.
I just sit for a moment, taking it all in, looking out at either wingtip, across the big Merlins, exhaust stacks gently ticking as they cool. Breathe in and there’s a lovely aroma of old leather, hot oil and alloy. I can feel hairs on my forearms standing up.
The instrument panel looks vast, with a tiny archway off to the right leading down to the bomb aimer and front gunner position. This aircraft has dual controls and an extra seat for crew training. Originally Lancasters carried just one pilot and if he was hit, the rest of the crew had to remove him from his position and take his place. In the event of a bail out, the only practical way out was through the door we climbed in, way back down at the tail. Health And Safety Regulations were not high on the list when Lancasters were designed and the chances of a successful bail out from the front end must have been pitifully small.
The old pilot and I chat about his experiences and what happened to him as we take turns in the seat, me wishing I’d brought my voice recorder and cursing that I’ve left the 1DS behind. Anything to capture his thoughts, mindful of the fact that none of us are getting any younger and the world moves on. As if to highlight this, just ahead over the nose is parked a Tornado jet, wearing the camouflage and colours of a German Luftwaffe squadron, here for the weekend to take part in the open day and NATO allies for many decades now.
Eventually, we decide to climb out and both clamber back towards the tail, banging our shins and heads once again.
We climb down and the old guy melts away talking to his family and I stand there, ticking that mental box in my head.