I know that I have often said that the local control position
was the best place to work in air traffic control. However another fantastic position was to be
duty driver. This allowed you a certain
amount of freedom and flexibility. That
is of course once you had got past all the NATO standard bullshit. Every morning the mileage had to be recorded on
each vehicle in use, and then you had to complete a daily inspection. This involved checking the oil, and water and
engine coolant. The weekly inspection
included counting the tyres. I know
almost as difficult as answering a telephone and writing stuff down.
Most people would pull in to the Mechanical Transport flight
(MT) park up and go to the office to collect the paperwork. Old hands, or hairy arses as we were known,
would park somewhere that was hidden from the view of the MT controllers. We would collect the paperwork and return to
the vehicle to complete the required checks.
When I say that you had to count the tyres, you also had to check that
all the wheel nuts were present and correct and each was tightened sufficiently
to do its job. If the MT controller was
in a foul mood you could be told to wash the vehicle before you could leave the
MT yard.
One air traffic fellow, John McBride, sauntered in to MT
control, one wet Welsh morning, collected the paperwork and was about to return
to his vehicle when he was engaged in conversation. I know, engaged in conversation is not how
many people would describe talking to a driver. How would you describe single syllable utterances
delivered at maximum volume? John was
detained for a number of minutes, John by the way was a very pleasant fellow,
and afterwards he did say that he thought the conversation, or at least the
premise for the conversation, to be a little strange. John returned to the vehicle and completed
the paperwork. He took his time, like
any decent hairy arse would. He then
returned the paperwork and went back to the vehicle.
I understand that MT control were apoplectic. The fellow in charge had a feeling in his
water that the air traffic lads were not completing the inspection properly, so
the reason that John was delayed in MT control was to enable the fellow in
charge to run out and take all the wheel nuts off the land rover. John of course hadn’t noticed. Well come on, would you? However he had signed the paperwork, to say that
he had checked the vehicle, and that all the required wheel nuts were in place
and in working order.
Unfortunately MT control spent too long celebrating and were
quite dismayed to see John drive the land rover out of the yard and then stop, well;
when the wheels fell off he didn’t have much of a choice. Who would you blame for that?
Having a land rover also helped you return favours, like
giving people lifts or moving stuff about.
The SWO would often use me for little errands. Once he sent me off to collect a fifty gallon
drum of Racasan. Racasan is a chemical used
in portable toilets. It’s a blue, foul
smelling, liquid. I know this because it
was leaking and by the time I got to the SWO with his Racasan I could hardly
see, as the tears were running down my face.
I was glad that they all thought it very funny but I did receive some
smartie points for my effort.
One of the ruses we used to employ needed you to be the duty
driver. It required cunning, bravado and
timing. Timing would perhaps be the most
important element for this. Let me
explain. As with most jobs each person, depending
on their rank and time served, were entitled to a certain number of days off, or holidays, each year Luckily the system was geared for abuse, as
it ran from the date you joined up, or in my case my eighteenth birthday. So no two people would have the same annual
renewable date.
The process for applying for leave was simple. You filled out a leave application form with the
dates and days you wanted off. This was
then presented to the admin sergeant who would check on his wall planner that
no more than three people were away at the same time. If he approved then your name and the
appropriate days would be marked on his year planner. Of course if something went wrong, or the
dates had to be changed, so did the year planner, which is why only non-permanent
pens were used. Next the form went in to
the SATCO who, knowing it has been sanctioned by the admin sergeant, approves
your leave. Now the form comes back to
the admin sergeant who places it in the ‘mail out’ tray.
Can you guess what one of the duties of the duty driver
was? Well done, yes, it was to take the ‘mail
out’ over to SHQ and collect any incoming mail for air traffic. Of course your leave pass would now disappear
between air traffic and station headquarters.
A week or two after you had taken your leave you would nip in to the admin
sergeant’s office and remove your leave from his planning board. This only went wrong for me once, when my
sister sent me a registered parcel that I had to go to SHQ and sign for. Everyone involved was terrified that it may
have been their department responsible for losing my leave application so a new
one was produced, which I signed, on my return, and everyone went back to being
as they were.
But perhaps the best reward I got for being duty driver was
when my helicopter instructor friend rang me up. He told me that a Wessex was coming in from Odiham
and he asked if I could collect the aircrew and bring them over to 22
squadron. No problem. I waited for the helicopter then drove over to
the chopper, collected the crew and headed off to 22 squadron. This was back scratching to the extreme. The crew said that they couldn’t stay long as
they had to get over to air traffic and operations and submit their flight
plans. I suggested that they remain at
22 squadron and enjoy themselves. “Give
me the details for your flight, and I will submit the flight plans.”
I was paying my friend back for the lessons he had given me
over the previous months. When I
returned to 22 squadron the aircrew were preparing to leave when my friend
said, “They’re on their way to Aldergrove, should have asked them for a lift home.” I smiled but the pilot turned and said, “Sure
why not?” A map was produced and I was
asked to point out where I lived.
Initially there was a sharp intake of breath as Warrenpoint was very
much in a republican area. “Sod it!” says
the pilot. “I’ll drop you in the field
next to your house and pick you up in two days’ time, on our way back. How’s about that?”
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