So; at last, I am able now to actually tell you what Tim Lort
was talking to me about on the telephone when he rang me on the seventeenth of
April, nineteen eighty five, at twenty three minutes past one in the afternoon. Well; Tim had just got married, big posh
naval themed wedding in South Welsh Wales, don’t know if I mentioned it or not,
but some ceremonial swords had gone missing.
Don’t for one moment think that Tim actually considered that I had the
swords, moi? Tim wondered if they may have
accidentally been left in my car or if some of the others may have taken them
for safe keeping. I can’t actually
mention the name of the person Tim thought might have the swords as he has
already contacted me and asked not to be named in this blog again, unless he is
given a ridiculous amount of money, probably to buy more buttons for his pearly
suit.
Some of you may be wondering what I was doing in flight
planning if I was running the air traffic control shift, well; let me explain. At the start of every shift you would make
sure that all your people were actually at work and then allocate them different
positions. Ten or fifteen minutes later
you would hope that everyone was in position and had relieved their predecessor,
but just to be on the safe side you would take a bit of a wander around. As well as checking air traffic control you
would nip into the met office just to see who was on duty, then take a turn
through air operations and flight planning.
This would give you an overall picture of what was happening and what
you might expect later on in the day.
It was during one of these wanders, and it would have been a Thursday,
that I noticed on the following day we had a number of Hercules transport
aircraft coming in. They were flying on
to Aldergrove in Northern Ireland, an hour or two later on the Friday, and
planned to come back on the Sunday evening.
The following day I came to work with an overnight bag just in case
there was a chance I could nip home for the weekend. The Hercules were moving the Colchester
garrison to Belfast and would be returning on the Sunday with a few hundred paratroopers. When the captain of the lead Hercules came to
air traffic to submit his flight plans I asked if there were any spare seats. He suggested that if I complete and submit
the flight plans for all the Hercules then I would be more than welcome to fly
with them.
I completed and submitted the flight plans but then went to
see O C Operations and asked if he would contact the security people at command
and get me permission to go into Northern Ireland. All it took was a quick telephone call and my
flying visit was approved. I then telephoned
my mother to see if I could come home for a couple of nights. Not only could I come home for a couple of
nights but she would arrange transport for me from Aldergrove. I didn’t really mind that it was going to be
the pervert priest who was to pick me up but this was a long time before the whole
nightmare exploded and I suppose I still thought that he was my father. As I said before I had always been told, time
and time again, as if they enjoyed it, that my mother had died giving birth to
me and that my father, in their words, a recently qualified professional, had
gone abroad to fulfil a contract he had been awarded and thought it best that I
remain in Ireland with the nuns.
It would be a long time before I would find out that this was
actually a snatch squad of battle hardened Carmelite nuns who were tasked with
not just protecting me but introducing me to the rigorous training that would
prepare me to become the greatest King of Ireland, ever, but I digress. The pervert priest had been a research physicist
for the ministry of defence in England before he donned the dog collar, so in a
sort of ‘Sound of music’ way I believed he had become a priest as a sort of penance
or act of contrition, I’m not sure, but I ‘m sure you get my drift. I actually spoke to the pervert priest who
was with my mother at the time I had called and asked him for details of his
motor car so that I could keep an eye out for him. I told him I would meet him at the main gate at
RAF Aldergrove and I told him what time I was due to arrive there.
The lead captain had been lounging around in air traffic
collecting the names and contact numbers of some of the pretty young things,
some of whom were female. I changed in
to my civvies and we wandered over to the aircraft. Loads of soldiers in cabbage gear were being
loaded up in the rear of the aircraft but the captain insisted that I get up
front with the crew, it wouldn’t be fair to put me in the boot with the pongo’s,
you never knew what I might catch. A loadmaster
was standing by the front door of the aircraft and as I approached he asked me
what I thought I was doing. I explained that
I was flying with them to Aldergrove and he said that only aircrew went up front
I could get to the rear of the aircraft and fly with the pongo’s.
I made my way to the rear of the aircraft and the loadmaster
there, supervising the loading, asked me what I wanted. I explained that I was flying with them to Aldergrove
and he told me to go to the front of the aircraft and get in with the
crew. I had been in situations like this
before and refused to be any persons bouncing ball so I climbed on board,
through the rear door, and made my way through the aircraft, and now seated
pongo’s, and entered the cabin. The captain
welcomed me and asked me to sit on the seat at the rear of the cabin which I
did. Next thing you know is the loadmaster,
yes the one who had told me to get in the boot with the pongos, comes in, but
he is too busy bowing and scraping to notice me. The colonel of the regiment is flying over
with his boys so he is to sit up front with the crew.
It was as the loadmaster showed the colonel where to sit,
which was next to the fellow with the loveliest legs in Ireland, me, that I was
noticed and steam began to come out of his ears. Well; not literally, but you know what I mean. Seems that I was in his seat and he was going
to have to stand for the duration of the flight or else go in the back and sit
with the pongo’s. The colonel and I
shook hands and settled in, for normal conversation wasn’t going to be possible
with the noise of the aircraft. Once
airborne the loadmaster, who was standing in the doorway scowling at me, was told
by the captain to issue meals and drinks.
Everyone was given a plastic tray with a hot meal on except for the colonel
who was given a cup of tea, in a china cup with saucer, and a nice little plate
of sandwiches that even had a paper doily.
All I got was nasty looks a-la-loadmaster.
The captain asked if there was not a spare meal that I could
have and the loadmaster said that there were none left at which point the colonel
offered to share his sandwiches with me.
And I think it almost killed the loadmaster when the captain suggested that
he could at least give me a cup of tea.
We landed at Aldergrove and I thanked the captain and assured him I
would be on time on the Sunday. I stepped
from the aircraft and noticed that the pongo’s were streaming out the rear of
the aircraft on to busses. A guy who had
been on my shift at Wattisham was now at Aldergrove working in operations and I
had contacted him and asked him to help me get from the aircraft to the main
gate. Which he assured me he would, all I had to do was make my way to air
operations after landing.
I looked about and saw the air operations compound, it was
only five or six hundred yards away but I would have to cross a taxiway to get
there. I could see that the taxi way
lights were on so I knew that it was a live taxiway. I would need to get permission to cross it from
air traffic. I could see the nasty loadmaster
standing by the aircraft, but he was wearing a headset which was plugged in to
the aircraft. I went over to him and
asked if he could get permission for me to walk across the taxiway to air operations. What I expected is that he would ask the crew
in the cockpit, who could ask air traffic.
The loadmaster told me to go so off I went.
I skipped across the taxiway, even though I knew nothing was
moving in the area, nothing expect for two land rovers that were screaming across
the airfield. I could see that it was
the reaction force, different units have different names for them quick
reaction force, military reaction force, whatever, but the function was always
the same, to stop intruders. I knew some
poor sod was in for it as they really were hammering along, but it was only when
I found myself spread eagled on the deck, getting patted down, with an Alsatian
threatening to take my ears off, that I realised that I was the poor sod they were
after. Cead mile failte, my arse.
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