I began this letter whilst we were awaiting clearance for landing back at Shoreham.
From our circling Archer I looked down through a light haze at Littlehampton harbour, reflecting on what had been without doubt one of the best weekends of my life.
It all started on the previous Friday - 2nd September, when together with Brian, my husband, we joined the other members at Airbase Flying Club. Judes, our organizer, called us out onto the lawn for a pre - flight briefing. Each member was to fly a different leg, sometimes swapping planes, so as to give variety. There was a feeling of happy anticipation amongst the group because the weather was almost CAVOK.
The planes we took with us were four club PA28's, one borrowed Cessna 172 Skyhawk and one privately owned Cessna 150.
Our first leg was Shoreham to Gloucester. We routed across country via Popham, then Swindon, and obtained permission to clip the south-west corner of Brize Norton's Military Zone.
After landing at Gloucester we enjoyed a spot of sunbathing to while away an hour. This next flight was my leg, flying as a student with Simon my instructor, routing directly across the Brecon Beacons to Haverfordwest. This proved to be full of surprises. Our Cessna 172, carrying four people and full fuel tanks, refused to climb properly and level off, bucking like a rodeo bull in the thermals. For a short while it looked as if putting down in a field could be a real possibility. However, after our rocky start she did settle down beautifully and flew well all the way. We enjoyed wonderful views across Wales, passing Abergaveney, then over the mountains and on to Dylan Thomas' famous boathouse at Laugharne. Simon slowed the engine down so I could search it out and the rear passengers took some photos. After this we had fun cloud-busting before we arrived at Haverfordwest airport. Later Judes phoned the owner of this aircraft and he said that it always needs a lot of right rudder on take-off, apparently one of its little quirks.
We spent both our nights at the beautiful Cuffern Manor at Roch, a listed Georgian Manor house in three acres of garden and woodland. It was a wonderfully peaceful setting chosen by Judes, perfect for a good night's kip.
Early on Saturday we turned up at Haverfordwest airport in readiness for our flight across to Waterford, the trip everyone had been so excited about. But already there was heavy haze and lowering cloud-base to the west, not what we wanted to see at all. Simon and I optimistically checked out the plane as I had elected to fly this leg under instruction; flying to Ireland in a light plane - the place of my ancestors - has been a long time dream. But very soon we realised this was not to be. Simon and I discussed flying on instruments, but visibility was deteriorating so rapidly as to obscure almost everything. Yak doing low circuits kept disappearing from view at about eight hundred feet. The crunch came when Judes rang for their 'Actual' at Waterford; only to be told that the wind was gusting to 27 knots crosswind. This blew away any lingering hope we entertained of getting there. We locked up the plane and with our plans dashed, returned to the clubhouse.
The group broke up to do their own thing, four went to Cardiff in a PA28 later that day, some went go-carting, the rest either went to St. Davids or walked around town. The weather cleared around midday with a beautiful blue sky just to taunt us, but the winds were still very strong.
After a second night it was off to fly the homeward legs. The weather on Sunday morning was gloomy with a low cloud base and CV's forecast for good measure. The next leg was Haverfordwest to Dunkeswell, with conditions that one member described as 'interesting'. I was a passenger in the Cessna this time, and it was instrument flying all the way. The white mist we took off in soon became very dense indeed; we could only just see the Bristol Channel as we crossed to the north Devon coast. For a little while Exeter was considered a more suitable landing place, but with some slight improvement we made it to Dunkeswell after all.
With the weather deteriorating fast we made this a pit stop, ignoring the delicious Sunday roast! The rain caught up with us as we took off for Goodwood. Again I was a passenger, this time in the Archer, flown by Dave, an instructor borrowed from SkyLeisure, and his student Vera, a sprightly lady in her seventies. We flew along the Devon coast in thick murk, which only cleared as we passed the Needles. In mid-Solent the sun appeared making our landing at Goodwood easy. We spent one and a half hours there waiting for the Shoreham Airshow to finish.
It was very pleasant sitting outside the Aero Club Cafe entertaining each other with daft jokes. Goodwood is one of my favourite fields; it was here that my husband proposed.
We decided to have a mini air race back to Shoreham, but this was thwarted when ATC told us to hold at 2,000 feet because the circuit was busy with aircraft leaving the show. But for me it was a lovely bonus, enjoying the views as I started to write this letter. Eventually we were allowed our landing, a 'commercial join,' flying in straight off the sea which I always enjoy.
After landing we heard from one of our party, who had been holding the longest over Arundel in his Cessna 150, how he was told to Go-around. Suffice to say he wasn't very happy; and as he confirmed the Go-around we just heard the word 'Git' over the airwaves. It wasn't aimed at anyone, merely a cry of frustration; however ATC were rung and apologised to. Luckily they found it amusing. Brian did mention that our friend could have told them he was just using the new abbreviation G.I.T, standing for 'Going-around In Turn!'
As we locked up the plane, watching the show being dismantled around us, Dave said he was planning a trip to the Channel Islands in October. This will be flying out to Alderney, staying on Jersey overnight and returning the next day via Dinard for morning coffee. And would we like to come? Well, there's only one answer to that!
So we never made it to Ireland this time, but the dream lives on. As Simon said to me: Ireland can't go away! Flying brings together an unlikely band of people who share a unique bond that I don't feel is ever found anywhere else.
The spirit of our adventure remains with me long after it's over. The sound of a propeller plane re-ignites my longing to fly again as soon as possible...
Jill Cowles.
Shoreham-by-Sea.
'Aficionados of aviation.