In the great scheme of things I'd have posted this tomorrow, being bank holiday monday and all, but hey, I'm not that perfect, so here it is, my outstanding bank holiday monday memory, posted on a bank holiday sunday.Actually its not that daft because back in the days of my childhood bank holiday monday in august was always at the start of august, so this post isn't a day early, its 30 days late.
Anyway, pedantary over - the only thing that jumps to mind when you mention august bank holiday monday to me is... the English Electric Lightning - see above for visual reference tool.
Picture the scene...
Its early august, 1967, "the summer of love", Procul Harem have spent time at number one with "A whiter shade of pale", and The Beatles "All you need is love" has just been usurped from the top of the hit parade by Scott McKenzies"San Fransico" - I'm 12 years old, the days are wall to wall sunshine, we're on our six week school holiday and the highlight of that holiday is the Church Fenton Air Show - you should by now have a picture in your head of the TV programme "The Wonder Years", that kid Kevin Arnold was the same age as me in that same year, keep that vision in mind while you read on...
RAF Church Fenton is/was an air force base to the east of Leeds with an unfeasibly long runway so that anything could land there, absolutely anything, and every year or so at august bank holiday they'd open up the airfield to the paying public and invite air forces from all over the world to send their aircraft for a bit of a knees-up and a jolly good time, and the other air forces from all over the world would be invited to show the British public just what they could do with their own aircraft and how good they were at flying airplanes in formation and lots of other good stuff like that, and then right at the end of the day the RAF would roll open one of the huge hanger doors and wheel out their trump card - the English Electric Lightning.
Now I'm no aircraft geek, so I'll not bore you with the stats, if you really want to read articles written by fat balding 50 year old geeky blokes slavering all over dead airplanes then you need to click here and here, but what I do know about the Lightning is that it was the star of the show, the one that we had all been waiting for.
We'd have sat there all day on the grass in the middle of the airfield, in the days before Health and Safety was invented the RAF would simply stick a rope up 50 yards from the runway and request ever-so-nicely that you shouldn't cross the rope thank you ever so much.
So several thousand of us would sit there on the grass all day with our picnics and a bottles of dandelion and burdock, and the dads would sup their bottles of Tetleys beer, and we'd all be enthralled by helicopters of all shapes and sizes flying past, we'd gaze in awe at The Red Devils parachute display team, we'd gasp in admiration at the Red Arrows formation flying team, we'd be sat just fifty yards away as a huge Vulcan bomber would arrive on the runway from a North Yorkshire air force base, and then we'd boo the German airforce when they sent a token fighter to torment us and cause our fathers to stick two fingers up at the pilot and remind the young lad that they'd wupped his dads arse just twenty years earlier - it was a great afternoon.
And then to end the show the Lightning would stand at the end of the runway and we'd all crane our necks and screw up our eyes to spot it a half a mile away as it started its take-off run and the commentator who always sounded like a jolly good RAF-stylee wing commander would remind us that this was the fastest aircraft in the world, easily faster than anything the yanks had to offer, it could fly at twice the speed of sound without breaking sweat and it was the only aircraft that had enough balls in its engines to fly vertically upwards "standing on its tail" - ooh we were impressed by the time it roared past us, fifty yards away, with a gut-wrenching, ear-splitting, crackle, a blue flame belching from both its rear mounted engines, and then with the take off delayed for as long as the pilot could hold it on the ground so that we'd all get a good look, it would heave itself off the ground and disappear into the distant blue cloudless august sky.
And we'd sit there and clear our ears out and the women would gabble away to themselves, unimpressed by technology as women are, but we kids would sit there in eager anticipation because those of us who'd been here before knew that this was just for starters, this was the aperatif, the Lightning hadn't even started yet, it was gone from view but we knew that several miles away the pilot was lining us up for a fly past at almost Mach 1 at a few feet from the ground - you'd never get to see this at an airshow now, you'd never get to sit fifty feet away from a runway while the fastest fighter in the world almost breaks the sound barrier so close to you that you can see the pilot wink at you kids as he zips by, pouring himself a gin and tonic and twirling his moustache at the same time.
With an incredible roar and thunder it flashed in front of our eyes once more, a split second and it was gone again, blink and you miss it, but it had been there, just for milliseconds it had been there so close you could touch it and now you couldn't even see it as a dot in the sky anymore - and then the noise hit you several seconds later, blasting yoru eardrums with an incredible barrage of raw, unadultarated, power, the air crackling around you mixed with the jet exhaust fumes - women screamed, babies cried and dogs barked, yes people brought their dogs to the air show and let them roam free on the airfield, life was so much simpler back then - it was the most exciting thing that a twelve year old boy could ever experience and I bet the Church Fenton airshow resulted in hundreds of twelve year old boys vowing to themselves that they would have only one career choice in four years time, they'd be an RAF Lightning pilot.
And for a finale the wing-commander stylee announcer would announce that the Lightning would return to the airfield to do its party peice, it would climb vertically to a height that was unattainable by any other jet aircraft in the world apart from the Yankee spy plane that had crashed in Russia that time - our Lightnings would never crash in Russia though.
The Lightning flew in fast and low and then right in front of us would swoop upwards and turn on something that the wing commander stylee announcer called its "afterburners" and the whole arse end of the plane would glow bright red and it would climb up and up like a Saturn rocket on its way to the stars and the most exciting bit of the afternoon would occur when the wing commander stylee announcer would patch in a radio link to the Lightning pilot so that we could all hear this brave young man go about his daily business in the cockpit.
"Roger Wilco, I say Wilkinson are you receiving me, over"
"Roger Dodger WIng Commander, I'm receiving you, over"
"Good chap Wilkinson, how are things in the old crate today then, over"
"Jolly good Wing Commander, absolutely spiffing in fact, over"
"Good show Wilkinson, good show, how high are you now old chap, over"
"40,000 feet sir, still climbing on her arse she is, over"
"Hows the canopy old chap, over"
"Fine sir just fine, Blenkinsop stuck it down with duct tape after I got in sir, over"
"Jolly good, could you tell the ladies and gentlemen how high you are now, over"
"50,000 feet sir, still climbing on her arse she is, over"
"Very good Wilkinson, we're all very impressed aren't we ladies and gentlemen ? Over"
(sound of muffled cheering from the audience)
"Sir ? Over"
"Yes Wilkinson, over"
"How high would you like me to go sir ? Over"
"We can still see you Wilkinson, can't we ladies and gentlemen ? Over"
(muffled sound of ten thousand spectators shouting "Yes" in unison)
"Its just that, well its 60,000 feet now sir, and erm, I haven't brought oxygen, over"
"Well thats a tad inconvenient Wilkinson, why didn''t you pack the oxygen, over"
"Blenkinsop taped the canopy down before he could pass the oxygen to me sir, we sort of forgot sir, over"
"Well its not good enough Wilkinson, these ladies and gentlemen have paid good money to see how high you can go haven't you ladies and gentlemen, over"
(muffled sound of ten thousand spectators shouting "Yes" in unison again)
"Well I'll do my best sir, over"
"Damn good show WIlkinson, you're a sport and no question, over"
"70,000 feet now sir, over"
"I say, over"
"The canopy's shaking a bit now sir, I think the duct tape is coming loose, over"
"Keep your pecker up Wilkinson, none of this cry baby stuff, over"
"Can I come down yet, over"
"Lets see if we can get you into space eh Wilkinson ? What do you think ladies and gentlemen, over"
(muffled sound of ten thousand spectators shouting "Yes" in unison again)
"Sir ? over"
"Yes Wilkinson, over"
"I haven't brought a parachute sir, over"
"I say Wilkinson, this just isn't good enough, first the oxygen and now the parachute, just what were you playing at boy, over"
"I'm sorry sir, over, sorry, not over, can I come down now, over"
"You'll be a laughing stock you know that don't you, we've got the yanks here today, over"
"Sorry sir, over"
"Bladdy hell, you'd better come down then, you're on a report Wilkinson, my office at three bells, over"
"Sah, over"
Thats how it went, honest.
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