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Battle in the Air

Aviation, Music, History
This entry is part 21 of 23 in the series Beautiful Destroyers

Back in 1969, when I was seven years old, the classic war film ‘Battle of Britain‘ was in the cinemas, and in this instalment of ‘Beautiful Destroyers’ I am going to showcase a superb piece of music from that film, which is an excellent example of musical storytelling.

But first, some background.

During the decades immediately following World War II, many films were made about the War. These movies told stories about the whole spectrum of the War, and depicted history – or near-history – from all theaters of the War. Films like ‘Bridge on the River Kwai‘ (1957), based on a true story of Japanese use of slave labour to build the Burma Railway. 633 Squadron (1964), from the book by Frederick E. Smith, its story loosely based on real-life exploits of crews of the incredible DeHavilland Mosquito fighter-bomber, and by which George Lucas was inspired to create his Death Star Trench attack from the final act of the movie Star Wars: A New Hope. And, of course, The Dam Busters (1955), telling the true story of the legendary 617 Squadron* and their attack on the Ruhr dams on the night of 16/17 May, 1943, using the ‘Upkeep’ mine, also known as the ‘bouncing bomb’.

This is the raid that I often simulate in my personal light aircraft flying adventures, albeit in daylight and a lot higher up than the 100ft height that 617 Sqn flew the attack at. Because they flew at 100ft in the dark. Amazing flying. And the ‘bouncing bomb’ alone weighed like five times the total weight of my Tomahawk aeroplane 😉 And of course there’s the unforgettable and iconic film The Great Escape (1963), depicting, reasonably accurately, the true story of the escape of 70 prisoners of war from the German prison camp Stalag Luft III at Zagan in Poland. Even today, the main theme tune from that film – composed by Elmer Bernstein – is sung by football crowds all across the UK during matches, and has been essentially immortalised. Such is the power of film music.

Anyway, as a young boy I was absolutely fascinated by Battle of Britain, and indeed all the war films of the time. Since my Dad is ex-RAF, and I have a deep interest in military history, and a passion for aviation in general, this is no doubt largely why I have had a lifelong interest in military aviation in all its forms. We always looked forward to Christmas because there would always be some decent war films on the telly.

But the thing about Battle of Britain that I wanted to write about is the way that the climactic battle is done almost entirely to music. In fact, the music tells the story, and it could in fact be thought of as ‘musical storytelling’. The genius of this music – a piece called ‘Battle in the Air‘ by Sir William Walton – is that it captures perfectly the desperate and fraught feel of aerial combat. The breathtaking fear, the extreme danger, the racing, speeding, swirling and chaotic nature of aerial combat; the rapidly manoeuvring fighters and the rattle of their machine guns and cannon. The menace of the German armed forces and the threat of the invasion they were planning. The triumphs, the terror and the tragedy.  It’s all there.

What I’m going to do is to let you hear the piece of music first, and then give you a clip from the film itself where the music is actually used. Get a feel for the music and the story it is telling, and then see if it matches up with what you see in the film clip.

This part of the film is narrated almost entirely by the music. Once the music starts, there is very little engine noise, gunfire or anything else, just the occasional bit of monologue from a couple of the actors, and that rarely. The visuals and the music tell the entire story, and it is sheer genius.

September 15th, 1940, the day depicted by the clip, was the height of the Battle of Britain. In the two months leading up to this day, and on the day itself, (which is nowadays celebrated as ‘Battle of Britain Day’), the course of the War in Europe was decided. The hitherto unstoppable Luftwaffe – the German air force – had been defeated for the first time. As a result of this, not long after this day, Hitler decided to ‘postpone indefinitely’ his planned invasion of Britain.

The evocative picture below shows condensation trails (contrails) generated by aircraft operating at extremely high altitudes, fighting over London during the Battle of Britain in the summer of 1940. Yes, that’s Elizabeth Tower, colloquially known as ‘Big Ben’, although that’s actually the name of the bell in the tower, not the tower itself.

“Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed, by so many, to so few”. – Winston Churchill, 20th August 1940

As an additional observation, I’d say that classical music, played by a full orchestra, is generally neither liked nor understood by the general populace. It’s seen as old and stuffy. But in the world of cinema, just about all of cinema music is essentially classical, and is almost always full orchestra stuff. Back in the 70’s and 80’s, there were some forays into synthesiser music – for example Vangelis’s soundtrack to the film Chariots of Fire (1981), and the soundtracks to many science fiction films of the time, such as Dark Star  – but these nowadays come across as pretty cheesy, especially the science fiction soundtracks (Chariots of Fire wasn’t too bad in my opinion; for once the synth stuff actually worked). In short, there’s nothing like a full orchestra for a cinematic score.

And the work of the legendary composer John Williams is, in my opinion, some of the finest music ever written, not just in the field of film score music. His work on so many films – Star Wars, Superman, Harry Potter, E.T., – is unsurpassed, and so is his genius.

Yes, music tells the story, usually as part of the screenplay, and usually very well. But today I just wanted to showcases the sheer genius of Battle in the Air, and how it tells the story with very few words and no sound effects audible. I hope you have enjoyed it!

*I’d like to tell a funny and interesting, if somewhat politically-incorrect, story about that film. The RAF officer who led the Dams raid was WgCdr Guy Gibson, and he had a black Labrador dog called ‘Nigger’. It’s an historical fact; deal with it.

As part of the operational planning for the Dams raid, the code word for the destruction of the Möhne dam was the word ‘Nigger’, to be transmitted in Morse code by the wireless operators in the Lancaster bombers taking part in the raid once the dam had been breached. Controversially, because of the somewhat sensitive nature of the dog’s name, some modern TV versions of the film were censored/edited to either blank out Nigger’s name entirely, or replace it with a more ‘acceptable’ name. I hate political correctness, and although I would not go out of my way to offend people, that was the dog’s name, and I am one of those people who thinks that history should be left alone and unchanged, no matter how ‘unacceptable’ something may be deemed to be in these present times.

But what’s funny is this.

Let’s say the dog’s name was redacted to ‘Blackie’. When the Möhne dam is breached in the film, the wireless operators back at base hear the Morse transmission coming in and proclaim joyously, “Blackie! It’s Blackie, sir!” and there are handshakes all around because the job’s a good ‘un and the dam has been breached. Except it’s not ‘Blackie’. Those who can read Morse (and I can) can hear clearly that the Morse message is in fact the original ‘Nigger’, just as it should be. ( _.   ..   _ _.   _ _.   .   ._. )

These censors are incorrectly assuming that no-one these days knows Morse, a point that, should I be so inclined, I could also get as equally offended about as do those who don’t like the dog’s name. But I don’t get offended…I learned Morse as part of qualifying as a Radio Amateur in 1985 and, although Morse is no longer required as part of the Amateur licence, I still know it and can read and send it proficiently. I also find it very useful when flying at night, as the radio navigation aids I use are identified by a Morse callsign, albeit using a much slower Morse than I am used to reading.

But still, I think the story is funny. A story where politically-correct censors try to find an offence that doesn’t really exist, and thereby create other insults into the bargain. History is best left alone!

Tragically, Nigger was killed by a hit-and-run driver just outside the station gate at RAF Scampton, the Dambusters’ base, on the evening of the raid, not long before the Lancasters set off on their mission. WgCdr Gibson’s wish was that Nigger be buried at midnight that same evening, and this was done while Gibson’s and the other crews were actually carrying out the attacks on the Dams.

Here’s a picture of Nigger’s grave:

…and its position next to one of the hangars at RAF Scampton:

Sportavia-Pützer RS 180 Sportsman

Aviation, Personal
This entry is part 22 of 23 in the series Beautiful Destroyers

Well, it’s been a looong time – more than a year, actually – since I last published a piece in the series ‘Beautiful Destroyers: my articles about military aircraft and how beautiful they often are, despite their sometimes dark roles. Please accept my apologies for the long gap between posts in this series.

I did say that I would also be featuring civilian aircraft too, and today’s aircraft is such a one. And I’m sure you’ll love it.

So, here is the Sportavia-Pützer RS-180 Sportsman.

The RS-180 is a little-known aeroplane designed by legendary French aircraft designer René Fournier. Fournier also designed the Fournier RF-6/Slingsby T-67 Firefly (which was used as a basic flying trainer for the RAF and the Army, the Royal Navy and the Royal Marines) and a series of motor-gliders including the Fournier RF-4 and RF-5, all of which aircraft are well-known in General Aviation circles.

A four-seat, low-wing, single-engined monoplane, the RS-180 features a large bubble canopy with excellent – in fact I would say unparalleled – visibility, easy handling, and docile flight characteristics.

In this article, I will be writing pretty well exclusively about the aircraft in the photo above, G-VIZZ. It is an unbelievable fact that there were only eighteen aircraft of this type ever built, and G-VIZZ (‘Zulu-Zulu’) is the sole British-registered example. If you see an RS-180 flying over you somewhere in the UK, it will most likely be G-VIZZ. So, give us a wave 😉

Here she is standing on the taxiway in front of her hangar at Exeter Airport in Devon, UK, on a sunny morning in May 2020. Most of the pictures on today’s blog post were taken on that day, and most of them are also clickable to zoom in for additional detail.

From a military history point of view, and indeed from a ‘Beautiful Destroyers’ point of view, the building we use for VIZZ’s hangar is very interesting. It was originally built to be the gun butts, where the guns of the Spitfires that were based at Exeter in WWII could be set up safely. In other words, the ‘hangar’ was originally designed to be a giant bullet catcher. Here is a wartime photo of a Spitfire Mk.V having its guns calibrated, and the building is visible on the right of the photo:

Now, I am very fortunate to be a member of the Owners’ Group for G-VIZZ, which means I get to fly her as often as I can afford (which is not as often as I’d like!) and because there are only a few of us, it means she is almost always available. Group members can borrow her for just simple flights, or for a weekend away, for touring, holidays, landaways and all sorts of things like that; basically she is our aeroplane and we can do what we like with her. Yes, that means that essentially I own an aeroplane. Sometimes I find that simply unbelievable 😉 But it also means that I get to write this piece from an owner/pilot’s perspective.

The canopy is very large and bubble-shaped, with the only framing being the join line between the front and rear sections. It also has a really low coaming (the bottom edge) so the visibility is immense – even for the back-seat passengers.  In the photo below, taken at Exeter’s Taxiway ‘C’, you can see how high up the line of sight is for everyone in the aircraft. No idea who the people in the aircraft are, by the way; they are not current Group members. Must have been taken a few years ago.

The canopy opens by sliding forwards on rails, which means that you can’t open it in flight – so no flour-bombing competitions or anything with this aircraft[1]. Yes, there are such activities, and we used to do them at Bodmin (Cornwall Flying Club) in the Cessna 152s there 😀

The rear canopy is fixed in place, and the rear-seat passengers get in and out by tilting the front seats forward. For emergencies, there’s even a miniature fire axe on the centre console to let the passengers hack their way out!

Everyone has a ‘Happy Place’, and here’s a picture of mine:

This is the full instrument panel, showing even the yellow glider-tow release handle on the centre console (see below for more about this unusual feature). Remember the Captain’s seat is on the left in an aeroplane (but on the right in a helicopter), so the most important instruments are arranged in front of the left hand seat. While it looks complex, in reality it’s not. You don’t sit there looking at all those gauges and dials in bewilderment and think, ‘What does that one do? What about that one?’ 😉 Actually how it works is that say I want to check my speed, maybe to make sure it is correct on final approach, I’d look at the airspeed indicator. That’s the one on the top left. If I wanted to see how high up I am, it’s the altimeter. That’s the one slap-bang in the middle of the left instrument panel, with the two hands so it looks like a clock. So what happens is that you use the correct instrument to gather the required information at the time you need it.  It’s just a question of knowing which instrument to look at, and where it is, in order to get the information you need. Most of the rest of the time, at least in daylight flying, you more or less ignore the instruments. Really, you shouldn’t be peering at the panel all the time anyway; your eyes should be outside the aircraft, enjoying the view and looking out for other aircraft so you don’t hit them.

Here’s a closer view of the main instrument panel:

Note the gun button on the top of the control column; this fires the aircraft’s machine guns and cannon.

Just kidding 😉 It’s actually the transmit button for the radio – also known as a ‘PTT’ or ‘Push to Talk’ button.

So, what’s she like to fly? Well, she is an absolute dream.

Yes, I have put her in my series ‘Beautiful Destroyers’ despite, if truth be told, her looking like a bit of an odd bird. The fuselage almost looks too short for the cockpit canopy, the tail is a funny shape and the tailplane is halfway up the fin.

But she more than makes up for that in her handling. Now that really is beautiful. Light to the touch, sensitive and yet well-balanced controls make for easy and gentle flying characteristics. She’s stable, she’s responsive and she’s just so natural to fly. For example, I took my eldest son David up in her a few months ago, or, more accurately, he took me up. He’s a Pilot too, and yes he’s flown a fair few different aircraft types, but even so I basically just plonked him in the left hand seat and said those immortal words, “You have control. Take us flying”. And he did. Obviously we’d pre-briefed with the checklist; we’d discussed the V-speeds (that’s the speeds that you fly in the different phases of the flight, so, take-off speed; climb speed; best glide speed; maximum flap speed; circuit, base leg, final approach and threshold speeds) but he really just flew the entire sortie himself, with me as Command Pilot only by name. Never flown the type before and he took to her like he’d been flying her all his life, including a lovely wing-down crossind landing, and he loved every minute of it. She really is such a delight to fly.

And the visibility is enormous. That bubble canopy with the low coaming means you have a huge field of view. Couple the view with the lovely, light handling, and you’ve got a gorgeous aeroplane. I mean, when you go back to flying a Piper Warrior – which really is itself a delight to fly – the Warrior feels like a bit of a tank in comparison, and the canopy framing makes you feel like you’re shut in a box. Although the RS-180’s performance is more or less identical to the Warrior’s, the RS-180 is a much nicer aeroplane to fly – and that really is saying something, because the Warrior has always been high on my list of favourite aircraft types to fly in terms of handling.

In this next shot, the aeroplane’s starboard flap is easily visible, set up for preflight inspection at the full 50 degrees of extension.

This aircraft has ‘split flaps’, meaning that just the underside of the wing drops down to form the flap, leaving the upper surface of the wing in place. This is as opposed to ‘slotted’ flaps like on a Warrior, or ‘Fowler’ flaps like on a Cessna 152, where the flaps extend backwards and downwards, sort of on rails, like on a jet airliner. But this aeroplane has split flaps. This does mean that you can’t see from the Pilot’s seat whether the flaps have extended or not, but there’s never any doubt because you can feel it in the way the aeroplane flies. If you zoom in on the next picture, you’ll just about be able to see the way in which the flaps have a sort of ‘recess’ above them in the wing; this is where they go when they retract. 50 degrees of flap is a very effective setting and you can get down – landed and stopped – in just a couple of hundred yards with them, if you know what you’re doing.

Also visible on the above pictures is the glider towing system I mentioned earlier; it’s that sort of black ‘stinger’ thing that is sticking out under the tail. This is kind of an aeroplane ‘tow-bar’ that enables the aircraft to tow gliders into the air, on a rope behind her. ‘Aerotowing’, as it is called, is one of the two main launching methods for getting gliders into the air in gliding clubs all around the world, the other method being the ‘winch launch’, which is very much what I imagine it’s like being catapulted off an aircraft carrier[2] 😉 . When I flew gliders back in the early ’90’s, I had a number of aerotows, and they were great fun. As far as any of us know in the Owners’ Group, G-VIZZ has never been used for glider towing. But for the sake of completeness, here’s what an aerotow looks like in practice:

I love this next shot. This is the view forwards on Exeter’s Runway 26, just before opening the throttle for take-off. For me, there are few sights in aviation more evocative than this one. Today, everything has come down to this: all the preparation and planning; all my checks are complete; the aeroplane is fuelled and my route, radio frequencies and V-speeds are written on my kneeboard. Everything is ready; it’s a perfect day for flying, adventure beckons and it’s somewhere off in this present direction of 260 degrees magnetic (that’s what the ’26’ in ‘Runway 26’ means). The reason the airport is there is to enable aeroplanes to land and take off, and now it’s my turn and I have the runway all to myself. So, it’s brakes off, full power, and away we go!

Here’s a video demonstrating the unparalleled visibility that bubble canopy gives. Taken from over Ashburton in Devon on that same day in May 2020, this video begins looking out East towards the English Channel, over Torbay, and then the camera swings all the way round past Dartmoor and over the tail towards Bovey Tracey. Note how the only canopy frame that gets in the way is over my right shoulder, as the view comes round towards the aircraft’s tailplane:

I think that’s quite breathtaking 🙂

This is a still shot of the Teign estuary in the foreground, and Torbay in the distance, taken from over Chudleigh, Devon, again through that magnificent bubble canopy:

I mean that view is just colossal. Here is a view of Ivybridge from 3,000ft, demonstrating the superlative view downwards and forwards:

This is the now-closed Plymouth Airport. It’s the place where I learned to fly in 1996-7; there are plans to reopen it, but we shall have to wait and see – while all the politics are sorted out.

Here’s a lovely view of the River Plym estuary, looking roughly south-southeast:

After this, returning to base, then, via the pretty little grass strip at Bolt Head. I intend to do a landaway here sometime this summer, and I have been practising short-field operations for this very reason[3].

And then the return flight to Exeter in all that spectacular visibility, via the magnificent Start Bay:

I mean it just doesn’t get any more gorgeous than that 😀

The next picture is of G-VIZZ tucked away in her hangar after the flight, with the covers on. With a canopy that huge, any bird droppings or dust of any kind on the perspex is always going to spoil the flying experience, as well as compromise safety and maybe even damage the plastic (by etching it), so it’s important to put the large canvas cover on her before leaving her for the day. I haven’t had to do this at night yet, though! But I’m sure I’ll be fine; I have flown VIZZ as it was getting dark once and all I needed to do when I put her to bed was to plonk my car on the  taxiway with the headlights on, shining them into the hangar 😉

Just one more photo, and this one is not of G-VIZZ but of a German-registered RS-180; I have included this shot to show the shape of the wing on this aeroplane type.

So, there we are. The RS-180 Sportsman, easily the sweetest-handling aeroplane that it has ever been my privilege to fly.

I love those words I used for David: “You have control. Take us flying”.

There’s no better light civilian aeroplane in which to do that.

 

Footnotes

Footnotes
⇧1 Actually, there is a way of doing flour-bombing. We can use the glider-towing attachment. If we put the flour bomb in a net bag and attach a metal ring to the bag, we can clip that ring into the towing apparatus as if it was a mini-glider, then release the bomb by using the yellow glider release lever pictured above. Simples!
⇧2 I realise that there are more than just two methods of launching gliders, but aerotowing and winch launching are far and away the most commonly-used
⇧3 Edit: In between writing this article and its publication, I did just that, and landed at Bolt Head. Here’s G-VIZZ on the ground at Bolt Head airfield, 17th July 2020.

http://www.flyinginthespirit.cuttys.net/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/20200717_134723-300x169.jpg 300w, http://www.flyinginthespirit.cuttys.net/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/20200717_134723-768x432.jpg 768w, http://www.flyinginthespirit.cuttys.net/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/20200717_134723-1536x864.jpg 1536w, http://www.flyinginthespirit.cuttys.net/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/20200717_134723-2048x1152.jpg 2048w, http://www.flyinginthespirit.cuttys.net/wp-content/uploads/2020/07/20200717_134723-1200x675.jpg 1200w" sizes="auto, (max-width: 604px) 100vw, 604px" />

Some other aircraft had flown in that day too; you can see them in the background. And in this article, I have left the original essay text in place, because I will undoubtedly be going there again 🙂

But on this occasion, I flew in, went and did a coast path walk, then had a picnic in the shade under the tail, then flew back to Exeter. What’s known as a ‘grand day out’, you know.

Van’s RV-9A

Aviation, Personal
This entry is part 23 of 23 in the series Beautiful Destroyers
…and my Bembridge, Isle of Wight, Flying Adventure.

Last time I posted an article in this series was in 2020, in the midst of the Covid pandemic. The article was about G-VIZZ, the Sportavia/Fournier RS-180 Sportsman aircraft that I and a number of friends owned as a syndicate.

Sadly, we no longer own that aircraft. Since she was the only British-registered example of the aircraft, of which indeed a total of only eighteen! airframes were ever built, she was really expensive to maintain for various reasons, not least of which was the cost of spare parts, her age, and all this as well as our being a captive market to the very few specialist engineers in the country who were actually certified to service her.

And so, we sold her[1]. But, from the figurative ashes of our syndicate arose an even more beautiful flying experience.

Because we decided to build our own aircraft.

Allow me to introduce Alpha-Mike[2], a Van’s RV-9A[3]; a ‘kitplane’ aircraft of a class known as a ‘homebuilt’. The idea is that you get a series of boxes (very much like a giant Airfix kit), and a little tube of glue, and you build yourself an aeroplane in your garage 😉 Of course, it’s not quite like that, but essentially it’s that any halfway-competent engineer, including people who have learned basic car servicing and repairs and whatnot, anyone like that can build an aeroplane for themselves. They are less expensive to buy than an already-assembled plane[4], and you can customise the aircraft to your heart’s content as you build it.

Once it’s built, you then get in a qualified engineer from the UK’s ‘Light Aircraft Association‘ (the LAA), who checks your work for you. And then he gets in the aircraft, complete with his nerves of steel[5], and takes it for its first test flight. Wow, that takes some guts!

On an ongoing basis, then, we now do all our own servicing and repairs, and we have Alpha-Mike’s ‘Permit to Fly’ reissued (after an engineer inspection) once per year. Think of the Permit to Fly as being like an MoT test, if you will; it amounts to the same thing.

The aircraft is owned by Nigel, one of the former G-VIZZ syndicate members. Members of the group (we can’t really think of it as a syndicate because we don’t jointly own the aircraft) can fly her whenever they please. We even have a proper booking system. And this is the cheapest powered flying I have ever had, by far, so I can afford to fly more often[6].

And what flying! I’m going to get on with the main article now, and showcase this lovely aeroplane which is so much better in every way than any other aeroplane I have ever flown[7]. I’ve previously written about the Piper Warrior, the Cessna 152, and the RS-180; all aircraft I have flown on a regular basis. But the RV-9A is in a different league entirely.

(All the images in this essay are zoomable by simply clicking on them)

The RV-9A, like all of the aeroplanes I have flown – well, the powered ones, at least[8] – is a single-engined monoplane light aircraft, powered by an Avco-Lycoming engine. In Alpha-Mike’s case, the engine delivers 160hp of power to an aircraft with a maximum all-up weight of 970kg, as compared to the RS-180’s 180hp for 1100kg, or the Piper Warrior’s 1055kg powered by a 160hp engine, so there’s a fair difference in power-to-weight ratio.

Added to that, the clean airframe design, small forward profile (as you can see in the above photo) and optimised wing profile and even a ceramic coating, means that Alpha-Mike is a bit of a ‘hot ship’. She does 140kt[9] in the cruise – that’s about 160mph – and has an excellent fuel efficiency.

This is also, to a large extent, because she has a variable-pitch (VP) propeller. Unlike all the other aeroplanes I have flown, where the propeller blades have a fixed pitch (the angle they are set at on the propeller spinner), a VP prop can vary its pitch so that it makes it more efficient, taking a bigger or smaller ‘bite’ of the air with each revolution according to how it is set. This works in a very similar way to the gears on a car, so that it doesn’t have to stay in first gear all the time, but instead it can be set to lower RPM (and therefore using less fuel) if required. In fact, Alpha-Mike has a flight endurance of something like 4.5 hours on full tanks, assuming correct leaning of the mixture[10] and judicious use of the VP prop. So, not only is she fast but she’s efficient too[11].

So, we built her ourselves, then. Here’s a picture of her in her original hangar, where we did most of the work.

As you can see, we found the upper wing surfaces to be a very handy place to put all the tools and other bits of the stuff we were working on 😉 and she is pretty much complete in this photo, which was taken the day before her maiden flight. Once we’d shifted all that clobber off the wings, and reinstalled the left seat, we took her over to the fuel pumps to fill her up.

We had already done test runs on the engine, we’d calibrated various items like the ‘magnetometer’, which basically does the same thing as a compass, and so we got the brave engineer out to have a look.

Once he’d signed her off, he took her for her first test flight. Here it is, in all its glory:

Immerse yourself in the aviation vibe for this clip: the air-to-ground communications (we had an airband radio monitoring the Tower frequency), and the raw emotion in the voices of the observers. There was a whole group of us there; most of the people who had had a hand in her construction (about eight of us) were present for this maiden flight. You can hear someone near the end of the clip saying ‘Congratulations, Nigel’, and quite right too.

So, we had a brand-new Van’s RV-9A to play with!

Here is a photo of her instrument panel as it was just after construction was complete:

Originally, she had a single Garmin G3X EFIS (Electronic Flight Information System) – that big screen in the middle – and just a few of the traditional ‘clock’-style instruments on the panel: (left to right) airspeed indicator, altimeter, attitude indicator (aka the ‘artificial horizon’). The G3X handles just about everything, including the primary flight information such as airspeed, altitude, rate of climb and all the usual things, plus it has a built-in moving map display that runs on a GPS system, so that you’re never lost. The traditional gauges are there in case the G3X fails, which just never happens. Even in the event of an electrical failure, the G3X has an internal battery that will keep it going for several hours after mains failure.

Later, we refitted the instrument panel with a new layout, with no dials at all – a completely ‘glass cockpit’ – and also added in an autopilot system. Here’s the new panel; the autopilot box is the one at top centre, just under the ‘SmartGlide’ button[12]. Despite the G3X allegedly never failing, we also have two additional independent self-powered electronic displays: the Garmin G5 (the little box to the left of the main display); and the Garmin 720 on the right, the one that looks like a Kindle Fire or iPad. Between them, these three displays give triple redundancy on flight information display systems, even in the event of a total electrical power failure.

Here is the panel in flight, with the moving map display on the main panel (the purple lines indicate the route programmed in for the autopilot) and the PFD – Primary Flight Display, which displays all the important information such as airspeed, altitude, heading and so on. The sunlight today, up here at 4,000ft, is pretty harsh and also at such an angle as to highlight all the dust on the panel. Sorry about that!

What’s she like to fly? Well, in short, she’s gorgeous. Powerful, fast and enthusiastic. Once you open the throttle on the runway this little aeroplane is positively eager to enter her natural element. Before you know it, only seconds from a standing start she’s at 65kt; the ‘rotate speed’ or Vr, and she’s leaping into the air and accelerating as she climbs. Quite astonishing really, far in excess of anything I’ve ever flown before. Whereas with the RS-180 G-VIZZ, we’d routinely use ten degrees of flap for takeoff, and retracting them in the climb-out, we initially used that procedure with Alpha-Mike but we found out that even though we had flaps deployed, with all the extra drag they give, still she rapidly accelerated in the climb to speeds in excess of the maximum flap extension speed, thereby risking breaking something! And so we now don’t use flap at all on takeoff, even on short fields. She’s just too sprightly to need it!

Control harmonisation – that’s another way of expressing the ‘feel’ of the aeroplane – is excellent, with rudder, elevator and ailerons all beautifully balanced and without any of them being more ‘dominant’ than the others. For example, in the Piper Warrior II, another aeroplane I love, the slab tailplane does give a different feel because it has such a large ‘pitch authority’; it doesn’t need much effort to make the nose go up or down. The ailerons on the Warrior, however, are not as decisive as that, so that althought the Warrior is still a great aeroplane to fly, it doesn’t have the same balanced ‘feel’ that the RV-9A has.

View from the cockpit is simply stunning. While the occupants are not sitting as high up as they would be in the RS-180, and the windowsills are not as low as they are in that aeroplane (actually no aeroplane I know has the same view as the RS-180!) even so the view is excellent because of the bubble canopy. There’s only the one frame breaking the otherwise uninterrupted view. Lovely!

Landing can be a little tricky because the nose undercarriage leg isn’t very strong. This means that even though there are many elements such as crosswind, windshear, sink rate, airspeed and all the other multiple factors that the Pilot has to consider in order to make for a good landing, the thing that must remain high on the list of priorities for the RV-9A Pilot is that the brunt of the landing must be taken by the main undercarriage; the bits under the wings. The nosewheel leg, in fact, is not even considered to be ‘landing gear’ as such; it’s more a ‘taxying gear’, only to be used when the aircraft’s speed has decayed enough after landing to allow the nosewheel to be lowered safely[13]. This involves using a lot of back-pressure on the control column after touchdown, to keep the weight off the nosewheel until it’s safe enough to lower it to the runway. And even then, when I land this aeroplane, I only lower the nose when I can’t stop it lowering itself, when there is insufficient airflow over the tail to keep the nose up any longer; the elevator has lost its ‘pitch authority’, if you like. Even then, I keep on a good back-pressure on the stick because it still helps keep the weight off the nose as the propeller wash[14] still gives a little bit of elevator authority even at taxying speeds. But as long as this is kept in mind, flying and landing this aeroplane is a breeze, and indeed a real delight.

Bembridge, Isle of Wight Flying Adventure

Probably the best way to describe this aircraft is to let you see her in action, so here is a photo diary of an epic flying adventure I had in April this year.

As a bit of background, let me explain that my son David is also a Pilot, and he flies from Kemble Airfield in Gloucestershire. He asked me if I would like to do a landaway meet-up on the Isle of Wight; specifically, at Bembridge Airport right on the eastern tip of the Isle. He intended to rent a club-owned Piper PA-28 Warrior II to be his chariot for the day, and so we arranged to meet at Bembridge Airport at about 1045 local time.

This trip was something I’d always wanted to do, ever since I had visited the Island back in 2015, back when Fiona was still alive, and with my daughter Ellie and some caravanning friends too. We had stayed on a campsite right next to the airfield, and so Bembridge has been on my landaway wish-list ever since then![15] So it was arranged that David, his wife Stace, and myself, plus Oscar – David’s toy otter mascot who loves to fly with him and goes on every flight with him – would indeed meet up at Bembridge and spend the day together on the Island.

So, I booked the aeroplane and checked the weather forecast for the upcoming weekend – this was on the Monday before the Saturday on which we flew out. Looks good on the long range forecast but of course that can all go to trash on the day. Did the PPR request – that’s ‘Prior Permission Required’ – basically an online form you fill in to let them know to expect you. It’s important so that they can account for your aircraft as part of the day’s traffic pattern, but also for safety reasons; if you don’t arrive something like when you say you will, they will have emergency search and rescue procedures that they will implement so that they can come and try to find where you’ve pranged the kite[16]. Planned my navigation route – headings, heights, speeds, landmarks, turning points. Danger areas like military ranges. Checked the NOTAMs – the Notices for Airmen; telling you about important things en route that may affect the way in which you conduct the flight. Things like high obstructions (cranes and stuff) near airfields, temporary airspace restrictions, temporary danger areas maybe because of high-energy military flying exercises (meaning fast-jets doing practice dogfights), temporary airspace restrictions for things like airshows or displays by the Red Arrows, or maybe even ballooning events. Looked up radio frequencies and generated a communications plan. Considered diversion airfields to be used in emergencies. Checked with Nigel to make sure the aeroplane was serviceable. Briefed about the fuel state and what he wanted me to do with the aircraft on my return – like did he want her refuelling ready for him the next flying day, that sort of thing. Comprehensive preflight planning is key to any successful cross-country flight, especially where that will involve a landaway and/or liaison with multiple ATSUs (Air Traffic Service Units, so people like radar services, control towers, approach services and all that sort of thing. Complying therefore with the annoyingly (and deliberately) alliterative Pilot saying, ‘Proper Planning Prevents Piss-Poor Performance’, which nevertheless highlights how important the planning stage is to the satisfactory execution of the day’s flights. Most people who don’t themselves fly also don’t realise how much planning goes in to a cross-country flight, especially one involving a landaway, and even more so on one involving flight over the sea, which this one did of course. I’m flying to an island, remember! Also, making sure I have the most up-to-date aeronautical chart; checking that my equipment is in good order (like my headset, for instance) and that I have all my pens and flying gloves and baseball cap and sunglasses and all the other bits I need.

Here’s the SkyDemon chart for the route, with the intended track indicated by that thick magenta line. SkyDemon is a brilliant piece of software that aids greatly in the flight planning stage, bringing together all the information that the Pilot needs for the route. Some Pilots I know use it on their phones and it acts as a kind of satnav, a bit like the Garmin G3X system in Alpha-Mike.

Well, the Saturday dawned bright and relatively clear, so, armed with the current met forecast (the weather) and what we call the ‘Actual’ (what the weather is like right now at the relevant airfields including diversions, and their TAFs: Terminal Aerodrome Forecasts; what the weather forecasts are for the airfields in question), off we trot for Exeter Airport.

Alpha-Mike lives in a hangar on the secure and non-passenger-related north side of the airfield, so I need a special (and expensive!) ‘Northside Pass’ to get in, and so I make sure that this is also in my bag before setting off.

Arriving at Exeter, I dragged the aeroplane out of the hangar and did my preflight walk-round inspection, where I look for potential problems on the aircraft, check the oil and fuel levels, make sure the windscreen is clean, and all the other minutiae that make for safe flying. Better to find a fault on the ground rather than have that problem announce itself up in the air! Once done, and once I’d refuelled the aircraft, it’s time to book out – that’s where I tell the Exeter Air Traffic people where I’m going and when I think I’ll be back; a bit like the PPR mentioned above and for the same reasons – and in we get. I had donned a lifejacket and PLB because I’m going to be flying over the sea. It’s only for six miles or so, but there’s a reason why it’s called a lifejacket! And the PLB is a Personal Locator Beacon; a radio device that you activate once you’re down in the drink[17] and floating hopefully the right way up, so that Air-Sea Rescue can find you.

Ok, so start her up, program the navigation computer and autopilot, perform the power checks and pre-take-off vital actions from the checklist, and then call for taxi clearance. Lined up on Runway 08 at Exeter and cleared for take-off, the view gave me the usual (but somehow always new) thrill of anticipation of adventure[18].

There is no finer view in all of aviation; I am going flying, right now, and I am going to interface with – and indeed become a part of – this singularly unique, finely-tuned and indeed beautiful piece of machinery called a Van’s RV-9A. And today she’s going to carry me nearly 100 nautical miles, in under an hour, to meet family for a lovely day out. What can be finer than that?

As always, take-off and climb-out are busy times so there’s neither time nor mental space for photography. But once established at the correct altitude, and in the cruise with the autopilot engaged, I am now hands-free for photography, as well as being eyes-free to keep a good lookout[19]. So here’s the first shot, of the Devon town of Honiton about four miles off my port beam (it’s visible just above the wingtip):

This is the Garmin G3X showing the PFD in full-screen mode, with the aircraft position shown on the mini-map inset on the bottom right. You can see that we are just a mile north of Seaton, East Devon[20].

Axminster, East Devon, just forward of the wing

The view forward from 3,000ft, with Lyme Regis at the bottom of the photo, and with Chesil Beach and Portland Bill just visible. It’s quite hazy up here this morning. But it’s still utterly, utterly glorious. 

Coming up on Dorchester:

Portland Bill and Weymouth Harbour just visible in the murk. Actually, visibility today is excellent for aviation, just not so much for long-view photography.

Coming up on Poole Harbour, Dorset

Brownsea Island, Poole Harbour. This island was the inspiration for the fictional ‘Whispering Island’ in Enid Blyton‘s ‘Famous Five’ book, ‘Five Have A Mystery To Solve‘.

Bournemouth coming up. I’m now what we call ‘feet wet’ (flying over the sea), but I also happen to be within easy gliding distance of the land should the hamster die[21].

See what I mean about the superb view from this aeroplane?

Approaching Hengistbury Head, Dorset, the turning point which will set me up on my new heading over the sea, heading out to the Isle of Wight.

At the same time, Oscar the Otter (whom I mentioned earlier) is at the controls of David’s Warrior aeroplane, most likely somewhere over Hampshire.

…while my autopilot system executes the coasting-out turn over Hengistbury Head for me. The town visible aft of the wing, there, is Southbourne, Dorset.

The view down the Solent through the murk, from just past Hengistbury Head. This is because it’s early morning; this will all burn off later in the day. The entire Isle of Wight lies to the right of picture.

The Needles, IoW

Taking over control from the autopilot for a few seconds, I racked the aeroplane into a fairly steep left bank so as to get this lovely shot of the Needles with their Lighthouse:

Now transitioning to manual control for a lovely sightseeing tour of the south coast of the Isle, I could still use the autopilot temporarily to hold the aircraft straight and level in order for me to take photos as required. This is Ventnor Downs, the steep hill above Ventnor. There are the remains of a WWII Chain Home radar station up there, which was attacked by German dive-bombers at the start of the Battle of Britain in 1940. I visited the site back in 2015, and there’s still a lot of interesting military archaeology up there. For a World War II geek like me, anyway…. 😉 

And now, coming up on Bembridge, the town on the Eastern tip of the Isle of Wight. The Solent, Porstsmouth  and Hayling Island visible in the distance.

Meanwhile, having relinquished control back to David, Oscar is now enjoying the view of the Hampshire countryside out of the passenger side window of the Warrior.

…while I have my target in sight! Bembridge Airfield’s main runway 30/12, just above the wingtip as I roll in to a sort-of ‘crosswind’ leg to set up the circuit. Runway in use today is Rwy 12 which runs in a south-easterly direction, so I’m looking up the opposite direction in this picture. I need to set up so that I will be landing in the direction that, at the moment, is towards the camera. Things get a bit busy from now on, positioning the aircraft, so as to join the circuit while at the same time avoiding annoying the neighbours by overflying their greenhouses, that sort of thing.

Aaaand safely on the ground at Bembridge Airport. Runway is concrete but the parking is on grass, so as I mentioned above, I have been really careful to keep the weight off the nosewheel while taxying on the uneven grass surface. Now I’m parked up and looking across to the Britten-Norman aircraft factory to the north east of the airfield.

This is the Propeller Inn, Bembridge. I spent many a happy hour there in 2015 with Fiona and our friends on our camping holiday. More on the Inn later!

G-CSAM parked up at Bembridge. I was the first arrival of the day; it got a bit busy later on!The Cirrus aircraft with the red tail, parked beyond Alpha-Mike, is a Canadian-registered one. A local asked me if it was my aeroplane because I was wearing a Canada baseball cap… well I need something to keep the sun out of my eyes when up in the sky, and my brother (who lives in Canada) had sent me it a number of years ago, so I use that. You’ll see it in a later picture.

On the way to check in at Air Traffic Control, thought I’d bag this lovely view straight down Runway 30; the footpath passes directly across the extended centreline.

Back on the airfield after paying my very reasonable £15 landing fee, I got this nice shot of Alpha-Mike on the deck with her flaps down. What always gives me a really strange feeling during a landaway is that I look across the airfield at the parked aeroplanes, single out ‘my’ aeroplane, and think like ‘Crumbs, I came here in that, and that’s how I’m getting home too’. Similar to parking a car, I suppose, but evoking an unparalleled sense of wonder at the same time.

Anyway, In the background, there’s the treeline…and behind that treeline is the caravan site where we stayed in 2015 for that holiday I mentioned. Although now it’s all static caravans, not touring caravans like mine.

Listening out on my airband radio, and also watching on my phone app, I could see David’s Warrior aeroplane approaching the Isle from the mainland. Because of this, I was ready to shoot this video of his landing using Alpha-Mike’s tailplane as a rest 😉 You can hear the radio chatter on my airband radio. The strange buzzing engine sound is not David’s aeroplane; it’s another aircraft off-camera that had a weird sort of buzzing noise for its engine sound. Maybe it was powered by an electric shaver or something, I don’t know.

So once we’d met up, hugged and signed them in, we set off on a lovely walk down into Bembridge town proper, including a yummy lunch at the Harbour View Cafe. After wandering along the beach for a bit, we walked back up to the airfield. Many more aircraft had arrived by this time! Alpha-Mike is third from the left in the front row; David’s Golf-India is fifth from the left, next to the Canadian-registered aircraft to the right of Alpha-Mike.

Here’s a close-up of David’s chariot for the day, the beautiful Piper PA-28 Warrior II, G-EDGI.

Now we were back at the airfield, we popped in for a lemonade at the adjacent Propeller Inn. Like I said, I had stayed on that caravan site next to the airfield in 2015 for two weeks, and since then I have always wanted to do a landaway there. Although there’s now that treeline we saw earlier blocking the view from the campsite, and the Propeller Inn is under new ownership – they have sacrilegiously removed all the aircraft models from the ceilings[22] and there was a bartender bot with absolutely no personality whatsoever; couldn’t even call him an NPC as he had no script – anyway things haven’t changed all that much over there. Things hardly ever change on the IoW, except that now they have a decent phone signal.

But we had to leave at some time, so we said our goodbyes and boarded our aeroplanes to fly home again.

Here’s the view down Runway 12, lined-up and just prior to beginning my take-off roll. This view is simply unbeatable:

 

Five minutes after liftoff and already at 3,000ft, here’s a view of Shanklin, IoW, with Sandown just to the right/East. Sandown airfield is visible in the centre of the photo. From up here, I could see the entire Island and the Solent, Portsmouth and Southampton all in one go. Simply stupendous.

Time for another scenic cruise around the south coast of the IoW, and here’s Ventnor Downs again. Note how much the visibility has improved. You can see for miles now.

Coming up on The Needles again, the western tip of the Isle of Wight.

What happened next was almost unbelievable; one of those things that happens occasionally when flying. It was completely unexpected when the Bournemouth Radar controller, from whom I was in receipt of a radar service[23] suddenly called me up and said, “Golf-Alpha-Mike, traffic is a Spitfire, one thousand feet below you on a parallel heading. He’s probably headed for The Needles”. I heartily agreed that looking out for a Spitfire would be a great idea and she told me it was in my 2 o’clock low. So I looked and Tally-Ho! – I’d spotted him[24]; the Spit was very low on first sighting; as she said, about 1000ft below me, and I kept sight of him for about a minute then lost him in the background clutter. A minute or so later, I glanced at the Needles, which I was just passing, and there he was! The aircraft can be seen in this photo if you zoom riiiight in just left of centre, and just in front of my wing. As is always the case with amateur aerial photography, he was a lot closer in reality than he looks in the picture! This was very much a point-and-hope shot which fortunately worked out rather well. The black thing at the bottom middle of the photo is the Needles themselves. Can you see the Spitfire? What a great thing to have briefly shared airspace with such a legendary aircraft! 

After my epic encounter, I still had to cross the Solent! Here’s Hengistbury Head coming up ahead. The black marks on the picture are the way in which the camera picks up the propeller blades whirling around.

Over Hengistbury Head, a lovely shot looking at early evening mist in the direction of Swanage. Poole Harbour to the right of the shot.

Swanage and Ballard Down, with Studland in the foreground. Look how clear the air is.

Portland Bill and Weymouth again. If you compare this photo with the one from the morning, you can see how much the visibility has cleared up.

I don’t often do selfies but here’s me displaying the ‘RV-9A grin’. It’s going to take me a few days to lose that, I think. And there’s my Canada ball cap too:

Final shot of the trip, approaching Lyme Regis to my left. After this, things were a bit busy, so no more photos I’m afraid. Flying almost directly into a low-ish sun, with haze still present over home plate despite the clarity here, and trying to look out for other aircraft in that muck too, also trying to see my home plate at Exeter coming up. Certainly not a time to be mucking about with a camera, even with the autopilot in operation. 

So, like I said, a lovely day out and it took me at least a week to lose the grin! And what an adventure, especially with the Spitfire sighting![25]

The RV-9 grin. What a lovely aeroplane and I am privileged beyond measure to be trusted with flying this little beauty. And also to have been able to share, in some small measure, my adventure to the Isle of Wight. Even now, over a week later, I am still enjoying flashbacks of the things I saw and experienced on that trip. I will go again this summer, I think!

Footnotes

Footnotes
⇧1 She now lives at Lasham, home to one of England’s main gliding clubs. Given that she has a glider-towing attachment, I would not be surprised if it were the case that they were using her for that purpose.
⇧2 The aircraft’s name is given by the last two letters of her registration, so, ‘Golf Charlie Sierra Alpha Mike’, becomes ‘Alpha Mike’.
⇧3 The designer, Richard VanGrunsven, uses his initials to name his different aircraft designs, hence the initials ‘RV-9A’. The RV-9 is the tailwheel version; the RV-9A (like Alpha-Mike) is the tricycle version with the nose wheel
⇧4 Although, Van’s Aircraft do actually sell completed aircraft too.
⇧5 To put it politely 😉
⇧6 I used to fly gliders back in 1991, with the Leeds University Gliding Society, but as that was affiliated with the RAF Gliding and Soaring Association, it was heavily subsidised and therefore very cheap.
⇧7 The sole minor exception is that she has only two seats rather than four, but that doesn’t really matter as I have very rarely flown a four-seater with a full load of passengers, and in any case the logistics of getting four people together to go flying all at the same time is quite something!
⇧8 Over the course of my flying ‘career’, I have flown something like fourteen different aircraft types, including four gliders (Grob Acro, Schleicher Ka-2, Schleicher K-7, Schleicher K-13) and ten powered types (Cessna 152, Cessna 150 Aerobat, Diamond DA-20 Katana, Piper PA-28 Warrior II, Piper PA-38 Tomahawk, Robin R2160, Ikarus C42, Sportavia RS-180 and of course the Van’s RV-9A).
⇧9 As opposed to 90kt (100mph) for a Cessna 152 and 100kt (114mph) in a Piper Warrior.
⇧10 ‘Leaning’ refers to the adjustment of the fuel/air ratio (the ‘mixture’) going into the engine, by using the red ‘mixture’ knob visible on the photos in this article. As the air density decreases with altitude, you can end up with too much fuel in the mixture – known as a ‘rich’ mixture – so you need to make the mixture more ‘lean’ (hence: ‘leaning’) in order to correctly match the proportions of air to fuel. The reverse happens as you come down; the air gets more dense so there will be too little fuel in the mixture (it will be too ‘lean’), so you need to enrich the mixture again using the mixture control.
⇧11 Having the VP prop also meant that the group’s Pilots had to have additional training to get the VP prop rating put on our licences, as we also had to for the Garmin EFIS (the Electronic Flight Information System or ‘glass cockpit’) too. So now we are all VP prop-rated and EFIS-rated Pilots as well as our basic Private Pilot’s Licences (and I have a Night Rating as well, of course). These ratings are lifelong and they mean that we can now fly any aeroplanes with VP props and/or EFIS avionics.
⇧12 This activates emergency glide protocols in the event of an engine failure, including turning the aeroplane towards the nearest airfield within gliding distance. Really clever!
⇧13 Taxying is the term used for driving an aeroplane around on the ground, as opposed to up in the air.
⇧14 Propeller wash, or ‘prop wash’, is the high-speed airflow around the aircraft’s fuselage caused by the propeller acting like a giant fan, which, I suppose, it is…. 😉
⇧15 A ‘landaway’ is exactly what its name suggests: a landing away from your home base. Most private pilots’ sport flying careers consist of simple local jaunts where they take off from their home plate, fly around the local area a bit, and then return to the place they set off from. A landaway is where you fly out to another aerodrome and buy a coffee, lunch or breakfast, then fly back to base after you’ve had a wander around on the ground at your landaway destination. With G-VIZZ, one of my favourite landaways was the short grass strip at Bolt Head near Salcombe, Devon. I’d land there, go for a lovely cliff-top walk, then return to the airfield and hop back into the aeroplane to fly back to base at Exeter.
⇧16 Where you’ve crashed 😉
⇧17 The sea!
⇧18 The blue hangar in the middle distance, to the left of centre, is the hangar in which we built the aircraft.
⇧19 I could really get used to that autopilot!
⇧20 For those who are used to interpreting a Garmin G3X display with autopilot, you may be wondering why the autopilot is executing a descent when we are below the requested/preset operating altitude. That’s simply because I am still learning to drive the thing; using an autopilot is not as simple as just pressing a button and it takes over. Well, not once you get under the hood, anyway. I had sorted it all out within a few minutes!
⇧21 Everyone knows that light aeroplane engines are powered by a hamster running on a little wheel, under the engine cowling; this makes the propeller go round very fast.
⇧22 Sacrilegious, because how can you have a pub right next to an airfield, keep its name as the Propeller Inn, have a giant propeller stuck on the outside of it, and then remove all the pre-existing model aircraft from the ceiling in the bar?? Seriously, someone needs to be shot for that!
⇧23 A radar service is basically where the radar station has you on their screen; they keep a lookout for other aircraft in your vicinity and warn you if there’s any chance of getting too close to each other. No substitute for keeping a good lookout, of course, but it does add an additional layer of safety. It’s like having an extra pair of eyes.
⇧24 Tally-ho! was the code word adopted during the Battle of Britain in 1940, which RAF airmen used to tell their radar controller that they’d seen the aircraft (usually enemy!) that they’d been vectored to intercept. While it is not correct radio procedure nowadays to use ‘Tally-ho!’, still I do use it occasionally and they know what I mean 😀 I think I used it on this day, but I can’t remember for sure!
⇧25 Only twice in the past have I seen anything similar; on both those occasions I was flying in the same bit of airspace as the legendary Red Arrows. Once was in 1991 at RAF Dishforth near Ripon, where I used to fly gliders with the Leeds University Union Gliding Society, which was affiliated with the RAF Gliding and Soaring Association. Just as I was completing a winch launch at about 1000ft above ground, two Red Arrows Hawk jets flew over me about a thousand feet higher up and going in the opposite direction. There was an air display going on that day at RAF Leeming, ten miles further up the A1. So I could legitimately say I’d flown with the Red Arrows! 🤣 The second time was a couple of years after I got my licence. On one day in August 1999, I was flying solo circuit practice at Plymouth Airport when a voice came over the Tower frequency, “Plymouth, good afternoon, The Red Arrows!”. Tower was unfazed. “Station calling Plymouth, say again your callsign”. So funny. I’m afraid I don’t think he’d misheard, nor was it that he couldn’t believe his ears; I think he was trying to wind them up. I suppose you had to be there. Anyway, the unflappable Red One calls back, “Plymouth – The. Red. Arrows! Crossing ten miles north abeam your airfield”. And so both I and the controller looked, and there they were, a close group of little aeroplane-shaped dots in the distance which were nevertheless, very distinctly, red. I think they were on their way to display at Fowey in Cornwall, they do tend to display there at least once a year even to this day – although last year (2025) it was at Falmouth.