AddThis SmartLayers

Unidentified Headline 127

Come fly with me!
by Graham Smith

Page 3 of 3

Down on the ground for repair the Hawk looks tiny. It is made of aluminium, same as your grandad’s greenhouse, and frankly I think I would prefer to be in the greenhouse. The seat looks like something the Americans use to execute people in, there is no ashtray and certainly no room for the stewardess to bring you a brandy and ice as you gaze at the view.

Toilet facilities are limited. There aren’t any, and if you feel the need at several thousand feet before you do a loop-the-loop or whatever, one has to put up with a wet flying suit, or a flying wet suit as it then becomes.

Budding Red Arrows pilots are allowed to ride in the back seat to give them a feel of what aerobatic lunacy is all about. They must be barmy. Before they get to that stage they have to have a track record of flying most things from kites to large jets, good health, quick reflexes and an ability not to regurgitate too freely.

The pilots go under the handles of Red One, Red Two, Three etc. To listen to a briefing or de-briefing, before or after flying, is rather like trying to learn Swahili, peel a banana and tap dance at the same time.

The conversation is peppered with technicalities. Most of them go over my head but of the poor chap with the brake failure Red One says: “Minor problem, in future keep flying.” Oh sure Red One, no problem, this is a powerful aeroplane, not a cuckoo with colic.

Several times a day for months the Arrows take to the skies to perfect their synchronised fantasia before touring the world from the end of May. There is no margin for error.

After work the Hawks go into the hangars on the airfield from where Lancaster bombers set off on the famous Dambusters raids of World War Two. The pilots go home, relax, readjust their stomach linings and prepare for another day reaching for the sky and ultimate perfection.

I couldn’t help thinking that if they had flown over Hitler’s rooftop just once in close formation he would probably have swallowed his moustache and saved us all a lot of trouble!


If you’ve got anything for us, ring the HoldTheFrontPage newsdesk on
01332 291111 x6022, or e-mail us now

Back to the funny index