There was no fear of flying for Bucks Free Press writer Helen Usborne, who was in safe hands for her spin with the keen RAF cadets of Marlow.

The sick bag located in my trouser pocket did not inspire me with confidence as I waited tentatively to see whether the clouds would lift high enough for 23 air cadets, a journalist and photographer to get airborne.

Helen – ready to fly

Three members of the 1811 (Marlow) Squadron chatted confidently in anticipation of the 20-minute flight above RAF Benson – the culmination of months of preparation and training at their base in Institute Road.

Doug Warner, Jordan Rendle and Stuart Perrin, all 16, had signed up for the experience in the Grob Tutor light aircraft and waited optimistically for the weather man to give the green light… a green light which reflected ominously in the face of the reporter who elected to sample the experience.

Dab-hand Doug said it was the seventh time he had gone up under the supervision of a volunteer training pilot.

He said: “We do different things every time, turns, pitches, aerobatics, loop-the-loop and a barrel roll. I like flying, but it is different for each person. Some people prefer exercise and shooting.”

But two dozen cadets were sufficiently enamoured with the off-ground element to spend three hours anticipating the ordeal, a delay which did little to calm my frayed nerves.

The obligatory safety video took up 20 minutes of the agonising wait, but offered little in the way of consolation for someone whose idea of a white knuckle ride is travelling up a long escalator.

Carl Turner, civilian instructor for the Marlow Squadron, made an attempt at reassurance, saying: “It’s okay, no one has had to use a parachute since the cadets first started up.”

Then, the all-clear: my uniform was on, my parachute attached and a helmet was fastened firmly on my head, with an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach, I was led out to one of eight light aircraft owned by the Ministry of Defence and loaned out to the Air Training Corps.

Retired Air Marshall Sir Roger Austin, Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve (Training), was the unfortunate volunteer charged with the challenging task of teaching me to fly.

Comforted by tales of his wartime exploits, I hardly noticed when the two-person craft took off into the air.

The small planes buzzed like gnats through the air space above RAF Benson where ground crew carefully monitored the movements of the cadets and their tutors.

Dozens of complex dials displayed the speed and altitude of the tiny craft expertly operated by Sir Roger. It was only when the controls were in my hands that I could fully appreciate what a lifetime of experience can teach.

“It’s very simple, really,” he said calmly as we pelted towards a large black cloud: “Just lift up the nose a touch.”

As we ducked and dived erratically across the sky, I appealed silently for The Almighty to land us safely back on the ground.

I was more surprised than anyone when after 20 minutes, I didn’t want the lesson to end.

Having survived the experience of my first flight, I can say it was an uplifting experience. The sick bag remained unused and the trembling has (just about) abated.

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