This article is by Kelly Armstrong who flew with Gautam Lewis, on January 27, 2008 EGTC – EGTC, 3 circuits and local Visual Flight Rules flight (VFR)
It is a crisp sunny Sunday afternoon that will see me taken up into the skies by newly qualified and keen-as-mustard pilot, Gautham Lewis. I will be his second charge since those wings were earned and look forward to experiencing first hand the fruition of many months of hard graft.
We approach Cranfield Airport – an airstrip in Northampton that has long swapped its spitfires and bombers for less deadly machines – and make our way through a series of former military barracks, set in neat little rows, buildings that now house students studying aerospace engineering.
Cranfield has rather a cosy feel to it, a sharp contrast to the overbearing and fortified nature of international airports. Once past the security gate, you are greeted by a long line of huts and portacabins, home to various flying schools and hire companies. A small wire fence rings the airfield, around which sit dozens of small aeroplanes parked on the grass, the occasional helicopter and curiously an old 1950’s era Vulcan bomber in the process of restoration. The bomber is the only reminder that Cranfield used to be an RAF base, although it’s not difficult to picture scores of young men scrambling into the air from its tarmac in the not so distant past.
After popping into one of the huts, we emerge with Donald Putnam, a young but experienced Flight Instructor who will join us on our flight. Gautham will do all the flying, but so recent is his qualification, it is deemed wise to take up an experienced pair of hands, when first flying in a new type of aircraft – not just in case Mr Lewis suffers a sudden attack of dementia, but also to give advice and round off any rough edges.
We walk towards a red 1970’s Cessna, the kind of plane you expect to see dusting crops over Kansas, headsets in hand. I am rather pleased by the choice of aircraft, a plane not only with vintage looks, but vintage smells. Far more appealing then the expensive fibreglass monstrosity that sits next to it, all shiny and new. As the tanker carrying our fuel pulls up, the customary checks on the Cessna start. This is where it becomes apparent that this journey requires rather more forethought than climbing into a car. The check takes nearly half an hour as the crew go through a lengthy checklist on a clipboard. If there’s one thing they take seriously in aviation (at least on these shores) it is safety; I guess there’s no hard shoulder to pull into at 4,000 feet.
Checks complete and engine running we are ready to go. Taxiing along the runway, we receive instructions from the tower, audible to passengers as communications come through on all the headsets. My pilot looks back over his moth-eaten seat – or is that just wear and tear – and asks if I’m nervous. To my relief I think my confidence has remained intact by the apparent professionalism of the duo sat at the controls and by the stringent pre-flight check. Furthermore although this is my first soiree in a small plane, I’ve always maintained that one stands a better chance in the event of a crash-landing then if you were travelling in a large commercial jet.
Someone once told me that the reason for assuming crash positions in these large aircraft (head between the knees) wasn’t so much to help you survive the crash (of which you had little chance), but to preserve one’s teeth, so that the resulting corpses could be identified from, dental records – always a good anecdote to slip nervous fellow passengers before take-off.
As the throttle is opened-up, the engine roars into life and soon we are climbing steadily into the clear afternoon sky. As we gain altitude the primary advantage – at least for this novice passenger – of travelling in a small plane becomes clear; the scenery is breathtaking and not hindered by high altitude or a tiny window. It’s a calm day, but even the mildest of turbulence can be felt as we circle the airfield.
Practise landings and take-offs will take up the first half of the flight. Three times we will circle Cranfield, each time landing on the runway before opening-up the engine again to immediately take off. This is a bonus, for I’ve always enjoyed the take-off and landing parts of flying, the only time where one is keenly aware of the pilot’s role in an age where technology does most of the work once airborne. Indeed air travel is so commonplace nowadays that the sense of fear that used to pervade the cabin during these moments has all but vanished. As a child I remember when passengers used to clap out of relief every time the plane touched down, an activity that only happens now if there is a particularly prickly landing.
Once our practise session is over, we head out across the Northamptonshire countryside. Below lie fields, homes, factories and bonfires bellowing out smoke (I’m told that pilots are always on the lookout for smoke to provide up-to-date information on wind direction) and the racing track at Silverstone where Formula One meets are held. The noise in the cabin is deafening if you remove your headset, but otherwise the flight is proving most relaxing, even therapeutic. Co-pilot Donald turns around to ask if I’m strapped in. Not quite sure why he’s decided to check after an hour of flight, I suddenly find out as he tips one wing almost vertically downwards and then pulls up on his stick to rapidly climb. I had asked if we were going to do any acrobatics today – only half-jokingly – and am now rewarded with a manoeuvre (whose name eludes me) that moves my stomach upwards, towards my mouth: it’s a lovely sensation.
With the sun heading down, the Cessna heads for base and makes its approach for our final landing of the day, the smoothest one yet from our rookie pilot. Taxiing down the runway, we find the spot where the aircraft was first moored and park it up. Mission accomplished, we head back to the hut for tea and a review of the flight.
The final pleasure of the day is meeting the flying school’s owner, a gruff Yorkshire man who flew Lancaster bombers during the Second World War. Despite his age (somewhere in the seventies I would guess), David Coulson is a sprightly, no-nonsense character, his years kept at bay I suspect through the continued rigours of flying. Before Gautham turned up a year ago, no school at Cranfield had ever trained a disabled pilot. It is a credit to him that he took on Gautam in an age where many might have baulked at the challenge. Perhaps he cast his mind back to his own RAF days, when one of Fighter Command’s best fighter pilots – Douglas Bader – flew into combat with two tin legs inherited from a pre-war acrobatics accident.
And it was a good call, for in the veteran’s words ‘Goatie is a natural’ and showed ‘more commitment, ability and hunger than most of the able-bodied people I’ve had through these doors.’ On my part, I grateful to them both for providing an experience comparable to no other.
Article by Kelly Armstrong who flew with Gautam Lewis, on January 27, 2008 EGTC – EGTC 3 circuits and local Visual Flight rules flight (VFR)
