Paphos People

FLYING TO THE ISLE OF MAN

A child of the forties, I had quite a few motor bikes in the sixties, a 250cc BSA, a 350cc Ariel, a 650cc Triumph sprung Hub (Should have kept that one), a 650cc TRIBSA (Triumph engine in a BSA frame) Then ‘growing up’ I passed my driving test for a car and settled down.
My love of bikes never really died and I followed the race meetings, local and national and of course the Isle of Man TT. The pilgrimage every year to see the British round of the World Championship was a must. A thirty seven mile long circuit around the Island, over the mountain, through villages, over hump back bridges which sorted the real riders from the ‘Track stars’.
Following complaints in 1976 about the lack of safety factors of the course the FIM changed the venue of the British Grand Prix to Brands Hatch circuit for the 1977 season. The IOM TT (July) and Manx Grand Prix (September) were combined into the IOM Festival of speed, held in August each year. They developed their own star riders, nothing to do with the World Championships.

I carried on going to the TT races every year, during which time I had started and run my own transport business. Life was pretty hectic and I always tried to keep work down to allow my second in command to have an easy week while I was away.

On a visit to my parents house, the conversation got round to what my plans were for the summer.
“Are you going to the TT this year?” asked my Dad
“No I wasn’t sure if I could spare the time this year, now I find I can but it’s too late. The ferries are all fully booked.”
“What about accommodation?” He said.
“No problem, we camp out, there’s always a farmer with vacant fields making a few bob at this time, but I can’t get there as I told you, the ferries are fully booked.”
“Hmmm. Leave it with me, I’ll see what I can do”
“Silly old bugger” I thought “What can he do about it?”

The next day I got a phone call from him.
“Pack your bag and camping stuff, I’ve got a mate whose son has a single engine airplane and can take you and a mate over the first day of TT week and pick you up the next week.”
A quick call to my mate Alan, he was up for it.
“Brilliant” he said “I’ve never been up in a small plane should be great”
All the arrangements were made and we found ourselves at Staverton Airport at seven thirty on a Saturday morning in August, all excitement and adrenaline as we walked with the pilot, Bob, towards the light airplane that was to be our carriage to the wonderful Isle of Man.

“I’ve just got to do all the checks before we zoom off!” He said.

Taking off the fuel cap he proceeded to lower a stick into the tank, he eyed it up. “That should be enough only the fuel gauge has a habit of not working properly.”
He shook the wing violently, “Can you see anything loose?”
“No but what am I looking for?”
“Anything but it will probably be all right”
I looked at Alan and I could see that we were both having second thoughts about the sensibility of this adventure.

After shaking the other wing and the tail plane, kicking the tyres he opened the door.

“Gentlemen your flight is clear to go”
We both got in and fastened our seat belts, the engine started and Bob spoke into the radio.
“GPKUP Permission to take off?”
“Yes clear to go” came back the disembodied voice presumably from the control tower.

The engine roared and we lurched forward down the runway and up into the blue sky.

“What course are we going to take?” I asked cautiously.
“M5 south then M4 west over the bridge into Wales then turn right over the mountains ‘til we reach the coast then put me foot down over the sea ‘til we hit the Isle of Man.”
“Not literally I hope” I said with a forced smile.

We picked up the M5 then M4 and followed it westwards, I swear there were lorries going faster than we were, eventually we crossed the bridge into Wales as usual the sky had turned grey.
“They didn’t warn me about that” said Bob as we turned right and flew into the cloud “I’ll fly above it, we don’t want to bump into a welsh mountain do we boyo?”
His welsh accent was very poor and my mouth was very dry. I smiled unconvincingly. Alan was saying nothing and his eyes were closed.
As we rose above the cloud into the sunshine I felt a little bit better. Suddenly Bob started to tap one of the instruments.
“Bloody thing” he said.
“What’s the problem?” I said trying to sound unconcerned.
“Bloody altimeter, it’s packed up, do me a favour can you keep a lookout on the right and if your mate can lookout on the left”
Alan’s eyes flew open.
“What am I looking for?” he said
“Mountain tops” said Bob “Just yell out if you see one and I’ll go up a bit more.”
Silence as both Alan and myself scanned the skies for tips of welsh rock.
The cloud started to thin and we could see the ground.
“That’s better” said Bob “until we get to the sea.”
“What happens then” I asked.
“Well because of commercial flights crossing the Irish Sea above us I have to keep below three thousand feet and the cloud cover goes right down to sea level, so we’ll have to fly in the cloud with no altimeter.”
We crossed the north Wales coast and sure enough straight into a bank of cloud sitting on the waves. Alan’s eyes were closed tight once again.
“Can you guys do me another favour?”
Alan’s eyes flew open again “What now?” he asked.
“Same as before really but not mountains this time, it’s waves. If you see any yell out and I’ll go up a bit.”
We flew on in the clouds.
Bob spoke into the radio “Hello Ronaldway GPKUP requesting permission to land”
Nothing.
“I don’t believe it! The bloody radio’s packed up. Have either of you got a mobile phone?”
I pulled out my Nokia and thrust it into his hand.
Dialling a number he clamped it to his ear.
“Hello is that Ronaldsway Airport? Yes can you put me on to the control tower please- yes I know they’re busy but this is very urgent, a matter of life or death in fact three lives.- Thank you” He waited for what seemed a lifetime, in fact three life times! “Hello Ronaldsway yes this is GPKUP requesting permission to land, - what do you mean you’re fogbound I know I’m in it too. - No I can’t turn back I haven’t not enough fuel for that. I’m coming in.”
He fiddled with the radio control again it crackled into life “Hello Ronaldsway GPKUP coming into land - Roger”
“Thank God for that!” he said.
As the plane came into land both Alan and I began to really worry.
Surprisingly as it happened we had a smooth landing and as he parked the plane up one of the ground crew opened the door.
“Hello Bob have you had a good flight?” He turned to us both quiet and deathly pale. “Are you both OK? You shouldn’t have worried Bob’s an excellent pilot and he’s got one hell of a sense of humour!”
Nevertheless we came back on the boat!!