CHAPTER 16
HANG GLIDING
THE
SUFFOLK COASTAL FLOATERS
HANG GLIDING CLUB
September 1973 to January 1980
............One evening in early December 1973 I was watching “Magpie” a children's television program. Featuring a guy named Ken Messenger who was teaching the host of the show how to fly a Hang Glider. From what I could gather he was attached to the underneath of a very large kite that was above his head and he was actually flying unaided. It looked absolutely amazing and stirred up the adrenalin juices with in. Even though the host of the show was slightly injured when he landed awkwardly, it did not dampen my enthusiasm. We were later informed that the pilot had apparently stalled the kite, what ever that meant. He had allowed it to drop a wing and turn back to the hill, dumping him unceremoniously into an unsightly heap at the bottom of a hill amongst a load of gorse bushes. It looked absolutely fantastic and I just had to have a go at this new form of flying.
The television program went on to explain that Ken Messenger had been one of the first people in England to take up the sport, having progressed from being towed behind speed boats while on water skis and attached to a very small flat kite. Since then he had set up a factory to manufacture his own hang gliders, calling his company “Birdman Sports”. Ken, along with one of his fellow workers at the factory Dave Raymond, had also been the main consultants on one of Ken Russell’s most famous films, “Tommy”. This had been written and performed by Pete Townsend of the “Who” pop group. Ken and Dave had under taken all of the Hang Glider flying and stunt scenes in the film. The scene where “Tommy” takes off from the top of a very tall castle tower was actually achieved; there were no camera tricks that day.
In the past Ken had also been a very successful racing car driver, winning many top races at the time and before that a top water skier. His family at one time had also been the biggest tomato growers in the Wiltshire area.
That very night I wrote to the TV show hoping to obtain his address and they did not disappoint me, sending me his address by return of post. I then got in touch with Ken at Marlbough in Wiltshire. Unfortunately, it was early September1974 before I finally received word that my Albatross 180 Hang Glider was ready to be picked up at the Birdman factory. The delay being blamed on the amount correspondence that flowed between us and the actual building of the glider. To take delivery of my new toy, I had to drive from one side of England to the other. At that time, it would have taken about 7 hours. In order to defeat the boredom I had installed my very first car cassette player. This I gave a good work out with my newly purchased cassette tape of “Supertramp” called “Crime Of The Century”. To give you a little idea of how many times I must have played that tape. To this day, it is still my favourite album of all times and I still know most of the words off by heart on many of the songs.
I arrived at the factory in Marlbough to discover that Ken and most of his fellow workers had all packed up work and headed off to Mere in Wiltshire to attend the very 1st British Hang Gliding Competition. I was also informed that Ken had my new Glider with him. Therefore, there was nothing I could do but to go and attend the meeting myself. I soon found Ken and he showed me my brand spanking new hang glider all rolled up and lying beside of the tent, he was using as a sales office at the fly in. He spent about ten minutes telling me how to assemble it and finally gave me a small one-page leaflet on how to fly. He then rushed off to fly in a competition that was taking place along the top of the hill. Leaving me completely bewildered as to what I should do next. I had just spent £250 plus a 25 % luxury tax that hang gliders attracted at that time and I did not have a clue of what to do next. However after securing the glider to the roof rack on top of my van, I returned to watch Ken fly in the competition.
Mere is located in a beautiful part of the country with many large rolling hills, making it an ideal place to fly. Many of these hills also feature a bowl that allows the wind to funnel up the hill assisting the flyer to stay in the air just a few minutes longer, than if he was flying from an open hillside. It has to be remembered that in those days most hang gliding flights only consisted of a top to bottom flight and that your time in the air was counted in seconds. This was the infancy of hang gliding and almost anything we did in those early days expanded the sport just that little bit further.
That very first year at Mere, I saw the Wills brothers who were over from the USA. Flying their famous Wills Wing, Black Swallowtails and I was just infatuated by what they could achieve in a Hang Glider. They won every competition they entered and certainly set the standards that followed in Great Britain for the next couple of years. At that time there was only three main competitions. Who could fly the furthest distance away from the hill, who could land the nearest to a cross marked on the ground and who could stay in the air for the longest period.
In the precise landing event the competitor had to fly from the top of the hill, down in to the valley below. They were then expected to land on a material cross about a meter square that had been laid out on the grass. Every time Bob Wills landed on the middle of the cross, they would not mark him down as a direct bull’s eye. In sheer frustration Bob Wills had a flaming row with Nick Regan one of the judges. Bob wanted to know what the hell he had to do in order to win the event. Regan told him that by landing on both feet he was in fact actually straddling the dead centre of the target. It did not seem to matter that no other flyer was getting anywhere near the bull. Nick went on to explain that technically, he would have to land on one foot, dead in the centre of the cross. Bob Wills went straight up to the top of the hill and on his very next flight, did exactly that, leaving the judges no option but to award him the first place in the event. I might also add that there were not many other flyers at the event, who could even get to within a meter of the cross. However it was a great spectacle to watch, something I have never forgotten. It has also to be understood that this was in the days when gliders did not have battens in the wing material. Meaning that on the home built and early factory produced machines, when they were flown the sail fluttered and made a noise like an outboard motor. However, the Wills Wing Swallowtails stayed beautifully in shape and made no noise. I would guess that after attending this event, many of the early flyers in the sport all went home and back to their drawing boards, in an effort to make something almost as good as the Swallowtails. Unfortunately the Swallowtails cost an absolute fortune to buy, if you added to that the cost of shipping it over from the states, put many people off purchasing one. Although I believe one guy did do a deal to manufacture them under licence in the UK.
All the way home, I dreamed of the thing as I called it, which was fluttering on top of my car. Boy, what I was going to do with it, was nobody’s business. I could not even remember how I was supposed to rig it up, having already completely forgotten Ken’s instructions long ago. I think I had read everything I could from the single page leaflet on the subject that Ken had given me. However, it all added up to absolutely nothing, as far as I was concerned. I was not a flying man and did not have a clue what a stall was. If I did not know what it was how the hell was I going to be able to get out of it. Hang Gliding was in its infancy, nobody knew much about it and further more not much had been written on the subject at that time.
This all stands out very vivid in the back of my mind as would most new adventure that we all under take. However, I must admit that to get dates correct from now on I will be struggling. A small amount of my personal history is still available to me. Unfortunately, the vast amount of literature and details that I had accumulated over the years was left with Peter Bowden from Felixstowe, when I left the country. I believed at the time that I had every single leaflet ever devised and distributed by the manufacturers when it came to hang gliding and they would have been invaluable for me as a reference and time slot for this book. Mind you, it is amazing how well the human brain works, some times when it is put to the avid test.
I must have assembled the Albatross in my front garden half a dozen times in order that I knew how to accomplish the task correctly. However, it was all to no avail, because each time I found a different way to under take the task. Then after a couple of weeks Trevor Pearse came over to see what I had bought myself, after hearing so much about it during band practices with Knoxville County.
Brian Dunn had been up to his usual tricks and had talked the members of Knoxville County into getting rid of the then present singer Dave Hanson. Replacing him with Trevor Pearse, who came from Bramford. I had taken an immediate liking to Trevor and we struck up a good friendship straight away. Trevor was always interested in what I got up to in the Royal Marines. At that time one of his friends was in to free fall parachuting, so I guess with me telling him that I intended flying it was just an extension to the parachuting bug. At that time he had just joined the full time fire service, so in his own way he was an energetic person.
That Sunday afternoon, Emily, Trevor and I, all went down to Sizewell Beach to assemble this giant kite. This took us almost an hour as all the time I was talking to Trevor explaining something I knew absolutely nothing about. When it was finally constructed, I found a large rabbit hill that must have been all of a meter high. This I preceded to tell Trevor would be high enough for the first test flight of the day. Trevor then shocked me by asking how far I was going to fly up the beach. Somehow, I managed to evade the question and climbed into the seated harness that we had attached to the glider. I then picked up the glider and somehow managed to position myself on the top of the rabbit warren with the nose of the glider pointing out to sea. That much I had learnt while at Mere.
The nose has to always point towards the wind in order that it might pick up the kite so you can fly. At this stage, I must add that there was no wind, so I tried jumping up and down on the rabbit warren, but with no luck. All I could hear was the flapping of the sail being generated by my frantic jumping up and down in order that I might get airborne. I felt like Tony Hancock the comedian in a scene from one of his films, where he turns up at an air port dressed as a chick and asks the booking clerk “Can I fly to France”. I heard one guy tell his little boy that I was going to fly to France. Gee that guy had more faith than me, by that time I had settled on making it to the beach down from my one meter high rabbit warren.
After about an hour of me jumping up and down, which was all taking place in front of a large gathering crowd. A sudden gust of wind just picked me up and tossed me over backwards, what had happened I did not have a clue. Not understanding the principles of flying, it was a crazy thing to do. With what I know now, it is a wonder I did not kill myself. The eastern coast line of England can be quite treacherous at times, especially when it comes to wind. It’s nothing to see the wind suddenly whip up to around 20mph. With a wind like that instead of going to France I believe I would have ended up in Wales.
Anyway, it seemed to amuse the gathered crowd, leaving me to felt like Co-Co the clown. It amused the crowd even more, as by now the tears of laughter were streaming down their faces. As they watched me desperately trying to get my car keys from my trousers pocket, while all entangled in a mess of steel wires, aluminium tubing, sail material and the seat harness. Emily and Trevor had to then race back to my car to get some spanners to release me from the mess I was entangled in, and that took them another twenty minutes. While all the time I was trussed up within the heap of scrap. I was further humiliated having to answer some of the gathered crowds silly questions. Like, will you be flying again today mister, or is that supposed to happen. Then there was the usual, did it hurt, while one young kid said he thought the wings were going to flap. One little old lady walked away saying that she could not see what all the fuss was about with these new hand gliders, claiming that I hadn’t gone far, she also thought I was going to whiz up and down the beach, her words not mine.
The whole event was very humiliating for me in front of all those holidaymakers. As slowly, Emily and Trevor started to undo as many nuts and bolts as they could. The whole time Trevor was wetting himself laughing at me. It took them a further fifteen minutes to extricate me from the mess that was once my pride and joy. The net result was £50 worth of damage, I had only been off the ground about a foot and that was backwards at a speed of ten mile an hour. Trevor even measured it out to a distance of around five meters. That means that the flight cost me something in the region of £10 per meter. At these rates, it would have been cheaper to arrange for Freddie Laker to organise any future flights.
I then had to contact Birdman Sports to organise them to send me some spare parts. This took several weeks, as we did not have telephones in those days it was all done by letter. Needless to say, I had to answer many questions as the factory was always interested just in case it was their workmanship that had failed. I made up some cock and bull story that I had had a great flight, but unfortunately I had landed rather hard. It seemed to satisfy them and they sent the necessary parts, but not before, I sent them the postal order for £50.
Once I had rebuilt the glider, I started worrying that I might have weakened something during the crash and at that time, I was not game to write another letter to Birdman. Therefore, I just put it all into the back of my mind and took it down to the beach once again. Only this time Emily was my only helper and I found a spot that was deserted and secluded. However, it was all to no avail as I still did not get the dam thing up off the ground, nor did I at the second and third attempts. The whole exercise was very frustrating and I really did not have any idea how I was going to progress past this point in my flying career.
At one time, I had been told about a local guy named David Cook, who was into hang gliding. Unfortunately, I had never met him, even though he worked at Richard Garrets in the drawing office on the bottom factory. After my third unsuccessful attempt at trying to fly at Sizewell I called it a day. As I was leaving the site, I caught sight of a car pulling a very long trailer with what looked like a giant hang glider on board. This had to be David Cook so I sped after it, and followed it all the way to his house in Aldringham. I watched him pull into his drive and through some trees where he parked. I parked on the roadside out front of his house and ran up to introduced myself. David turned out to be a very nice friendly sort of guy and over the years, I always looked up to him. Not that he was taller than I, it was just that I always admired what he had achieved during his life time. He would also become a very big influence on me as he still is today.
I quickly blurted out that I was in dire need of some help if I was ever going to soar to greater heights as they say. To my surprise, he became very interested in what I wanted to achieve and offered any help he could. It was arranged that I go around one evening where he tried to teach me the rudiments of flying a hang glider. It was all very new and it took several of these visits before I started to grasp the basics. David also introduced me to two of his helpers and fellow hang glider flyers. Neil Moran, who had built his own fixed wing Icarus 5 and Chris Tansley who had bought an old home built Rogallo wing, as they were known in those days from Brian Griffith from Ipswich. I use the word home built because Brian had purchased it as a kit from the McBroom factory in Bristol. When you took into consideration its lift over drag of only 1 to1, it immediately attracted the nick name of McBrick. Some one had also once noted the comparison between the main keel and an old wooden broom handle, so it was some times known as the McBroom stick. The sail always looked like an old light blue tablecloth to me, as its trailing edge was all frayed. Every time it was flown, the trailing edge would flap violently and in doing so, the material seemed to be loosing its weave at a rapid rate of knots.
The name Rogallo had come about because of a Professor Rogallo, who while working for NASA. He had designed an inflatable glider wing as a space recovery vehicle, in the early days of the American space program. Then an American Richard Miller along with some student friends started ground skimming on a polythene and bamboo Rogallo wing, while hanging by the armpits on a sub frame. Control was achieved by swinging the hips and legs and apparently was somewhat vague. Mean while two Australian water-ski showmen Bill Moyes and Bill Bennett made their own vital contribution to the new sport. As an additional attraction during their ski-shows, they used flat man carrying kites towed behind boats. Putting it simple the Australians had unstable kites with a good control system while the Americans had a stable kite with poor control. When the swing seat was first fitted to a Rogallo wing by another Australian John Dickenson the practical hang glider had arrived. In 1971 Geoff McBroom in Bristol, Len Gabriels in Oldham and Ken Messenger in Marlbough, all started commercial development of British made models.
I heard a story many years later involved Bill Bennett, apparently he had attached one of his tow kites to the back of a light aircraft, and was towed over a small distance. Apparently the speed at which the air craft flew was so great that it is reported, the wind stripped most of Bills cloths from him. For some reason he did not repeat this feat, but it was reported that he was lucky to survive the incident.
David helped me in my training but first, we moved to Thorpeness, where David assured me that the cliffs offered a far better chance of becoming airborne. The word cliffs brought a little horror into what I thought would be required to learn to fly. The cliffs were at least 20 feet high, a little higher than that first rabbit hump I had stood on top of. Chris and Neil joined the group as they were also only in the early stages of learning. We had some good and sometimes very funny experiences, while some times it was laced with frustration as we awaited the winds to be coming from the right direction and also of the correct strength. I had no idea that the wind was so important in my thirst to fly. At Thorpeness it had to be a little to the north of east and at least 15mph in strength, so much for my windless day on top of that rabbit warren. David also explained that in the afternoons on a very hot day, a sea breeze would get up. This air would rush in from the sea replacing all of the hot air that had risen during the heat of the day, as thermals. Thinking back it was possibly one of these gusts’s of wind that had flipped me over on my very first attempt.
David, Chris and I had been trying our luck at Thorpeness for several weekends but the wind was never quite dead on to the cliff, so we moved back to Sizewell and in front of the old Hall, where the cliff took a wind slightly more to the north. One day we could not believe our luck it was dead on and at least 15mph. That afternoon I enjoyed my very first top to bottom flight, all 20 feet of it. I was in an advance state of intoxication, it was the biggest thrill that I think I had ever experienced to date and this was on a mere 20 feet pimple of a cliff. What the heck would it be like on a thousand foot mountain. In those days, nobody was soaring their kites on our very small little cliffs. For that, you had to go to the big sites near Brighton or in Wales.
Would you believe it, the whole event had actually been captured on camera and I have a photo that I still cherish to this day. If you look at it close it looks like I’m flying into David’s arms.
That same afternoon Chris also achieved his very first successful top to bottom. However, my adrenalin was further heightened with the knowledge that I had beaten him, I had been the first in a Rogallo hang glider to fly the Sizewell site. I used the word Rogallo, because David had flown here many times before me in his VJ23. Only he was flying in what was known as a fixed wing Hang Glider. The difference being that a fixed wing uses two and three axis controls, almost the same as what a conventional aircraft uses. Where as a Rogallo uses what we call weight shift. Your body is hanging under the kite at a point known as the centre of gravity and as you move your weight, so the glider will respond and move in that direction. I might add that the controls are completely opposite, as have been experienced by a few people in the past. When a conventional air craft wishes to dive he would push his controls away from him, where as in a weight shift machine you have to pull the A frame bar back towards you. In doing so, you are actually transferring your weight forward, so that the glider can dive. A year earlier David had found this all out to his cost when he got it slightly wrong and had ended up with a broken arm.
Let me just explain how the lift over drag figures work. My Albatross was rated at what I believed to be 4 to 1, which meant that for every four meters I moved forward, then the glider what drop one meter. Unfortunately, Chris’s McBrick had a lift over drag of 1 to 1, which meant that for every meter he moved forward the glider would drop a meter, hence the name was well suited. At times Chris had to be careful that he did not end up pinned to the side of the cliff, if conditions were not suitable for him to fly. To make a comparison, David’s three-axis control glider, had a lift over drag of almost 9 to 1. Therefore, with figures like these you can see that David could fly in conditions that Chris and I could not venture out in. David’s VJ23 was still known as a Hang Glider, because it weighed less than seventy five kilos, just like our Rogallo’s.
Talking of conditions, the correct ones did not arise very often and so we wasted many hours going backwards and forwards to the cliffs in the vain hope that it would be flyable. It took a couple of years for us to learn to read the signs of what to watch out for. One thing I can tell you is never rely on the radio and television weather report. You have a better chance of seeing pig’s fly, than to rely on the rubbish that they dish out. As one person, once pointed out they could not get it right even if they looked out of the studio window.
David, Chris and I spent many hours together helping each other, awaiting the correct winds and generally having a go at what we called top to bottoms. Mind you, when David wanted to fly we all mucked in, as his VJ23 had to be dismantled and carted around in a very long trailer. When he was launched from the cliff tops, it was a delicate manoeuvre, as we needed one man on each wing and a couple behind holding up the fuselage and tail. Making sure that it did not hit the cliff edge, as we launched him out into a beautiful sea breeze. David was so good that at times it was nothing to launch him into a 30mph wind, something that Chris and I stayed away from for the time being. It was the least we could do for the guy who had helped us in our efforts to fly. During this time, we were also helping David to build a VJ24 after he had returned from the USA and a visit to see the aircraft designer Volmar Jenson. This was a good exercise for me because in under taking the build, I was also learning a lot about the theory side of flying
I wrote to Greg Thompson in Norwich and joined the Norfolk Hang gliding Club. I had heard rumours that they had a great site to fly at Cromer, taking a north by east wind and about one hundred and fifty-foot high. However, for now I was still learning on the twenty footers at Thorpeness, something I was satisfied with at the moment.
One Saturday the wind turned out to be just perfect for the Thorpeness cliffs. Chris and I had had some very good top to bottoms flights and were feeling good with what we had achieved. Between us, we made a very quick decision to go to the Dunwich Cliffs. Now a Rogallo kite had never flown Dunwich. I say Rogallo because once again David had flown these cliffs. However, he had never taken off from Dunwich. He was lucky and was the only person who had been granted permission from the National Trust to take off from Minsmere bird reserve just south of Dunwich. Chris and I had never tried to approach the Trust for permission to do the same. It had always been felt that we would not get that permission. While at the same time it might place into jeopardy David’s permission. The National Trust seems to be okay if there is only one person wanting to do cranky things. However, once large gatherings of people start to congregate on the cliff tops, it is bound to upset the Trust, in case the constant stream of people walking up the dunes erodes the cliffs.
David had flown Dunwich so he knew all about the place and it did not take him long to convince us that we were ready for something bigger. Therefore, we hurriedly packed up all our gear and sped north to Dunwich. The wind was perfectly dead on the cliff and was blowing about eighteen miles per hour. I was determined to be the first, so I just rigged up my kite as fast as I could. Then without thinking, I picked it up and clipped in my harness, I then walked to the edge of the cliff and went straight off.
A bit silly really, with what I know today, especially as I had no pre-flight plan, but this time I got away with it. It was great and took me several minutes to get over the feeling once I had landed on the beach. Chris came a very close second landing a just few minutes behind me. Dunwich cliffs are about eighty feet high, so we were both very pleased with what we had just achieved and David had given us lots of encouragement. I now had my second hang gliding record, being first to fly a Rogallo from the Dunwich cliffs, even though it was just a top to bottom. Between Chris and I, the race was on to fly all our local sites and I must admit I felt good. Later I was also the first to fly Minsmere, once again in a Rogallo. Cookie had already flown these sites in his VJ23 a year earlier, but somehow he did not take the gloss off my so-called records. However, the ultimate aim was to soar these sites. It had been thought by David and a few others that it could not be done on a Rogallo, as it only had a four to one lift over drag ratio. Where as Cookies VJ23 had a nine to one, so you can see that it is much easier to fly Cookies glider. In his machine he could soar on a whisper of wind where I would need a gale to keep mine up, especially when you considered my weight, as I was nearly 14 stone. Cookie even had a weight advantage over me, as he was a lot lighter, he used to rib me that beauty came in small packets. I used to tell him that I was made up, from two of those very small packets
About this time, David introduced me to Brian Griffith who lived in Ipswich. Brian used to fly from a small hill at Raydon, after he had negotiated a deal with the local farmer. It became a good training spot, but once again, the wind directions ruled it. If you got it wrong, it was a long drive for nothing. Although at that time most of the people who were learning, would arrange to meet at these sites. If there was to be no flying a lot of hot air was expelled by the frustrate learner flyers all talking about flights that nearly succeeded. Like everybody else, I spent many weekends travelling to Raydon for nothing.
One-weekend Chris and I went to the Dunstable Downs, North of London to try to get some extra help and to fly higher hills. The Dunstable Downs were about one hundred and fifty feet thigh. We also wanted to obtain an Elementary licence that had just been introduced by the British Hang Gliding Association. To fly Dunstable you had to have the glider checked over for safety reasons. It was usually checked over by a local flier, or somebody who had been delegated the task as safety officer for the day. Upon inspection of Chris’s McBrick, it was declared to have at least fifteen minutes flying time left in it. On his first flight and in front of a host of people, he only made it halfway down the hill and that was in perfect flying conditions. He should have made it almost too where I had landed, about three hundred meters from the base of the hill. Chris explained to me that he had planned the landing, in order that he did not have to carry the glider very far back up the hill, he always had an answer. After a few more of what I called long flights, I really got the feeling of what it would be like to soar. While flying at Thorpeness we were only in the air for a couple of second’s duration on each flight. Not knowing what I had done or how it had responded, while here at Dunstable you could try something with the glider and had time to feel its response.
On another weekend that we went to Dunstable, David was experiencing trouble with the van. It became evident that the engine was using a considerable amount of oil and I do mean considerable. After only a few miles, we would have to stop and top up from a rather large oil can that he had brought with him. It even got to the stage where we were topping it up without stopping the van. Because the engine was in the front cab area on the van, we removed the engine cover and topped up as David continued to drive. Finally, David was forced to pull over to the side of the road and to rethink our next move. I would estimate that by this time we had driven well over half the distance to Dunstable, say about 80 miles. We all peered under the van at a massive oil slick that was appearing on the road as we watched. It was quite clear that we were not going to make our destination. In fact, David was not sure if we would even make it home, if we turned around right there and then. It was David’s call and I think he was right when he declared that we were going to return home. As we all boarded the van David somehow managed to turn it, in the smallest of country lanes that I have ever driven on. If you can imagine the length of the VW van, plus a trailer that must have been more that twenty feet long. Then you will know that it is not easy to do a three-point turn on a fifteen-foot wide road. The journey home was just as hectic with the oilcan, but it became very easy to find our way. All we had to do was to follow the oil slick we had laid down as we drove the other way. It had started to rain and all you could see was this massive line of oil that stretched for almost 80 miles. Upon finally arriving home in Aldringham, David climbed under the van to discover that the bottom part of the engine cover had a long crack in it. We always reckoned that when David sold the Van he fixed a 40-gallon drum into the back with a rubber pipe leading from it, down into the engine. Can you imagine any prospective buyer asking him what is it like on fuel. With David replying that, it was not too bad on petrol, but it’s a little heavy on oil.
It became a type of ritual for us to visit the British Hang Gliding Championships that were held annually at Mere in Somerset. David, Chris and I would all pack into the VW van and after hitching on his trailer, set off for the long journey to the other side of the country. Mere was a great place to visit, it was great place to fly and great place to meet up with old flying friend. However, it was also, where the new hang gliders were all unveiled to the early awaiting public each year. David would usually try and park his vehicle as near to the main tent as possible. In this way, we could watch what was going on from the van. It was also well positioned so that he could grab any unsuspecting passer-by and get them into the van to have a look at his photograph album and a brief history of his flying. I might add that it was well worth a look at its pages, because it was in fact a true complete history of the sport. It soon became an in-joke that no visitor would get away from the van, until they had seen the album. Chris and I were also there to help David when the competition flying started. Once we started assembling the VJ23 it would always draw a very large crowd and we were not short of the extra helping hand.
During those early years, I watched the birth of hang gliding as it went though its early teething troubles. We also watched as some of those early pilots made a name for them selves in the sport. People like Brian Woods, who in a couple of annual events won most of the prizes, Graham Slater who I later befriended and was to help me get over a couple of problems. Chris Johnson he was the most fearless flyer I ever saw and I might add the most lucky as he is still alive today. Jerry Breen who set up one of the very first hang gliding schools in Wales. The Flack brothers who also had a school and used to turn up at the flying meetings with a brand new Mercedes twenty-foot van and they always had a large following of groupies in tow.
It was always a time of great fun and most of the time, we spent cracking jokes and springing surprises on each other. In the evenings, we would all retire to the local pub down one of the numerous country lanes that adorned the area. While we where having a drink, into the pub walked three coloured guys. Their entrance brought a smile to our faces and my first remark was that the “Zambian team had just arrived”. This just about brought the house down, it seems cruel to day, but it was all very funny then. Another thing that was amusing to watch was the fashions. It amazed me how people copied each other at every opportunity. One such point being the time when Brian Woods turned up wearing a pair of yellow seaman’s boots, because of the damp grass. The very next Mere Championships saw ninety percent of the people attending all wearing the same yellow boots.
At another Mere meet, the weather became atrocious, with heavy rain and strong winds. We spent most of the weekend in the main marquee tent, talking about our flying experiences instead of flying. Unfortunately, upon arrival, the weather had looked like it would not be too bad, so David had assembled his VJ23 and left it in the assembly area. During the night the wind had got up and at times there were some very big gusts coming through. I say strong because at times it was rocking the van while we tried to sleep. David had been very restless wondering what was happening to his beloved glider. After a time he decided to go and have a look to see it was still there. Because of the heavy rain and that, he did not want to wet the few cloths that he had. He stepped out of the van in only his underpants and with his full frontal crash helmet on his head. What a sight and to think that nobody took a picture, it would have looked good in the album. Moreover, it would have won a competition any day. After about half an hour he returned, telling Chris and I that it had been moving around every time a gust hit it, but at least it was on the lea side of the hill and he had checked the stakes and the ropes holding its wings steady.
On another occasion David had Chris and me up all night looking for a flea in the van that was attacking him. This caused a great laugh because it did not seem to want anything to do with us, all night it concentrated on David. Poor David he spent all night scratching every conceivable part of his body and in the morning his body was red raw. We reckoned that it was in his sleeping bag because it did not come anywhere near us, however it did give us a good laugh that continued through out the whole weekend.
For a whole year, I dreamt of soaring cliffs every single night, dreaming of what I would do and how I would execute every single move. I went through every manoeuvre in my mind a thousand times. However, I also knew that I would never achieve it in my Albatross. There were about six manufacturers of Rogallo's hang gliders at that time and the technology moved very fast in those early years. They would change the designs about every six months. I knew that I needed a better kite for our small Suffolk cliffs. Therefore, one weekend Brian Griffith and I both headed down to Birdman in Wiltshire to purchase their latest design, the Moonraker 77. The advertising leaflet called it a “Coastal Floater” and that is what I wanted, it was also a name I would use later. However, it was the fact that it had a claimed L/D of 7 to1 that attracted my attention more that Brian’s.
With my new Moonraker, all I had to do now was wait for the right conditions. I had tried a few top to bottoms at Thorpeness but was convinced the place was not quite high enough. Therefore, I knew deep inside that it had to be Dunwich.
David and I had drifted apart a little, because I had been and joined the Norfolk Club, and was now moving around in a different circle of flying friends.
The day came when I found myself at Cromer, with my new Moonraker 77 Glider. I had gone along with my family for a day out. Once we were in a good spot, I rigged it up on the grass by the cliff top and spent a lot of time walking around hoping and praying that the right flying conditions would soon appear. I suppose I was a little nervous because I had a new kite, so the conditions had to be perfect for me. After all the cliff is over one hundred and fifty feet high and I did not want an accident. In the end I could not fly, some bright spark walked on to the kite and broke some of the battens. The Moonraker 77 was one of the first Gliders from the Birdman stable that had battens. The battens are what help to keep the wing in an airfoil shape during a flight. Anyway more damage, more repairs, more money and I had not even got off the ground. I seem to remember spending extra money on my very first glider. I also learnt many years later from Emily that it was young Mark my son who did the damage and everybody had been to scared to tell me, but we laugh about it now. On the very next Sunday, I returned to Cromer and enjoyed my very first top to bottom from a one hundred and fifty foot cliff. A great buzz and it took me hours to come down from. I also got to know some of the Norfolk fliers that included Mike Pulford, Greg Thompson, John Sharpe (Wet n Windy), Mick Starling and Derek.
Being a member of the Norfolk Club was good, a completely new world of sites had opened up to me. While I enjoyed the flying at Cromer, I also notching up a few personnel firsts, like a six and a half hours endurance and a flight to Mundesley and back. I also changed my ring of friends, by teaming up with Alan Snowlin (Snowy), Mel and Sharpe together we travelled miles throughout thecountry. All sleeping in Sharpe’s van or mine. Most weekends would find us going somewhere, Brighton, Devils Dyke, Wales, and Yorkshire etc. You name it, if it had a hill we would try to fly it. Snowy and I became very close friends and had some great flying together, during those early years of hang gliding.
I would like to explain why John Sharpe attracted the nickname of “Wet n Windy”. John would always be seen just like everybody else at most of the sites around the area. Just like us, he had caught the bug and wanted to be airborne at every opportunity. Unfortunately, for him it seemed that everywhere he turned up to fly, it would either rain or the wind would be blowing a gale. A few of us started to discuss this phenomenon and somehow it did seem to happen whenever John was not around. To prove the point a few of us went to different locations with out telling him. Sure enough, we would usually be able to fly, but if ever John found out where we were and joined us, somehow the weather conditions would change for the worse. I don’t think he ever lost that nick name, as it became a house hold word amongst the hang gliding fraternity, it’s probably in the oxford dictionary by now.
Up until now I had always been flying seated and loved it, I used to just sit around enjoying the sites and the sounds of what were going on around me. However, with the advent of what became known as the next generation of kites that included my Moonraker. Most manufactures had devised what became known as a prone harness, allowing the pilot to lie face down. At the time, a few of the old die hard pilots tried to ignore it and just stayed seated. Somehow, I felt the same way and even though I had purchased a prone harness, I was always reluctant to try it out, even though I copped a lot of dissension from the Norfolk boys. I used to think that if I did not like it and had to go down on to the beach. It would then be a further hour, by the time that I had packed it all up and carried it to the top of the 150ft cliff, have a rest and to then set it all up again. To my way of thinking once I was in the air I wanted to stay there and I new that I could obtain that seated. To prove my point it was nothing to stay up for several hours in those early days, if the flying conditions were in your favour. I had several flights lasting around the five hour mark, when I would constantly fly to Mundesley and back, although in those early days the wind had to be perfect to jump the gap in the cliff at Mundesley. I once jumped the gap and had to wait over an hour on the other side, for an increase in wind strength to get back. If I am correct, it was Paul Whitely who was the first person who jumped the gap at Cromer and headed off to the West, being closely followed by Greg Thompson.
One day while I was driving home from Cromer, I was kicking myself for not trying out the prone harness. I came to reason with myself that the way I was going I would never convert over. During the past, half a dozen times I had visited Cromer I had promised myself that I would give it a go. However, once I had rigged the kite up on the cliffs and had a look at the good conditions and all the kites in the air. In my eagerness, I had just fixed the seat on and away I went. Anyway, to cut a long story short I just wound down the car window and toss the seat away. I have often wondered what the people who found it thought it was.
I mentioned just now about there being many kites in the air at the same time at Cromer. At times, it looked quite dangerous, because you have to remember that they were not as manageable and manoeuvrable as the kites are to day. Therefore, when flyers wished to pass each other, we had to give a wide berth and the lift band that we were using did not seem too wide. At one time, the Norfolk club actually policed the site and the duty flying officer would stop people taking off if he thought there were too many in the air at any one time.
So many people were staying up for long periods that at times it became very dangerous. As pilots tried to out do each other and in doing so, while not having food or drink for long periods they would become faint. As an event, the duration records were dropped by most of the hang gliding countries of the world, after some horrific stories circulated. Snowy and I used to take up plastic bottles of water and at one time, we tried taking some barley sugar sweets. Have you ever tried to unwrap a sweet wearing thick leather gloves, while trying to hold on to an A frame bar at the same time.
Two stories that come to mind, happened over in Wales, one was of a guy who in trying to break the then existing duration record kept trying to fly very low along the front edge of the cliff, while trying to take food from a helpers out stretched hand, in order that he might stay up longer.
Then there was the story of Brian Woods who hovered his glider, while Chris Johnson hovered several feet above him. Chris then lowered a basket of food and drinks on a length of rope and attempted to swing the basket below Brian Woods kite. It was amazing that Brian managed to grab the basket after only a couple of attempts. However the laugh was on Brian, because when he tried to open the can of Coke, it sprayed all over him, having been vigorously shaken by Chris before he placed it in the basket.
This leads me onto the story of a guy who in trying to break the same record, stayed up at night a little too long and in the darkness crashed severely injuring himself. I once tried it at Felixstowe, along with Snow, Mel and a few locals and I must admit that it was a great buzz, but we had no problems, because we had the aid of streetlights to help us.
I was so fascinated with hang gliding and war stories that I decided to write a book on the subject remembering that it was over thirty years since my first two attempts back at school, namely the “Holy Land” and “Smugglers at the Ferry”. It seemed to take forever to complete, something like six months. Set in Africa, I based it loosely on the film the “Wild Geese”. The difference in my story was that the attack into the rebel strong hold, was by a small group of mercenaries from the U.K flying in on hang gliders and I titled it “Hang Glide to Freedom”. I then spent three months writing to dozens of agents and publishing houses to get it into print. One big problem I had was to give an outline of the story to the publishers as they had requested, but without giving too much of the plot away. I don’t think I achieved this. Two years later, a film came out set in Greece called “Skyriders”. Now you might think I am a little big headed, but not me, I am sure somebody took my ideas and built the film around it, it was too coincidental to be original. I have never reread the book since, but I do have a video copy of the film. Incidentally, Bob Wills the guy I had seen at the very first British Hang Gliding Championships at Mere, did most of the stunt flying for the film.
One Sunday I arrived at Cromer ahead of the usual flyers, so I rigged up and got myself into a position where I could take off first. The wind seemed a little stronger than usual, but unfortunately, I did not have a wind gauge with me. Snowy and Sharpie who had just arrived helped me get the glider in to a take of position on the edge of the cliff. Once in position, I could feel the wind and it was definitely a little stronger than usual. I did not know what to do and was asking the guys holding me in position. I could feel the gusts almost trying to tear the glider out of their hands. Suddenly Mel turned up and shouted over wanting to know what the problem was. I called back asking him what he thought the wind speed was. Although I did not know it at the time, Mel did not have a wind meter either. He called back that it was only 20mph, I was later to learn that he was kidding. With those words of encouragement, I told Snowy to let go of the nose. I shot up 50 feet in the first second of the flight and I immediately knew I was in trouble. As other people turned up, they registered the strength of the wind to be almost 30mph. Anyway I continued to go straight up and behind the take off point. There was no way that I could penetrate the wind and as I watched the golf course appear under me, I knew I was in a lot of trouble. It was well documented that there was a bad rotor just back of the take off point. With out any warning the A frame bar was wrenched from my hands swinging me around in a 360 manoeuvre. I can remember calling out to the golfers below me not wanting to crash land into them. Then as I realigned up facing out to sea, a giant gust just pushed me straight down into the ground, but at least I was horizontal. I crashed dead level in to the ground about halfway up the hill from the main road, smashing my body into the bottom of the A frame. I could not believe that I walked away from that crash with only one broken A frame side tube. I could not even feel any pain, until that is Snowy made me laugh and a sudden pain struck me in the right side of my chest. That afternoon I had to go to my mothers for tea. By the time I arrived at Stowmarket my chest was killing me with pain and when I looked at it, the whole left side was black with bruises. On the way home I had to call in to the Ipswich Hospital for a check up. In those days, if you were injured while hang gliding it was classed as self-inflicted wounds and you were charged for some of the hospital services. I told the nurses that I had braked very sharp in my car and that I had hit my side on the steering wheel. It seemed to get them off my back, although they did nothing for me other than give me a couple of aspirins. I then had to suffer the pain for a further couple of weeks.
The day came, when the conditions looked perfect at Dunwich so along with John Sharpe we drove there and rigged up the kites. The wind was dead on the cliff but not strong enough. So after a few top to bottoms, I was getting very frustrated, would I ever soar this dam cliff. Anyway, I packed up and headed back to my car when Cookie and John Wells turned up with his new fixed wing known as the Fledge. I knew this thing could fly here, its L/D being far greater than mine something like 9 to 1 the same as Cookies and I did so want to be first. I thought if he can fly here then so can I, so I turned around and went straight back to the cliff.
By this time a little bit of rivalry had crept in between David and I since I had been going to Cromer. At first I did not rig up, I watched Cookie supervising John and launch him off. Wow he went along the beach about one hundred meters, almost getting up to soar and boy he was not going to beat me. So I rigged up quickly, Sharpe said I was mad to try it as the wind had gone a little south of east. This was new ground for us, I walked to the edge and clipped in my harness. Then I waited for a few minutes until a gust came through and just launched off. Wow to my amazement I went straight up, where as I had always gone down. Not only that I kept going up and was heading south down the beach towards Minsmere. What a flight I could not believe my luck and it felt just great, I flew all the way to Minsmere, turned round and returned. I was told later that David watched every minute of my flight from the beach and even walked into the sea to makesure I went right to the end of the Minsmere cliffs and back. To rub it in, I completed the task six times and that day nobody else managed to soar that cliff. I stayed up until the wind dropped and so finally, I was forced to land. Wow what a feeling I had to lie on the beach for half an hour just to come down from my high. It was 24-09-77 and I had just become the first person flying a Rogallo hang glider, to soar Dunwich and the Minsmere Cliffs, what a feeling it is to be first at anything. I know that the date is correct because by that time we were all keeping a flying log book.
I then went on to notch up more firsts, one being that of R.A.F Bawdsey on the 08-10-77. The cliff edge was very close to the perimeter wire fence that surrounded the camp, only being wide enough to assemble the glider. It never crossed my mind to obtain permission to fly the area. I thought that as I was on the out side of the camp, I could fly there. Although I must admit that, the sight of a couple of missiles pointing out to sea and being positioned only a few meters from the wire fence, did look a little menacing, if not a little daunting. However, with my enthusiasm to be first, nothing was going to get in my way. It was a difficult take off from such a narrow strip of cliff, but there is always a way and you can usually manage to work something out. The wind conditions were perfect and so I was in the air within just a few minutes of arriving at the site. It was a great feeling and I enjoyed the flight immensely. After only a few minutes I realised that it had turned out to be easier than I had thought, I started to venture further and further away from my take off spot on the cliff. I finally made my way right to the South end of the cliff that took me down to where the RAF military personnel had their quarters. This must have spurred them into action, because when I arrived back at the take off spot, an officer arrived at the wire and called up at me asking if I could come down in case they wanted to fire a missile at Russia. I landed on the beach, walked back up the cliff to talk to him and was surprised at the laid back way at which he told me that I could be in trouble if they had to fire a rocket. However, he did not ban me from flying, he just asked me to move further along the cliff and away from their perimeter wire. Unfortunately, this was the best place to take off at that time. To the North was a spot that was a little lower in height, but offered a possible alternative, at least it was away from the camp boundaries. However, I did manage a take off from this spot and it became the normal point to take off, later on by those who followed me. I did learn one other thing from the officer, as he informed me that the camp used microwave radio signals and that it was not in my best interest to fly in front of them, if I did not want to fry my insides. He laughed when I asked if it was any good as a vasectomy operation.
On the 04.12.77, I was the first to tame the small cliffs of Kessingland and later I reached a personal goal that I had been trying to scale for nearly three years. I finally tamed the Sizewell to Thorpenessand back more than dozen times. However, I must also give credit to Snowy, who came a very close second to me, when he took off only seconds behind me in the rush to become the first.
However, I did have a little scare once at Dunwich, one Sunday the wind was not quite strong enough so I could not soar. Loosing the lift over the cliff I went out and landed in the sea. I was very lucky only going in a few feet, but it was very deep and rough. Strong waves can smash up the kite very quickly, and it’s possible to drown being trapped in your harness and under the sail. That day I think I got away very lightly with only a couple of bent battens and lots of salt water to hose off, once I got back at home.
Snowy and I dreamt up the idea of our very own hang gliding club in Suffolk, why should we always have to travel up to Norwich for club meetings. Therefore, I set about asking people what they thought of the idea and got a good response. I cannot remember the year but somewhere around May 1978 we held a meeting in a pub in the back woods near Ipswich and about a dozen guys attended. Including Mel his wife, Snowy, David Taylor, I even managed to get David, Neil and Chris to attend, along with a couple of others and myself. We formed the Club and named it “The Suffolk Coastal Floaters” (remember the Moonraker leaflet). I was voted in to be the Club Secretary and to undertake the every day running of the club. David was elected the President of the club, because of his high profile within the sport. We copped a lot of dissension from the Norfolk Club for a couple of years because of the rivalry between us. However, it soon sorted its self out and both clubs in the end got on well and had regular inter club competitions.
I moved on from the Moonraker 78 to the new Birdman Sports Cherokee. I felt it to be the best kite I ever owned. I could fly any site with that wing it was so nice and gentle to handle.
In Sept 78, Sharpe, Mel, Snowy and I went to Southern Ireland as a team to fly against the local flyers in the Cork area. I must admit that I was a little worried being an ex service man and that the IRA troubles were at there height in Northern Ireland. Although I must add that the Irish people treated us well, and believed they respect us in coming to their country, so that their flyers could compete against us. One evening as we were all sitting in our car with the Gliders tried to the roof rack. A local lady stuck her head into the car window and asked if we were looking for some where to stay. At first we were a little apprehensive not really knowing our way around. Anyway we took the lady up on her offer and followed her home. The first thing she did was to turf her own children out of their bunk beds, telling them that we were sleeping in them that night. In the morning we found our selves in the house on our own. A note on the kitchen table informed us that she would be home from work at 10am with breakfast. 10am sharp and the lady of the house walked in on us and cooked us all a big fry up breakfast. We could not believe the hospitality she showed us. We almost offended her when we asked how much we owed her for our stay. All she asked of us was to call and say good bye when the time came for us to leave, which we did. Cork was a wonderful place and because of earlier newspaper coverage the people had been pre-warned of our arrival, so every body knew who we were.
The local Murphy’s brewery had lain on a rather larger welcoming party for us, with plenty of free drink. Murphy’s looks and taste exactly like the other famous Irish drink Guinness. Not being a person who drank it on a regular basis I tried to take it easy.
The first flying day we were taken to a local 1700ft mountain take off point, where we were greeted to the site of a very old man wearing a Harris Tweed suit while seated in his hang glider, flying backwards and forewords in front of the take off point about 200 ft up. The first thing I said was, “I bet he’s having a good flight”. To be told that actually he was trying to get down. It turned out that he was in his late seventies and was the founding member of the club, being known as number one. Apparently he was so weak when it came to landing that he usually flew back wards and forewords waiting for the wind to drop so he could land safely. Adding that it was nothing to see him in the air for five or six hours at a time. For the English contingent it turned out to be a great days flying even though we lost the competition, although it was very close. Once the flying for the day was over somebody mentioned food, we were then instructed to follow a guy in little red Mini car, because he was going to show us a great little eating place just down the road. With that the Red Mini sped off with eight or nine other cars all travelling at high speed around the narrowest of county lanes, so we did not loose the car in front. It was crazy, no wonder the Irish make very good Rally Drivers. Fifty minutes later we all arrived in one piece by a road side restaurant and enjoyed a nice meal. It just amazed me that we had to drive almost one hundred miles just for an evening’s meal.
The second day we were taken to a coastal area where to our delight the take off area was from a twenty foot sand dune. I could hardly believe that they were going to hold a competition on such small sand dunes. However, it turned out that they knew where we came from and that we had all learnt on twenty foot sand dunes. Yes we were in our element and it only took a couple of minutes for us to set up our gliders and to take to the air. These guys were not used to this type of flying and wanted to see how we managed it. It was a good day and a lot of friends were made as we showed them the secrets. However, I marred the whole event when late in the afternoon I tried to show them how you take off in a slight cross wind. I had already packed up my glider and so Sharpie told me to use his Moonraker 78. Unfortunately I got it all wrong and crash landed to the right of the take off area. It was a costly mistake because I had to pay for the repairs to Johns kite.
Once the flying was over, we all made our way up to the road where we were confronted by the owner of Murphy’s brewery in a brand new Mercedes car. Then to the delight of all of the English flyers, he opened up the boot and a bar unfolded right before our eyes. It even had a couple of beer pumps fitted and within seconds he was pulling free beers all round. From there we all made our way back to the Brewery in Cork, where we were given the keys to the main office. I could not believe my eyes as I walked into the boardroom to be confronted by one of the largest Boardroom Tables I’ve ever seen along with a stock of almost any drink you might wish to mention. I learnt later that the brewery had allocated twelve pints of beer per person along with many spirits. To give you a little idea as to what we drunk, I eventually awoke the next morning to find myself lying on top of a group of other drinks and we were all under the Boardroom table.
It was lucky for us that the next day the weather was not kind to us and so there was to be no flying that day. Instead they took us all for a ride to visit Killarney Castle so we could kiss the Blarney stone. The whole day was a bit of a blur but one thing I can remember is when we went to climb the ramparts of the castle I turned around and Mel was not with me. I found him halfway down the cobble stone stair way hanging onto the hand rail. Apparently he was scared of heights, I couldn’t believe it, after all here was a guy who would happily fly along side of me a couple of thousand feet from the ground. Mind you I have to admit that I some times get a little nervous when I have to look over the edge of a cliff. I guess it’s that idea of looking straight down that bothers me. Because when I usually take off I’m looking straight ahead. Once you are up in the air you seem to loose that feeling of height and it dose not seem to bother most people. Anyway I did kiss the Blarney stone that day. Only the Irish would place a stone to be kissed halfway up a wall and to get to it you would have to lay on your back, to lower your self down head first and to kiss out wards.
On another occasion as we was all speeding around the country lanes following the club safety office who was taking us to a new site. Suddenly he stopped at a junction in the road which was positioned between a mass of mountains. The safety officer got out of his car and held up his wind speed indicator. This device needs to be held up above your head in the direction of the wind. It also has to be in undisturbed air to give you an accurate reading. This guy was looking for a true direction so he could work out which site to take us to. I had to laugh because with all the mountains around us the wind would have been swirling around every where. As you might have guessed that day we did not fly, but we tried out several of the local pubs instead.
During the trip home on the Swansea ferry with all retired to the bar, where a couple of us got into a conversation with two young girls from Cork. When we asked where they were going they told us that once a week they take the ferry to Swansea, where they go to sign on, for their English unemployment benefit. I couldn’t believe how blatant they were and it did not seem to worry them. Apparently they had a false address some where in South Wales and had been doing it for a couple of years.
I think it was because I involved David Cook in the emergence of the Suffolk Coastal Floaters Hang Gliding club that we slowly got back together again. He had just been given a government grant to build a man powered aircraft. At that time, there was a large prize that had been offer for the first person to under take a figure of eight course and David wanted that £50,000 prize. At least three nights a week we would all go down to one of Richard Garrett’s old workshops where David was building his dream. Chris and I spent many hours with David on that project and during all that time, there was a lot of horseplay as to who would be the pilot. Now I knew that my weight would rule me out of the saddle, but I still teased them both that I was the fittest guy for the job. The whole project was designed around a bike to power the aircraft. David had come up with a new style of pedal, so that the pilot could get more power out of his legs. In stead of going around, David’s peddles went up and down.
You can imagine how disappointed we all were when we were within a few months of completion when the Americans announced that they had snatched the long-standing prize. A guy named McCready had peddled himself and the Gossamer Albatross into history. All we could do was drown our sorrows in a pint of beer at the Albert Pub in Aldeburgh. I never did know what happened to David’s unfinished project, it probably ended up at the local dump.
In 1980, I attended the British Hang Gliding Championships at Mere. The sport had come a long way in such a short time. By now, most flyers were using parachutes in case of accidents in the air. The idea being that if your glider folded, you could grab a parachute that was attached to your harness via pieces of Velcro strip, you could then throw it to one side, hoping it would not tangle with your broken glider.
During a distance competition, I was flying against Judy Leaden (who later became the Woman’s World Champion). I had drawn the long straw and had chosen to take off first. This would be an advantage for me as I could choose the right time to launch. The rules stated that Judy would have to wait 30 seconds and then follow me within a further 30 seconds time period. Therefore, I could wait for a thermal to come on to the hill. If you can imagine that a thermal is a circle of air, as the outside edge of that circle comes onto the hill, if you took off into that circle your glider would go up. Behind that outer circle would be what we call the eye of the thermal, a dead area where nothing happens. Once the eye has gone through, the other outer edge comes through and if you can catch this, it will once again take you up into the air. When the thermal has gone through there is a possibly that there would be no lift for the person taking off behind you and this is exactly what I did. As I walked a few steps forward and pushing my A frame away from me, I was then whisked up into the rising air that took me up above the take off ridge. I looked behind chuckling to myself, knowing that Judy would have missed the thermal. Because of the time restrictions on her, she had to take off even though she knew that she would probably have to go straight down to the valley below far sooner than I had to. In other words, I had more than likely won the race, because I would be able to fly that little bit further.
I got myself into a comfortable position for what I believed would be along flight. I suddenly heard a loud whooshing sound. My first reaction was to look up, expecting to find that the sail had gone or at least had been badly torn. To my amazement, it was in one piece and in perfect flying order. I then looked down towards the ground that I assessed as being about 800 feet below. To my horror my parachute had accidentally fallen out of its deployment bag and was unfolding in a straight line below me. The minute it had completely unfolded and because I was moving forward, it went behind me and started to open. It was as though one minute I was flying forward at 30 mph and the next as the chute became fully inflated and I came to a dead stop. It was like being attached to a rather large bungee rope, one minute I was going forward at a fast rate of knots and the next it felt like I was going backwards. Because it lost air speed the glider suddenly went into a violent steep dive. I could see the ground coming up quite fast towards me, but I had no idea what to do next. In a normal steep dive without a parachute the gliders were trimmed to automatically pull out, although I‘ve often wonder if they would at only 800 feet. This accidental deployment had never happened to anybody up until then, so there were no rules or any guideline as to what action I could take.
At first it seemed like everything was happening in slow motion and I was in a head down position. The first thing I did was to turn my body around so that my feet would hit the ground first. Then I stepped up on to the A frame and found myself crouching in an uncomfortable position. Then as the glider hit the ground I pushed myself away from the A frame, making sure that it did not make contact with my face or head. Once the dust had settled the wind got into the chute and started to drag the hang glider and myself across the field. It took a couple of quick thinking people standing close by, to run over and save me from further damage by deflating the chute.
While all this was going on, Emily was shopping in the nearby town of Mere. Unfortunately, Mark was on the hill amongst all the spectators who were watching my flight. Once the chute came out of its deployment bag, somebody shouted “He's Dead”. Poor old Mark I do not know what he thought about what happened or what had been said, and to this day I’ve never asked him. However, I did survive although I broke my sternum and a couple of bolts on the glider. I lived to fly another day as they say. Although it was a hard pill to swallow as I lay on the ground and watched Judy fly over where I was lying and I’m sure she had a smile on her face. However I’m not sure who did win the event.
There was a strange out come to this accident, which affected many people. At that time, there had been an argument amongst flyers that in low-level accidents a Parachute would not open in time to help you. My crash had clearly demonstrated and proved this argument invalid, because clearly it did work. From that day, the sale of parachutes escalated and it soon became the norm to wear one. However, after my little accident I never wore a parachute ever again. Even though the Mainair Sportswear company had given me one of their chutes after I endorsed there product, I never wore another Parachute. I might also add that a friendly Jumbo jet pilot flying out of Heathrow, had brought the chute I had been wearing into the country from America. It came from Jim Hansberry, who at that time was the World Free Fall Parachute Champion and was manufacturing them in America.
During all these years of being away almost every weekend and I mean every weekend in an effort to fly. I could not see what was going on around me. I failed to understand what I was missing and that was my children growing up. I was missing out on the best years of their lives something I would kick my self for later. It has always been one of my greatest regrets to this day, that in my own quest for fun and adventure. I had missed out on my family growing up, I only took them with me once a year and that was to Mere, which was always held in early September. Then of course while all this flying was going on, I was also trying to hold down a daytime job in order that I might finance this thirst.
However in order that I can go into it in further details of my employment I will have to take you back a few years to around 1974. During that time I was still working on the Stowmarket By-pass. A time when rumours were going around that W.C. French had won the contract to build the Wickham Market by-pass. Wickham Market was nearer to home for me being only 12 miles to travel each day. Therefore, I put the word around the office that I would like to transfer over once the job was started. However, there did not seem to be many people listening as nobody made mention of my appeal.
One morning I joined up with one of my gangs in their tea hut, for a morning cup of tea. When a stranger arrived and joined us for a spot of breakfast. Unfortunately, once the tea break was over he started ordering some of my guys around. Now that is something you do not do especially to me. If they are guys who work for me, then I am the one who gives the orders. I got stuck into this guy asking what he was up to, but he was so vague that a full-scale argument developed. At one time, I even threatened him with a shovel, only to be pulled off the guy by Peter Kendall who had just arrived in the area. It turned out that he had sent the guy up to take over my job, because Peter was coming to pick me up to take me somewhere else. Peter went on to explain that the newcomer was one of his old mates and had turned up looking for a job and so he had sent him to my gang. What could I say, I was lost for words, as I got into Peters Land Rover and we drove away.
Peter drove me all the way over to Wickham Market, where the bypass work had already started to take place. At that time, a rough track had been ploughed through by some of the motor scrappers and the fencers were all hard at work fencing the four-mile site off from the public. As he started to take me around, he announced that the site was all mine and that I could run it as I liked, providing that the work stayed on time. I was devastated and amazed of what he had just handed me on a plate.
With the job came a works van that I was able to use around the site and at home. It was evident right from the start that I now had a vehicle long enough to carry my hang glider on its roof at weekends. The job was great and I dived in to the deep end as they say. My first job was to recruit from the Stowmarket job some of its best workers, guys who I could trust. However, I soon found that I did have one small problem. It turned out that right in the middle of the site was an old Roman ruins and that the archaeologists had been given two years to clear the site before we could run the motor scrappers over the site ruins. Those two years had by now run out, as was their permission to be on the site. Unfortunately, by this time they had only uncovered a small amount of the site. It had been a successful dig with several items of gold being found in the early stage of the dig. With their time running out and with no signs of a reprieve they started digging a lot faster. However, it was all to no avail, because on the allotted day the motor scrappers started running over the site. That was the day that I saw grown men crying, as the scrapper blades unearth and crushed highly prized pieces of pottery. The archaeologists were running in between the scrappers as they powered through the site. While trying, to grab items that had been brought to the surface. At one time, it became so dangerous that we had to seek a court order to get them off the site before somebody was crushed and killed. One of the chief archaeologists came over to me and pleaded that we stop, in doing so he thrust a piece of grey pottery into my hands. He went on to tell me that it was Roman and explained that all Roman pottery was very thin and grey in colour. While the British pottery was always very thick and orange in colour, it also felt like it crumbling in texture. He told me that the half neck of a vase that I was holding was probable brought over from Rome with some sort of precious oils in it, for the owners of the house that my motor scrappers were now destroying. I still have that little piece of pottery with me, I take it wherever I go as a reminder of that site and it is also a reminder of my heritage
The winter of that year turned out to be one of the wettest on record and we lost precious weeks work, by not being able to even walk on the site. Everywhere you looked there was massive flooded pools of water. To anybody who undertakes this sort of work. It is well known that you do not run machinery on the site in these conditions. In the end, the ground is all churned up and will take longer to dry out. Coupled to this the summer turned out to be one of the hottest. As I drove up and down the site constantly, the dust got everywhere and it became a daily chore to try to clean it out from the inside of the van.
I helped W.C. French make a one and a quarter million pound profit on that job and I feel very proud of it. Unfortunately, Peter Kendall and his brother Joe came to a sticky end, which was brought about by Joe’s marriage break up. The break up became very nasty, especially when Joe’s wife turned up at the site yard one morning and dumped all of her husband’s belongings in the canteen. It was obvious that the marriage was over, so Joe moved in with Peter in his cabin on the site. Then in an effort to gain more money from him, she contacted the tax office. Informing them of the farm that the brothers had purchase along side of the Stowmarket Bypass and of all of the material that was diverted onto its premises. Needless to say, the tax office dug very deep and it was not long before the police were also brought in to investigate. The last I heard was that both men had fled to Libya, to escape prosecution.
All of this time I had still been playing with Knoxville County. Lucky for me the bookings were not to frequent, even the practice sessions that usually happened mid week, I managed to fit it all in. However, it was another night in the week when I could not return home to see my family. The band practise was always held at Hadleigh, which was a further 12 miles away from the site. Therefore, I would always return and sleep in my cabin.
The band had been talking about making a demonstration record for some time. Somehow, I convinced them to write their own material. The band had been convinced that we should use known songs, so the public would know them and want to buy the tracks. Finally I won the day and one evening three of us met at Trevor’s house in Bramford, that was only a couple of miles from the site.
I gave them my idea of using Jim West as the subject matter. In this way I told them that we might be able to cash in on Jims old fans as well as our own. After a time it was agreed on and we sat down and tried to put some words to music. I gave the boys all the ideas as I explained as much as I could about who big Jim was and what the public had thought of him. While Brian started doodling with the words and John using an acoustic guitar used his talent to add some music to the words. While all this was going on Trevor kept us supplied with many cups of tea and coffee. The end result was called the “Legend of Jim West” and I think it came out quite well. So well in fact, that we all agreed it was good enough to be the A-side of the record. In order to save time and to allow the band to have there say in the demo record. It was agreed that on the B-side, we would use a known song that we sung well and that was “Abilene”, an old country standard.
Brian informed us that a couple of brothers, who he knew in Ipswich, had just opened up a new recording studio. Therefore, it was left to Brian to arrange with them a time when we would be able to go into the studio. Sometime time later, we went into the studios and recorded the two songs that had been selected for our demonstration record. It was all uneventful as most of us were quite competent musicians. Trevor sang on the “Abilene” track and Brian sang on the “Legend of Jim West”.
Roachy our drummer let us down on a couple of Christmas bookings, when he got himself plastered and did not bother to turn up. I was furious and if I could have got my hands on him, I am sure I would have knocked his block off. This was a pity because I had got on so well with John, as we both had the same sense of humour. During the part of our act when we dressed up, he would come out on to the stage in women’s clothes. During his drum solo while still playing, he would undertake a striptease, while standing on one leg on his bass kick drum. At times only playing with one hand, he would strip down to a pair of long black tights. He would then tear off his wig exposing a bald top to his head and imitate the famous English comedian Max Wall. Then he would come over to my bass and as I fingered the notes, he would use his drumsticks on the strings, to the tune of “In a Persian Market”. It used to go down a bomb with the audience.
To get us through the Christmas booking Brian managed to get hold of Phil Gardener to fill in on the drums. Phil was so good that he had the job on a permanent basis before the holiday period was over.
I did manage to fit in a couple of holidays with the family. On one occasion while I was driving the Triumph 2000 Estate car, we headed down to the tip of Cornwall. Unfortunately, we had only gone halfway when the car blew a head gasket on the engine. I could not believe it and did not think that we were going to be able to continue the holiday, as I only had enough money in my pocket for the holiday. Now I was going to have to use it all on repairs. We stopped at a garage somewhere near Salisbury Plain, arriving at about 4.30 pm in the afternoon and to late for repairs that day. Therefore we slept in the car on the garage forecourt, after a brief visit to the local pub. Where the local Yoboo’s had thrown a couple of darts our way, that stuck into the floorboards between my feet. I thought it was time for us to leave and have an early night. That night as we tried to sleep in the car in front of the garage, we were very worried about the people walking past the car. As we were so close to the pavement, we thought that in might be vandalised, especially after what had happened to us in the pub.
The garage owner was good to us, taking us into Salisbury town the next morning, while he fixed up car. We arrived back at 12 noon by bus to find that the job was finished, however we were £200 lighter in the spending money department. I do not know but I think that bad luck just seems to follow me around. You name it and it has happened to me, sometime, somewhere. However, I must also add that at the end of the day, things usually work out quite well and in the end, we usually have a nice time and enjoy ourselves. As we did in Cornwall, so much so that we returned a few times to that part of the country.
Another holiday that stands out to me was when Brian Grithith took the family and I over to his birth place on the far west coast of Wales. Up until then, I had always been told stories of how the Welsh hated the English. One of the reasons was that they were streaming into Wales buying up most of the Welsh cottages as country homes and then leaving them empty for the remaining fifty weeks of the year. Brian took me to one farmer who he had grown up with, in an effort that we might gain entry to his property that had a nice high cliff at its disposal. In an effort, that the farmer did not detect that I was English, Brian advised me to make out that I was death and dumb. You should try it some time, it is a hard thing to do well. To add to the fun, before our departure from Leiston, a friend had loaned us a tent for the holiday. Unfortunately, and to our cost, we had not tried it out in the garden before we left. Upon arrival at the campsite, my first task was to erect the tent, only to find out that it was only a very small two man hike tent. After it was erected, I then parked the van beside of it and placed a large waterproof ground sheet over both van and tent. This turned out to be a good move, because during that first night it rained and rained and rained. It turned out to be one of the heaviest storms in that area for many years. Most of the other tents and caravans were all flooded out, but not us we were all as snug as a bug in a rug. I had slept in the van while Emily and Mark managed to sleep in the tent. We had all been nice and dry, which is not what most of the other holiday makers on that site could say. In fun the day before they had named our little tent as the “Ponderosa” after the TV series Bonanza. However, it was during that early very wet morning that I could not understand why Radio 4, or as it was known then the Home service was constantly playing Elvis Presley records. This station had been known as a highbrow station because it usually only played classical music. It was only during a news break that we realised that the King Elvis Presley was dead, it was August the 16th 1977
Around this time I befriended the new Lead guitarist playing with the “Nightriders”. Ron lived in Saxmundham and at the time also had a day time job working in one of the furniture shops in the main high Street. Ron’s claim to fame was that at one time he had been a member of the famous “Tremeloes” pop group who hailed from Essex. At one time they had also been part of the “Brian Poole and the Tremeloes”, both bands had a long history of number one hits. Emily and I used to spend a lot of time at their house talking. All Ron wanted to hear was my war storeys while I was in the Royal Marines and all I wanted to hear from him was what it was like to be a member of the famous “Tremeloes”. Although I must add that he was not a member of the original band he joined a couple of years later when one of the founding members quit.
As the Wickham Market bypass contract came to an end, W.C.French asked me to move with them. However, my wife was not too happy with that arrangement. It meant that if I travelled on my own, I was only going to be able to come home every couple of months. If I took her with me then she and the children were going to be on there own for as many hours as they had just been through, plus they would be in a strange place. I turned down two jobs that were offered, one was in the oil industry at Scapper Flow, an island that is north of the Scottish mainland. While the other was in the Maldive Islands in the Indian Ocean, where a large earth dam was to be built.
I decided to leave the company and on the 07.11.76 managed to get a start with Costains, building bomb proof shelters on RAF Bentwaters for the Americans. I was only employed as a labourer come pipe layer, a bit of a come down for me, but I had not wanted to move away. I loved my flying too much and so I accepted my lower company position. However, my time with Costains did not last long. It’s Funny but I thought I had made good friends with the foreman Brian Dean. I even managed to get him several items of machinery from WC French at a bargain price, as they were selling off items that they did not require, before they moved away. As is usual, once my usefulness had come to an end, he treated me like a leper. After only a few months, I left and on 31.10.77 I found myself a job working for Fairclouths a construction company who were also working on R.A.F. Bentwaters. Undertaking the same sought of labouring building work.
During one of the winters we had lots of snow, in fact it was the best for years. By saying the best, I mean the best for the children to play in and have a goodtime. Because the snow was so deep, most of the companies in the area laid their work force off for a couple of weeks.
I got into the swing of things and was outside with Emily, Sharon and Mark throwing snowballs at each other. We also built a very large snowman in the back garden, complete with a carrot for his nose, two small stones for his eye’s, a slit for a mouth with a pipe between his lip’s and Sharon’s scarf around his neck. Then later in the day we went to Leiston shopping. I had already built a sledge for Sharon and Mark to play on, so we took it with us. Boy that was hot work, as I ended up pulling the sledge plus the children all the way to town. However, it was a little easier returning with the groceries, being a lot lighter than the children. It was great fun, throwing snow at each other and trying to walk in snow being about six to eight inches deep. The wind was quite strong, so with the snow still falling it was almost like a blizzard and very hard to see at times. You know what children are like playing in snow, nothing gets in your way when you are enjoying yourself. I might add that I am just a big kid at heart, always was and always will be and why not.
A couple of days later with the snow still lying around quite deep, I grabbed the sledge and with Emily, Sharon and Mark, we set off for Thorpeness Golf Course. A well-known local hot spot for snow sledging. It took us about an hour to get there and when we arrived, it was crowded. All the kids for miles around had turned up. Anyway it didn’t take us long to lug the sledge up the hill, and get into the fun of sliding down and rolling off. I say rolling off, because at the bottom of the hill was a large frozen duck pond. If your sledge was a good one and ran well, you would end up on the ice of the pond and ours was a good one. On its runners I had nailed on some aluminium tube from an old hang glider part I had damaged earlier that year. Giving us a lot of speed sliding on the ice and snow. Making our sledge one of the fastest on the hill that day.
I was always very nervous about going onto the ice, especially with my weight. Years earlier while on farmer Groom’s frozen pond, at the back of Upper Hillside, I had gone through the ice. Lucky for me only up to my waist and a few friends had managed to get me out in time. Over the years, you could always read in the newspapers of youngsters going through the ice and drowning. That was the sad side of snowy winters. Therefore, I was always thinking of this when ever I saw ice and would never intentionally venture on to any ice-covered water.
I must admit that I sympathised with Emily during these times, mainly because she was working on the farm just up the road from where we lived. One of her main jobs was to strip the Brussels sprouts from the main stalk of the plant. During most days throughout the winter, these plants were always covered with a thick layer of frost and had to be handled in order that the sprouts could be cut from their stalks. Many a time she would come home almost crying in pain as she tried to warm up her hands. The farmer also allowed her to take Mark and Sharon with her, so they could play around the farm area. Their favourite play area usually being around the pigsties. During the summer, some of the girls would have to pick up stones from around the fields, so that they did not blunt the farm implements. Other times they would have to walk through the cornfields pulling up the wild oat plants that infested our area. In this way the yield of the crop was dramatically increase, as it did not have to compete with the rogue weeds.
It was also about this time that Emily bought a small moped motorbike and I tried my hardest to teach her how to ride it. Unfortunately, it almost became mission impossible and we both gave up before she had an accident. Reluctantly she sold it to her brother Tommy who I might add also had the same problems trying to master this tricky little 45cc machine. One night I took the family for a nice quiet countryside walk up by the old school house. We were surprised to see her Brother Tommy coming down the hill on his newly acquired moped. It shocked us all to see him go past us with no hands off the handlebars and sitting in a sideways stance just waving at us with both hands.
I left Knoxville County in October 1975 disenchanted at the direction that the band was travelling and because of the manipulation of Brian. He was forever trying to change the line up, and in doing so, he would always be picking on people who had thought they were friends with him. It got to a point where you did not know if the knives were out for you or one of the other members. I might add that as a band we should have got together and sacked Brian. We all agreed that he had a good voice, but we could not use him as the main singer. He had a nasty habit of contracting bad throat ailments every winter and in doing so, it meant that he would not be able to sing for most of the winter months. I have always wondered if he was worth keeping in the band. As a foot note I must add that after I had left he walked out on his family in Ipswich and went to live in Nashville in the USA, where I believe he had a sister living. Last I heard he had his own Asphalt laying company and had become very successful. Being in Nashville I would bet that he was also in the music industry in some way.
Music was still in my blood and I wanted to keep on playing with whoever would give me a gig. I also started to teach Emily how to play the drums having bought her a Premier Drum Kit. I got a couple of drummers around the house to help her, Ben Wright and Brian “Styx” Scarlett. In order that I might get Emily on the road as quickly as possible. I got together a group of musicians who I had worked with in the past. We all knew the songs and jammed together very easily. I managed to get John Pipe’s brother on lead. John had taught him note for note and to me you could not tell the difference between them, they even sounded the same. Trevor Pearce, who by this time had also been ousted from Knoxville County by Brian Dunn, came in as the Singer. The line up was completed with Emily on drums and me on bass. We had only six practices at the Pettistree Three Tunns Public house and then we went straight on the road. Even with out settling on a name for the group. Looking back it was an amazing feat for Emily, to have had only six full on practices and to go straight on the road. After all, she had never been a musical person and the only other practice that she had was at the house with me.
Trevor arranged the first booking at his local branch of the Bramford British Legion and he had dreamt up a name for the advertising. The night we played, Emily was shocked to turn up and find a poster on the front door proclaiming that the “The Four Skins” would be playing that night. We still laugh about it today and we even had the local newspapers there to watch us perform. Now as Emily was not too hot to start with, we told her to just follow us, where as normally a band always follows the drummer. At the start of the very first song Emily counted the customary four by tapping the stick on the side of the snare drum and as we all started to play, she dropped the stick. Big laughs, but it all went off really good. However, during our first break, Emily was so nervous she could not get off her drum stool and the newspaper reporter only wanted to interview her. After all girls in bands are news, so she was interviewed while she sat on her stool. She was the star of the evening and I was happy with that. It also shows you how easy it is to con the crowd, its called Show Business. The band lasted almost a year but we did not under take many booking. However, we did participate in many practice sessions and in doing so, it helped Emily immensely.