Madness
I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone at one time or another displayed a tendency to madness. Neat though, all grist for the mill. I remember when I was a young lad only a few years after World War II, I went on a bicycle ride with my friends. We loved to visit the airfields in our area, of which there were many. On this occasion we visited the aerodrome of Feltwell in Norfolk. There were three airfields within a five-mile radius, but this one was deserted.
Little did we know that Methwold, which was only a couple of miles away was still active in air training. Oblivious to the danger we cycled down the middle of Feltwell runway. Suddenly a red flare lit up the sky only a short distance ahead of us. It was then we heard the roar of aircraft engines. Five Harvard trainers were about to land on top of us. One passed over my head so close I felt the prop-wash. There again we were only children.
Many years later I was in the Royal Air Force working in air traffic control. The controller come over the squawk box that the Decca (Radar) was out. I quickly checked and sure enough there was a problem, but it appeared to be at the head, which was the other side of the runway.
“Go take a look at the Decca head,” I told airman ‘H’.
He nonchalantly wandered off and I thought nothing more of it. That’s when the panic ensued. The idiot walked unconcernedly across the live runway while a transport plane was making a landing. All but for the grace of God he might have been killed. I got the rocket because the idiot was under my charge.
The same idiot, who will still remain nameless, let me down on another occasion. The chief air traffic controller came into the radio room and appeared somewhat annoyed.
“What happened to the Eureka beacon,” he snapped in a non-too friendly tone of voice.
I had no idea there was a problem with the Eureka (Identification beacon) and commenced to examine the logbook. The controller was annoyed that no one answered his question.
“The Eureka, Eureka, Eureka,” he bellowed.
Airman ‘H’ grinned and replied, “You don’t smell so good yourself.”
Another time we needed a radar mechanic on the marine craft unit where I worked. A volunteer turned up. We took him out on the tender to the TTL which was anchored out in the Straights of Johore. Boarding the TTL in a light swell was second nature to us.
“Just wait for the wave to lift us up,” we told the volunteer. “Only step off when she rises, okay?”
“Sure,” he replied with confidence and stepped out into midair on the down stroke. That was only the least of his madness, the idiot could not swim.
