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Aviation History
1951
1951 - 0828.PDF
4 May 1951 The Chief of Police arrived and rather tersely wanted to know why we had caused "this disturbance," so I tersely inquired as to the whereabouts of his airfield. He replied, "Ah, si, sefior, there was one here about ten years ago but it is not here now. There is a new one ten miles away, but maybe you are fortunate you do not go there, because the ground is soft and certainly you would break the aeroplane." So we were all friends. Hosts of people gathered, but after the guards were posted and the aircraft picketed, we went off to a very nice Spanish Govern- ment road-house on the main highway some miles away. The Commandant of Burgos airfield called in to make an inquiry on behalf of the Spanish Air Force as to why we had caused the trouble, and immediately asked me for a copy of my weather report from Bilbao". I showed him the report and he was amazed. He then wanted to see the flight plan and, after reading Burgos as the alternative, said "That is my airport." I replied that I knew this, and he said "I cannot understand why they give you this alternative, because we are under three feet of snow at Burgos and the airfield has been closed for ten days." I realize now that in Spain people do not tell other people these little things; perhaps the reason is that there is no priority system for air traffic telephone calls, so that any information passed on is usually out of date by the time it is received. We had a few drinks with the Commandant and then he returned to his base. Down to Casablanca The Chief of Police came to see me again and said that a Spanish military aircraft was missing on the same route. I learned subse- quently that some days later it was found on a mountain about 40 miles south of Madrid; the crew had been killed. We decided at Aranda that the co-pilot and his wife, together with the baggage and spares, should go on to Madrid by train and that I should wait for a strong enough wind to take the aircraft off and fly to the Spanish capital. I got there on February 8th, after making a very devious flight around the Somo mountains and entering from the south-west along a valley. After talks with the agent of Handley Page (Reading), Ltd., Seflor Escario, I put the aircraft into the hands of a Spanish company, asking them to repair the wing completely and to make several small adjustments. We had five enjoyable days in Madrid at the Hotel Velasquez; and, as at all other places in Spain, I found the civilians most courteous. Eventually the machine was ready and on February 13th we took off again for Casablanca. Everything was magnificent; but when we were one hour out from Madrid the starboard wing dropped violently and then came up again, with the aircraft vibrating continuously. I looked at engines, props and instruments and then saw about eight square feet of fabric caught in the starboard aileron and trailing behind in the slipstream; it was flapping viciously, so causing an oscillation in the ailerons and vibration throughout the aircraft. The co-pilot insisted we must land immediately, but the only factor against that was that we were over snow-covered mountains, so I decided to return to Madrid; and after 1 hour 10 minutes we landed again in Barrajas. I tackled "Staggering on" is the author's caption to this snapshot in the cockpit. At Benguella: What the Aerovan lacks in beauty it makes up for in utility. the Spanish mechanics about the quality of their dope used in the patching work that they had done; they replied that they "did not use any dope, as we thought you were in a hurry." I could not resist telling diem I was not in that much of a hurry. We started a new mechanic on the job; he was supervised by Mr. Arthur Frye, the British European Airways Resident Engineer in Madrid, and on February 16th we took off again for Casablanca*. Even here, in the Spanish capital, the weather information that we got from Gibraltar and Casablanca was seven hours old, which I do not consider good enough for the airport of a European capital. The first half of the voyage to Casablanca was not too bad, except that we were obliged by cloud to fly along valleys, find passes through the mountain ranges, and then follow along other valleys, so that by the time we were near Tangier we were absolutely exhausted and running short of petrol; we therefore went in and landed at Tangier. More trouble! The French customs officer at the airport and the Chief of Customs had no previous experience of dealing with an aircraft travelling on a delivery flight; they kept insisting on a cornet de passage. I tried to explain, for some hours, that a new machine flew on an export licence, and that as it was going on a delivery flight to another country and remaining there, a cornet was impossible. They could not see this, and I had to appeal to Mr. Boam, the British Vice- Consul. He fixed everything with them but, even so, it was necessary to fill in forms for one more hour. Travellers should be warned against people who do not know their own customs regulations; in my case, after four hours of hard flying, I had 3J hours of form-filling, and then an £8 taxi bill to pay. Not conducive to good temper ! Africa's West Coast On the 17th we flew Tangier-Casablanca withouT incident, except that by now there was no money left. Just a small factor. On the 18th we went from Casablanca to Agadir and were amazed to see the floods in Southern Morocco. This sight sup- ported the information we had previously received that the weather all over the world during the past winter had been most unusual. It may be consolation to those in England to know that they have not been the only people with a bad winter. We had a very pleasant night in Agadir, finishing at midnight at the Casbah, an old Dutch fortress built on a mountain peak overlooking the town. We were taken there by the local manager of the Shell Company (Shell service again standing out!) and some of his French and Belgian friends. There was one more incident that night—a race down the mountainside by about seven French cars—Delahayes, Citroens, Panhards, etc. I didn't like it at all, but at least was in the winning car, driven by a Belgian who is the champion sports car driver of Southern Morocco. We were ready to leave the next day for Villa Cisneros when some French Air Force lieutenant decided we could not go "because we carried no radio." We told him we did, and showed it to him. He then decided we could not go because there were two passengers in the aircraft. I insisted that they were co-pilot and super- numerary. He then said we could not go because we had no maps —or, at least, he wanted to see them. After being told that he was exceeding his authority and that we,had permission from the
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