As a keen plane-spotter, when I got my first 'real job', I decided I'd use some of this wonderful extra money I was getting from work to do something that I thought previously I could only dream of. I arrived at Newcastle Airport Aero Club and enquired excitedly about learning to fly. The CFI even sat me in a stationary Cherokee, dangling a further carrot before my eyes - as if I really needed to be persuaded that I love being in aircraft(!) - and briefly explained the controls, before we returned to the club house,
I thought the price very steep - at the time about £65 per hour, but took the flying club brochure "Learn to fly with Newcastle Aero Club" away and studied it intently pretty much every lunch time at work. After I'd realised that "yes, this really was something I wanted to do, despite the financial cost", I drove up to the Aero Club and booked a lesson. I drove, rather than phoned, 'cos I wanted to see the planes up close, again!
I arrived for my first booked flying lesson probably about an hour early. The clouds were ominously grey. I parked and sat at the end of runway 07 on the parking space on the verge created by spotters watching movements through the break in the tree line. Staying in my car, I looked out for light aircraft. The larger commercial traffic was parked at the usual stands, but there were no 'puddlies' apparently flying.
The car was rocked violently from side to side as the strong wind hit it broadside, and I had a depressing thought that "I'm not going to fly today!". Nevertheless, I arrived at the Aero Club, and said I'd come for my lesson. After entering the building, somebody there laughed about my idea of flying and said "A lesson? Today? Forget it, there's a 50 knot crosswind". Not wanting to sound ignorant, but also not wanting to leave, I chatted to whomever was there about flying, and rescheduled my lesson, looking longingly at the club's Piper Cherokees (like the one I flew in as a passenger on my second ever flight) parked on the tarmac, who like me, were forced to remain on the ground.
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On 5th September 1992, the day of the rescheduled lesson, the weather was far milder. Rather than use the main roads, I drove along the country roads that took me past the end of the runway 25 (for westerly takeoff and landings), turned right towards Dinnington, the village near to the threshold of 25, turned left in Dinnington onto the final country road that would take me to A696 and the Airport terminal itself, which I would pass to get to the Aero Club on the other side of the runway.
All the time my excitement was building as I got nearer and nearer. I turned onto the A696 towards Newcastle - the dual carriageway not having being built yet, passing the entrance to the main terminal building, which was at that time was decorated with white bricks and large plate-glass windows, not the clear-glass entrances of today, and the Metro station wasn't there either, but the impressive-looking control tower was, before it was superseded by the new one on the other side of the runway, and the car parks were far smaller!
I continued to travel a short way down the single carriageway A696, and snatched a look through the break in the hedge (where I'd parked on my abortive previous 'lesson' - because of the cross-wind) to see the runway from the 07 end. I continued, then turned left down the country road signposted 'RVP' (Rendezvous Point) and 'Aero Club' that led to my destination. It always gave me a kick driving down this road, as there were signs saying something like "No entry except on aero club business", I was actually partaking of this 'business', and rather than being a "trespassing" plane spotter (though not as seriously as those poor spotters in Greece), I had graduated to the dizzy heights of looking at the first rung of the pilot's ladder - being a student pilot, and had a "right" to be there.
I parked my car in the car park overlooking the Aero Club, and felt like I could pretend that I was a real flyer taking my own plane out. I sat in the car overlooking the "puddlies" park (as some of my plane spotting colleagues would have called it - or "light aircraft" to the uninitiated). I felt a sense of mounting excitement looking at the resident Piper Cherokees, visiting aircraft and the distinctive bay windows that comprised the front of Newcastle Aero Club.
The Aero Club's club house in former times had been the terminal buildings of the original Woolsington airport. My mother had told me of the holiday flights she had taken as a child in a "Hunting Clan" DC-3 Dakota with her parents from this building in the past.
I walked past the separate club house bar building, glancing with excitement at the closed vehicular barrier in front of the Aero club apron beyond which the Cherokees were parked, approached the concrete ramp, and the scruffy wooden door of the back of the aero club. Why is it all flying clubs (except CabAir at Blackbushe) seem to have scruffy buildings? I rang the doorbell labelled "Aero Club", and said "Andrew Burgess for a flying lesson", the words 'flying lesson' still sent a shiver of delight through my body. The unemotional voice said "come in".
I walked again into the delightful room down the step that ended with that sweeping bay window. The old metal windows overlooked the aircraft parked outside, and had a line of chairs facing inside (why, inside?) around this wall. There was a coffee table opposite the chairs on the left hand side, and the 'flight office' to the right. Again the term "flight office" sent a thrill through me.
Inside the flight office, whoever was in charge on the day had the air band radio on, and I could hear the ATC and aircraft chatter like I'd heard so many times as a spotter, but this time I was going be part of it! I was invited into the annex office to the right of the flight office, where there was a window into the office where all the 'business end' of the flying (mainly involving money) was done. The aircraft technical logs were arrayed on clip boards on the end wall, and a door to the left of them led to the "hallowed passage" as I thought it. To the right the passage went to the toilets, but to the left it led straight onto the apron and the planes! I "checked in" with the flight office and before too long a young male instructor appeared.
"First Lesson?" he asked. He took me into a little room towards the back of the office, and closed the door. He pulled out a model aircraft, which looked to me for all the world like a failed radio controlled model aircraft - it didn't look very realistic for a model, but it had all the flying controls modelled in miniature, but not to scale. The tyres were flattened from the model standing for so long in one position.
He pulled back on the model's tiny joystick and the elevators at the back of the model moved up. "This is a climb" he said.
He moved the joystick left and right and demonstrated a roll - the little hinged door affairs - the ailerons on the ends of the wings moved up and down in opposition to each other.
He then demonstrated the rudder - the model maker had made a tiny tie-bar with plates welded onto it to mimic the rudder pedals. The instructor exercised this and the little rudder at the back of the model moved. It was a brilliant little thing - all the push rods (presumably) were hidden in the airframe itself, and I commented how well made it was. The instructor said "They're made by a little old guy who builds them all from scratch".
Later, I thought that other flying club's training model aircraft, were not as good as this one. I thought impatiently to myself "I know all this, let's get in the plane!" I'd studied the very basics of flight controls as a plane spotter.
Then he left the little office and asked me to follow him. We walked through the door into the "hallowed passage". Turning left, he opened the external door - which looked just like somebody's front door - and we were outside on the tarmac - just air between us and the planes.
He strode towards one of the Cherokees, all in white with a red stripe from the nose to the tail, and another on the tail fin. Her registration was G-BRJV, and I noted that not only was I going to fly in her, but she was a 'cop', (a brand-new sighting of an aircraft) for me! He climbed up onto the right wing (or should that be starboard?) and opened the door. He said, "As this is your first lesson, I'll do the checks, you just jump into the left hand seat, and don't touch anything! Mind that you only step on the black area." The black area was nearest the cabin and was a strip that looked like someone had tarmacked, or glued black sandpaper on a 30cm part of the wing nearest the cabin side. On the flap was a clear marking saying "No Step" in clear black letters, so I stepped carefully.
There was a handy footstep hanging from somewhere under the wing, I put my foot on this and carefully walked along the 'tarmac' avoiding the white painted part of the wing, and the "No Step" on the flap. The plane had two velour-style seats in the front, and a bench seat in the back. I lowered myself in to the right seat. I hauled myself across the cabin right, passenger or copilot's seat, across into the left hand seat - the captain's seat, for the first time! I savoured the sensation - "I'm in the pilot's seat and I'm going to fly!" I thought to myself with joy.
I noted a little alarmingly that there wasn't a door on this side - only a tiny perspex window that I'd not be able to escape through considering my bulk - Cherokees only have one door to the right. I hadn't noticed this so much in my previous passenger Cherokee flight, as I'd been on the right hand side then, nearest the door. I looked at the myriad of instruments I didn't understand and wondered if I'd ever be able to do so. I felt like that bit in the film "Airplane!" that there were simply acres and acres of instruments that looked purposeful, but meant nowt to me. The only two I understood were the "Artificial Horizon" (as I'd always been led to believe it was called prior to learning to fly) and of course, the clock! Across the panel was a homemade "Dymo-type" strip saying "Golf Bravo Romeo Juliet Victor" to remind students of the phonetics and registration of this aircraft.
Below the panel were what I knew to be the rudder pedals. Above them were big metal plates with "Piper" embossed on them, that I would later learn were the toe brakes. The U shaped control column had a little square panel on it in the middle with the Piper aircraft logo - a stylised P with the word Piper below it, like on a car's steering wheel. To me, it looked exactly as it should like on an airliner.
Sitting above the dashboard (or "instrument panel" as I was later to learn) was a key that looked like the key to a caravan. Hanging below it was a length of string and a wooden globe attached to it. You couldn't inadvertently walk off with these keys or lose them in the sea! On the top of the dashboard ("coaming" as I was later to learn) were two sets of headsets - like I'd seen professional pilots use on TV, both plugged in to connectors on the front panel. They looked like large 'comfy' 80's HiFi headphones, but with an additional microphone boom and looked "the business".
The instructor was outside rattling and moving things, and the control columns went haywire for a few seconds, before returning to normal as the instructor pre-flight checked the aeroplane. What he was doing, I had yet to learn, but it sounded very important. I spotted a massive handbrake-type affair in the middle of the cabin, with a wheel for God knows what next in front of it.
In the middle of the 'dashboard' - as I was to still incorrectly call it for a while - was something else I recognised - a single throttle lever. I'd seen enough airline-disaster movies to know what that was for (but there was nearly always 4 of them in those films - as those planes had four engines)!
I looked around at the rest of the plane, as was amazed at how 'old' everything looked. It was like sitting in an old 60s car or suchlike. The plastic trim in the cabin appeared to be of an older type (Bakelite?) than even my old 1982 VW Polo (which was then 10 years old, and very old as cars went), and the aircraft's plastic trim was rubbed-dirty in places (like all Piper and Cessna training aircraft seem to be). In places, parts of it were cracked, and there was a minor wiff of kerosine, again something I didn't experience in my 82 Polo (cos it used petrol, and anyway not smelly until it got a great deal older).
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The instructor jumped in and closed the door. He instructed me in fastening my seat belt. Again this felt like a poor relation to a car. There was a lap strap very much like one in an airliner, with an additional shoulder strap that attached to it simply with a eye and stud and went to an inertia reel. Even in my old Polo, the rear seat belts had one single inertia reel lap and shoulder strap.
Nevertheless, I immediately accepted the aeroplane's quirks and put on my headset as I was instructed. I enjoyed this! I felt like a real pilot with one of these on. I noted after a few seconds that I couldn't hear anything! Muffled sound came from my instructor, and he indicated that I took it off. "See how sound-deafening it can be? - you need this when we get the engine started!". He flicked a switch and bade me put the headset on again. To my relief I heard his voice clearly this time. "Can you hear me now?" he asked, and I replied in the affirmative. "Right, we'll start the engine", he tweaked a few things and suddenly the stationary propellor burst into life.
I was reminded of my earlier passenger flights, and how I loved the roar of the prop suddenly flinging itself into life. I'm ashamed to say I can do a fairly good impression of it by blowing through half-closed lips, if you've never heard the roar, it's hard to describe, unless I can demonstrate it to you - but, there again, maybe not!
He did some more tweaking, probably explaining what he was doing, but I couldn't have taken it all in. We did some run-up checks, and proceeded to the runway. It was exciting hearing the radio chatter on the "Tower" frequency "one one niner decimal seven" which I'd heard so many times on my air band radio whilst spotting. We waited just to the aero club side of the runway for permission from ATC, as I'd seen lots of light aircraft do when I'd been spotting.
One thing that I absolutely adored about flying from Newcastle, it being a busy Regional Airport was watching the heavy aircraft throwing themselves into the sky or back onto the ground at about the point on the runway that we were waiting at. The only downside being that if there were two or three, then you could be wasting 10 minutes of flying time that you still had to pay for without actually getting into the sky - I often thought later, that perhaps that's why it's called "taxying" - like the expensive car based "public" transport!
At an ATC command I didn't hear we moved onto the runway. About ten years since my last (and first) light aircraft flight (in a Cessna 172) from Newcastle I was back on the runway, and again I was amazed at how wide it looked. We trundled up the runway on the right hand side towards the coast (not that it could be seen) for a little way, then turned right around to face away from the sea. The instructor advanced the throttle and the plane started gathering speed. He probably pointed to instruments and made comments as we accelerated, but I was too enthralled in the imminent flight. I should have been taking note, but I wasn't!
The plane lifted from the runway, and I felt a surge of excitement as once, again, the wheels left the ground and I was flying! I saw the terminal building where I had spent many happy hours looking enviously at any and all aircraft lifting themselves into the sky. Here, I was, above the terminal in the position I had long envied. I wondered if there was anyone I knew watching this particular 'puddly' take off, but most of the spotters were only interested in the jets.
We flew over the white 'threshold' markings to runway 07 known as the 'piano keys' (I wouldn't want to play a piano like that - there's too many flats - or is it sharps?). The instructor turned the plane to the right and we headed out to the north east, and the coastline. Because Newcastle airport is in controlled airspace we had to leave the "zone" to practice the manouveres, and so an approximate 10 minute flight was involved where we couldn't practice anything. After some time, we were flying up the coast over the waves crashing on the beach below. "That's Druridge Bay!" My instructor informed me.
I'd played on that beach with my neighbours Vicky and Richard, when their mother had taken us there for day trips. I remembered their faded red sand sledges and how uncomfortable the dune grass was on bare feet! It all looked so peaceful and serene now below the aircraft - a scene that hadn't changed in centuries. I commented to the instructor how beautiful it seemed, and he replied with the age-old aviation cliche (and I've never forgotten this, or the view, though I'd heard the phrase before then) "Treat your aeroplane, like your woman, get in her and take her to heaven and back 5 times a day!". We both giggled - though I had not experienced the intimate feeling with a woman at that time! Above the unspoilt Northumberland coast, we flew over Coquet Island, which I'd sailed past on the way into Amble Marina in a friend's yacht a few weeks previously, but it looked even more beautiful from the air.
At some point my instructor demonstrated the basic manouveres - the primary and secondary effects of controls. Push the column forward and the nose will descend was the primary effect with a secondary effect, of airspeed increasing. Somewhere in the back of my mind I heard a World War 2 Spitfire in a spiral dive.... Pull the column back, the primary effect is nose up, secondary effect is airspeed decrease. Column to the left, primary effect roll to the left, secondary effect yaw to the left, and so on. He let me fly these manouvres, and it was the first time I'd really been in control, though I'd had a "pretend" go on my second ever flight in Cherokee G-AYMK.
I understood this part of the course very easily. It was all the later bits that were harder! All too soon we were near Morpeth, where I'd fed the ducks and had picnics as a kid with my Granny and Grandad. The instructor was throttling back and we started our long descent back into Newcastle by 'requesting rejoin' for the Newcastle zone. I tried to identify familar landmarks, Blyth Power Station on the coast, and the white tower of St Mary's Lighthouse off the coast of Whitley Bay where I'd cycled to from my home as a kid. Unfortunately it was all a long way off, and I didn't really see anything I really knew well below me. As the wheels squeaked on the tarmac, I got that feeling of disappointment I always get as a passenger that the flight was over - later I'd be relieved when I'd done a good full-stop landing!
He taxied us back to the Aero Club apron, parked up, twiddled a few knobs and controls that I was later to find out were the closing-down checks and shut down the engine. After the propellor stopped, a growling whine remained, slowly getting quieter. I'd learn later this was the gyros winding down.
We de-planed and were walking back, he asked "Well, do you think you'll want to take it up?" regarding whether I wanted to continue to learn to fly - a lot of people only have the 'trial lesson'; and I replied with a very positive "Definitely! - If I can afford it!". He agreed - "Yes, it's an expensive business!" We returned to the club house, where I was presented with a certificate stating that
I had completed a "Memorable first flying lesson" - it sure was! I was keen to book another lesson, but said I'd let them know - as my finances were not terribly fluid at the time (are they ever with a hobby as expensive as flying?).
I got in the car and 'flew' home on a complete high. I got back home (I was living with my parents at the time) and told my Mum I'd just had a flying lesson. She was incredibly relieved that I hadn't told her beforehand, she would have been worried sick - memories of her Honeymoon Caravelle "crash" probably coming back!
As it happened, I called in personally later (another chance to see the planes) and booked another lesson for the next month. There was no turning back now! Now I'd starting learning to fly, I thought "Why should I waste my time collecting aircraft registration numbers as a spotter, when I could be flying them instead?" Indeed, I can now visit airfields and not even notice the numbers or find it hard to try to remember the registrations of aircraft I've seen! It's just no longer as important as getting in the air!
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