The Long Mynd, Shropshire, 1959: A Gliding Adventure.
Created | Updated May 26, 2011
The man they called Jack, the club's resident comedian, strolled towards me, a smile all over his face:
‘‘ave you ever glid before, young fella?’
‘Glid?’’
‘Yep, Glided? Been up in a glider!'
I couldn’t reply. Helpless with laughter, I bent forward to try to recover my composure.
‘I see we’ve got a right one here!’ I blurted out between convulsions.
‘One ear?’ he came back with, determined that I should be rendered unfit to fly.
‘What d’you think my name is, Van Gough?’
With that, he slapped me on the back, grabbed my upper arm and practically dragged me to the launching point.
The Slingsby T21b, a two-seat trainer, was leaning to port, resting on a wing-tip, awaiting the next venture into its true element, the clean, clear blue morning sky above the dramatically undulating mountain range that is the Long Mynd; situated on the English-Welsh border in Church Stretton; one of the most beautiful regions of Britain.
‘No’.
‘No?’, Jack retorted, ‘whatya mean, no?'
‘No, I’ve never been in a glider before’.
‘Well, why didn’t you say so?’
With this I just smiled and he laughed out loud. Then turning 360 degrees on his heels he scanned the sky with the eyes of an expert aviator. ‘Not many thermals about this morning, rather too clear for good soaring. One or two young ones over to the east there, look yonder’ He pointed a straight arm at a few small white fluffy clouds, probably about 2 miles distant.
‘C’mon then,’ he urged, ‘let’s give you your first taste of real flying’.
I watched him climb into the tiny cockpit as he told me to be careful not to kick the skin of the craft as I got in. He showed me how to adjust the safety belt to my own comfort, but tight enough to be effective. Then it was time to go through the cockpit check and the recognized verbal, and manual or hand signals and those flashed from the Aldis lamp situated on the enclosed cabin cable winch, set on a slight rise about 1 mile to the east. The plexiglass canopy was then secured over the cockpit, and Jack opened a tiny slide window to provide some ventilation.
Jack sat to my left and, putting his forefinger up to indicate that he wanted the two ground duty club members to prepare for launch, he took firm hold of a yellow wooden handle and pulled it towards him. The first man took the end of the cable and knelt down to connect it to the underside of the streamlined nose of the aircraft, he then stood up and put 1 finger up, whereupon Jack let the handle go and it flew back to its normal position. The cable man then rattled it in the locked loop to verify it secure. Jack put 2 fingers up to signal the second man to lift the port wing and to balance the craft on its 1 central undercart wheel and landing skid. These gliders are so finely balanced that a small boy could lift the wing and hold it easily.
Then, the pilot that he most assuredly was, he shouted loudly: ‘Take up slack’. The first ground attendant flashed a hand-held Aldis at the distant winch, which answered with 1 flash, and I saw the curled up cable slowly straighten until there was a very slight tug, and then stop. At this, Jack gave the order ‘All out’.
A double flash from the winch indicated 'message received' and we saw the cable instantly convulse with tension; just as I did!
We started slowly, then, with one or two jerking movements as the winch shifted up its gears, we were off the ground after about 60 to 80 feet, and then rapidly, steeply climbing, with the groaning noise of the cable in its locking-ring, complaining at its own weight. I was both amazed and frightened at the thought of all that weight of 1 mile of plaited cabling pulling on the slender and thin wood and fabric wings, or sails as they are sometimes called. They are ,however, surprisingly strong and take their punishment easily.
Jack was now shouting above the whistling slipstream as we began to lose the climb. ‘We’re almost at the top!’, he said, ‘on my cue, push your stick gently forward to take the weight off the cable, do it......now!’ I pushed forward and the nose quickly pointed downwards, the tail rising behind us. At this angle, Jack pulled hard on the cable release handle. As it fell away the T21b's nose rose instantly, dramatically reassuming its climbing angle; as if celebrating its release from captivity. Jack compensated with a deft and measured amount of forward push on the joystick to bring us straight and level.
‘Like that ride, did you!’
‘Yes, but a bit hairy the first time out!’
‘Yep. I remember!’
Now he was searching the entire sky. I sensed it to be his true element, as well as the sailplane’s. ‘There, over there look!’ He pointed to a dozen or so gulls turning, dipping, soaring, and climbing , all in the same clockwise circle. ‘Let’s go for it m’lad, she’s yours, take the stick. Gently to the right and forward, steady now, were losing speed so forward a bit more, only a bit! And a little right rudder to stop any yawing. We don't need to dive into speed; neither do we wish to stall for lack of it!
‘Feel that? That’s the bubbles of warm air vibrating under the wings; great isn’t it! Just like Champagne!
Turn into the circle with the gulls, they’ll larn you a thing or two about soaring flight, It’ll make a good pilot of you in no time at all. I’ll make one of you, or my name isn’t Jack Minshall.
Right, let me have her and I’ll give you the thermal ride of your life!
The thing to remember here is that, as you bank starboard into the updraught of a thermal, the centrifugal force pushes your right wing upwards, in an attempt to fling you out of its vortex. You have to force it back down to maintain the banking turn, but it must be a finely tuned force, with some little right rudder, so as not to put excessive strain on the airframe. Savvy?’
‘Yes. There’s a lot to learn in gliding isn’t there. Much more complicated and skilful than I had imagined’
‘I should say so, young scallywag!’
I was able, now, to spend some time looking down at the village of Church Stretton and the ribbon of A49 stretching for miles north to south. Also at the Long Mountain, on the east side of the road, almost the twin of the Mynd, and the fabled Wenlock-Edge of its native poet A.E. Housman. Southward I could see the town of Ludlow with its ancient castle.
The Mynd fell away some 1500 feet into the valley. The climb by vehicle was via a very narrow single track road with occasional passing places. Only black and white painted stumps indicated the edge of the steep fall. Looking down to starboard there was a deep and very steep gorge, well vegetated with grass and gorse.
After about half an hour or so of making like an eagle within 2 or 3 thermals we started to lose height,the thermals almost exhausted of their energy and now showing as much larger fluffy clouds. Some looked a little thundery.
‘We’ll turn nothwards now young Ron and position ourselves to glide into home base’. At the end of the northward leg, as we banked back southwards to land into the headwind he began a running commentary:
'The trick here is to land at the first attempt, one cannot open a throttle and come round for a second approach. Neither can one rely on the altimeter below about 500 feet, it is not technically accurate enough to give a reliable height for landing purposes'.
I could see the lighter strip of green that was the short cut grass of the club’s landing area about 2 miles distant. Jack kept his eyes on that strip, as well as glancing at the air-speed indicator and artificial horizon instruments, also on the Cosim Variometer or rate of climb and fall indicator and the side-slip instruments, all of which contribute to a good safe landing attitude and an optimum speed. Not too fast,and not dangerously slow to cause a stall with no height to recover and hit the ground nose down vertically. (Gulp!)
I watched his handling of the controls and interpretation of the instruments; it was an education in true airmanship by any standards.
We were now only 5 or 6 hundred yards from touchdown and, being nearer the ground, it seemed to be rushing under us at about 50 to 60 mph.
Jack opened the spoilers or airbrakes; two over and two under the mainplane, which interrupt the smooth flow of air over the wings and create a degree of turbulence, the consequential drag slowing us to the appropriate landing speed. Then came the softest of bumps without a single bounce and we ran along the grass runway to a gentle halt. The aircraft seemed to balance itself for some time on its single wheel before settling gently back onto its port wingtip; and silence reigned once more, after the long constant rush of the wind in my ears, and its ghost for some time afterwards.
‘Did you enjoy your flight this morning?’
Dr.Gregg had asked me to help him rig his beautiful Slingsby Skylark 3, a single seat high performance aerobatic glider in blue and gold. ‘Yes thanks Doctor, it was great!’
‘It would be, you were flown by a former Spitfire pilot. He also flew commercially for a number of years. He’s our resident aeronautical engineer.The club would be lost without his expertise.'
