Tour De Headcorn, Uk 

	Tony and the Sargeant Family at Goudhurst. That’s a Jaguar ‘Kougar.’ Photo courtesy The Mary
	Tony and Carl go fly in the Robin at Lamberhurst Field. Photo courtesy The Mary
	A Druine D3 Turbulent is trundled out as Chris Bellhouse positions his Harvard for a run-up at Headcorn, Kent.
	The cute little VW powered Flitzer.
	The Mary meets The Peter Kynsey, show pilot extra-ordinaire by his Bucker Jungmann at the Tiger Club.
	Peter sets off in the Bucker B 131 for his remarkable air display, just for us!
	The Turbulent at the Fuel Shed. Note the overhung hoses.
	A dapper illustrator John Batchelor researching specs aboard a carrier.  Photo courtesy  www.johnbatchelor.com
	At Old Warden old Copaguys gotta take work where they find it. Photo courtesy John Wilkinson
	Fifty years on! Tony is 2nd from the left, center, behind David. Photo courtesy The Mary

Leaving Heathrow in a strange rental car is confusing, and so, instead of heading southeast around London toward Kent, where our airplane friends, the Sargeants, were expecting us, we found ourselves going the wrong way on the M25, lost in Slough, and closing relentlessly in on Windsor Castle.

Clawing our way back to the motorway eastbound, we found ourselves formating behind a Land Rover sporting an orange flashing light, like the safety car in some crazy English version of private car racing. Suddenly it pulled over, and everyone sped off! Apparently this is the latest motorway ‘traffic calming’ procedure, to alleviate ‘queuing.’

Escaping the system toward Tonbridge Wells, we stopped at a roadside shed for a nice cuppa tea, and a scrumptious toasted bacon and egg ‘sarny.’

At Goudhurst, our friend Janet made us comfortable and next day whisked us off via her surprisingly agile Bentley 8, for a flight with son Carl in his Robin. Then on to Headcorn, aka Lashenden, to explore the exotic goodies of the Tiger Club.

One chap was pushing a little Turbulent about, Chris Bellhouse ran up his big Harvard, and the quaint little Flitzer biplane delighted us.

Janet introduced us to Peter Kynsey, a popular UK show pilot, well known as display pilot of Carolyn Grace’s 2-place Spitfire! He pulled out his Bucker Jungmann, and put on a fabulous acrobatic show just for us. Lots of negative stuff, rolling 360’s, and other wowwies. Incredible!

Rural Headcorn is a fascinating place, with a small museum, lots of vintage planes, comfy clubrooms, and friendly people. Well worth a visit for the enthusiast.

For instance, tucked in the huge hangar was a rather scruffy single place jet homebuilt whatever. There must have been a most appalling racket in the tiny cockpit. They were quite popular with some folk in the mid-forties, and a couple came up our way after real pilots had been dispensed with!

MARY’S FRIEND JOHN

In early spring, a Brit bloke named David, emailed about a Canada NATO pilot re-union in July, at Stevenage, just north of London. There’d be a dinner, a garden party, a Barbeque, and an afternoon at Old Warden’s vintage flying display. There’d be people we’d not seen in 50 years.

Reluctantly leaving Janet’s comfy hospitality, we drove to Portsmouth to see a nephew, and look at Nelson’s Victory, then further west to Wimborne Minster to see a customer from Mary’s fish-mongering days.

John Batchelor was delighted to see us, gave us tea, and enthusiastically showed off his studio where he creates the fabulous cutaway art of planes and vehicles for which he is rightly celebrated. His webpage is www.johnbatchelor.com

He and a friend, Christopher Chant, recently completed a wonderful coffee table book, ‘A Century of Triumph’ endorsed by the National Aviation Hall of Fame, as a complete, informative, and colourful history of aviation.

John kindly gave us a copy! In the book, I was particularly pleased to find a cutaway of the early Vampire fighter, which I flew briefly with the RAF in 1954. Being a mere teenager at the time, and after flying the magnificent T-33 in Canada, I found it a bit archaic. But 52 years on, I realize the privilege to have flown in a seat of history. Heck, in those days we thought Spitfires were just old planes!

We motored on, stymied by crowds for the Henley Regatta, and could find no place to stay. Thankfully, a B & B keeper directed us to the excellent Hunt Hotel at Leighton Buzzard, just past the famous Great Train Robbery rail bridge. Hostess, Sandra, recognized our distress, and fussed over us like wanderers lost in the desert.

DAVID’S NATO REUNION 

Next evening we found the Roebuck Inn, Stevenage, brimming with ex NATO pilot trainees from as far afield as Switzerland, New Zealand, and even Canada! What a lot of talk talk! All had done well in life, and it was quite a jolly gathering. There were bankers and airline pilots, politicians and retired BBC directors, a retired fishmonger and an ex Copaguy.

It was terribly hot, for which the Brits are not exactly prepared, so air-conditioning is achieved by prying open a window and hope for a breeze. Not a perfect system.

‘David’ had arranged a grand luncheon for Sat noon, which sort of emulated a mess dinner. There were some speeches and stuff, and a well deserved toast to David for his efforts.

We were all to his place that evening for a delightful garden party, after which we followed him thru winding country lanes to a barbeque at the excellent facilities at Knebworth House. We watched a lot of old movies of flying Harvards and T-Birds in the fifties, and the estate’s gamekeeper entertained us with a monologue.

We were surprised to find that our charming host was actually Lord of Knebworth, and this his ancestral home! And so he gave us a mini grand tour, which was grand indeed. Now in the National Trust, Knebworth runs as a business, with a Dinosaur Park, miniature railway, and is a regular venue for huge rock concerts. He was very proud of the renovations, especially replacement of explicit Gargoyles that fell from the turrets. Which explained little signs in the parking lot warning, ”Beware of falling masonry.”

Next day, at Shuttleworth, M’lord David had kindly arranged a private area with awnings, light lunch and chairs, so we oldies could comfortably watch Old Warden’s vintage flying display.

Crowds of spectators showed up, many historic airplanes flew about. A Harvard and a T-33 put on wonderful displays especially for us, creating a lot of barely suppressed emotion. One arthritic old chap in a wheelchair tearfully whispered, “I can’t believe I used to do that!” And sheesh, I was about the oldest there!

Few of these elderly gentlemen flew again after the Air Force, but they are still pilots, and the yearning showed as their old chargers flashed through the Bedfordshire sky.

After the show, Lady Chryssie turned up in a modest little pickup truck, and everyone pitched in to help her and Milord dismantle the tents and load up the plastic chairs. We’d all had such a wonderful time, difficult to put in words. “Thank you so much, David!” seemed so inadequate. Sigh.

 THE HAMMONDS OF HARDWICK…

So the crowd thinned, we bullied our trusty Ford Focus into the dusty line of cars and motored east for Suffolk, and the land of Eye, to seek our friends Maurice and Diane Hammond - Harvard and Warbird enthusiasts from way back.

In Eye we drove hither and thither seeking their house, before finally giving up and asking a lady. After some puzzlement she burst out, “Oh! You mean the house that burnt! It’s the pink house down on the right.” So there we went. No-one was home, but things looked okay.

Soon we were ushered in to a warm welcome, a cup of tea, a nice room and talked ‘stuff’ into the night. Next day we toured the machine shops, nestled behind the house. You’d never guess that behind this modest home, Merlins are rebuilt, a new P-51 is taking shape, and you can order a new, certified, Hawker Hurricane airframe! Boggles the mind.

Maurice and his elves are busy fellows! They even make bits for the housing industry.

Even though huge B-24 Liberators flew there in WW 2, finding Hardwick is not easy, so we followed daughter Leah. We found Maurice’s Hangar sort off to the side, by a big grass strip.

It’s all very charming. A little Museum in the old camp buildings remembers the crews of the 93rd Bomber Group USAF.

Maurice pulled his planes out, C-172, Auster, Stearman, Harvard, and his magnificent P-51 Janie. There’s a bit of argy-bargy slotting the big prop sideways under the door lintel. Diane sort of screws it out.

A TEXAN TO GO

Would I like a ride? In the front seat of the Harvard, well actually a T-6D. Being of American descent, starting was a bit different to Bessy. But soon off we went. “See that little square copse of trees? That’s how you find your way back!”

There were ten thousand little copses of trees. Phew! Maurice gave me a thorough checkout. We zoomed and rolled, looked at the forbidden zoned Big Ball power station on the coast, came back and landed for a welcome chicken barbeque with all his family and crew.

Maurice said to take Mary for a sightsee along the coast, reminding me to avoid the Big Ball. What a grand flight. The English countryside is fascinating. The North Sea was a wonderful azure blue. Fantastic! We flew down the coast from Lowestoft, staying well clear of the Big Ball, down around historic Felixstowe, back up via Ipswich.

Couldn’t find the field, regardless of little square clumps of trees. Thank God for GPS. Even if you can’t work it.

I turned it on and could see where the coast was. Just kept turning till the little white line triggered the word HARDWICK, and it was a doddle from then on. Just a bit of a bump over the midfield cart track after landing. Our grins actually hurt as we taxied in.

NORTH TO SHETLAND…

That was the aviation highlight of our trip, and next day, we headed north to visit relatives near Lincoln and Hull. We pressed on north, popping in to Linley field at Leven, but they were locking up for the day.

On to a seaside favourite, Filey, for a couple of nights then on to Grosmont, near Whitby on the Yorkshire Moors, for a nostalgic ride on the old steam train to Goatland, aka ‘Aidensfield’ of TV’s Heartbeat fame. Mary loves steam engines. She was a teenage draftsman at a locomotive factory in the Old Country.

Old NATO friend John Wilkinson, a retired BBC guy, who delivers corporate type planes round the world for something to do, invited us to his place near Newcastle for dinner, and gave us the keys to the family bungalow at Beadnell, a delightful coastal town just south of Holy Island, where we thankfully crashed out for a couple of days. Then, on to Scotland and the Shetland Isles, to see my sister Su.

It was foggy, the flight was cancelled so they put us on the ferry, a 14 hour trip, after the bus ride to Aberdeen, plus waiting for mandatory ferry cleaning etc. etc. But the voyage was excellent. Very comfy, nice people and great food.

Su took us to Lerwick for fish and chips, and I phoned the local ATCs to find someone on the Island with a small plane. There was one guy! Just happened to be in the office at Tingwall, so we drove up to see him.

Marshall Wishart was a pilot for Loganair, the local get about commuter fleet. He proudly showed us his immaculate RV 4, which he built with some difficulty, as everything, including inspections, had to come from ‘The Mainland’.

 He took us to see his Dad, Allan in Lerwick, who was well along building a Kit Fox. Allan was pleased as punch to meet us. He’d just learned to fly at 63 and chattered on full of enthusiasm, as, other than his son, there was no one on Shetland to talk fun flying with. We were a godsend!

And flying wise, that was about it. The flight back to Edinburgh was spectacular, south from the Shetlands, by the famous Fair Isles, the Orkneys, and across Scotland. Due to fog the flight was an hour late, which made our onward connections rather fraught. But all went well, and 15 Air Canada hours later, we were home. Fly safe!

Tony & The Mary are retired Copaguys living in Vancouver.