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One of the more frightening exercises was called ‘restarting in flight’. It involved switching off the engine at 2000 feet, usually over the sea, and putting the plane into a dive so that the speed of the air would turn the prop and so start the engine. The first time we had to do this I was assured that it usually worked!
But more terrifying by far was my first solo flight. Taking off into the wind was a doddle, but landing was hell! Of course in a plane as light as a Tiger Moth it is essential to land into the wind, and inevitably, one gusty day, I got it wrong, touched down cross wind and dug one wing-tip into the ground. It’s called ‘doing a ground loop’, and one feels as a fly must feel lying on its back in its death throes.
They patched the plane up, of course, and had it flying again next day. But it was politely explained to me that while they had unlimited would-be pilots, they had very few aircraft.
Now, sixty years later, my worst nightmare has me sitting comfortably in a crowded 747 when suddenly a voice over the intercom says “Help! Can anyone here fly an aeroplane?”