THE STRAYED FLEDGLING or SAVED BY A SMELL By Major J.K. MATHEW, late IRISH GUARDS

Discussion in 'The Brigade of Guards' started by dbf, Aug 26, 2013.

  1. dbf

    dbf Moderatrix MOD


    From Irish Guards Journal, 1959:
    THE STRAYED FLEDGLING or SAVED BY A SMELL
    A TRUE STORY
    By Major J.K. MATHEW, late IRISH GUARDS


    One day during the winter of 1935/36, when serving with the 1st Battalion at Chelsea, *Brian O'Neill asked me to fly him up to Suffolk, as he had been invited to spend the week-end at Euston for some shooting on the ducal estate. I gladly consented. At Heston airport the Household Brigade club plane was being overhauled, so I had to hire an old open two-seater biplane which, once we were airborne, turned out to have a cruising speed in the air of only seventy m.p.h.

    After a pleasant flight, I landed the plane at Mildenhall R.A.F. aerodrome and said good-bye to Brian with his bag and guncase. The sergeant on duty mentioned that it was forbidden to land at Royal Air Force stations without permission and I had a sudden vision of being held a virtual prisoner, but after I had apologised and said that we were both serving army officers, he said no more beyond "Sign your name in this book please, sir." The aerodrome seemed deserted as I took off again and climbed to three thousand feet, setting course against a moderate wind for Heston.

    After about three-quarter of an hour's flying alone over the pleasant East Anglian countryside, the clear light of what had been a sunny, dry and cold winter's afternoon began to fade almost before I noticed it. Progress had been very slow. I wondered why the scattered groups of houses indicating the outlying fringe of London had not yet shown up. I was now uncertain whether i was on the correct course. Being over country I very seldom crossed by air, I had not recognised any landmarks in the last fifteen minutes. The headwind must have increased in velocity as the return journey was taking longer than I had estimated. It was becoming increasingly difficult to read the compass and other instruments. I now had to trust to my instinct for keeping on course. The daylight was fast fading and dusk enveloping the earth below. Looking down over the side of the cockpit I saw lights and thought I must now be over the northern outskirts of London. It was now too dark to read the compass and I vainly searched the front and sides of the instrument panel for electric switches. There were no navigation lights on the plane, so probably no others, I thought.

    I flew on, hoping that the red AW cipher neon sign of Heston airport would surely soon show up. But no, nothing but darkness and a few scattered lights that soon gave way to inky blackness ... I must be over open country now. Where was I? Now I felt really lost, as only one who has been alone at night in the sky without radio and uncertain of his position can feel. Here was I, flying on to an unknown destination. The fuel would not last for ever. What was the best thing to do? As I contemplated those inky black patches down below I thought, perhaps, I might attempt a crash landing in one of them before the fuel ran out. Maybe they were fields in the flat valley of the Thames.

    I was thinking thus and feeling quite desperate, ready to arrive back on 'terra firma' at almost any cost to myself or the plane - I had no such thing as a parachute - when, quite suddenly, I saw below me slightly to the left, a winding silvery streak, the moonlight brilliantly reflected from it.

    Why, of course, it was the Thames, the good old River Thames. Now I was fairly safe, thank God. One thing I had not noticed before was that the moon had risen and was just starting to shed its kindly light on the dark earth below. I was thankful for its light and gladly throttling back the engine, glided down towards the river.

    I was quite low over the ground when a curious smell began to invade the cockpit. It was the smell of linoleum, I realised ... I must be over Staines, where there was a linoleum factory which one always smelt when passing through the town. Nothing to do now but turn eastward and fly down river towards London. As I banked in a left-hand turn, I saw the town a few hundred feet below and felt reassured.

    After flying along the river for about half a minute I saw a brilliant string of lights away to my left. Almost instinctively I turned towards them in a manner of a moth at night attracted by a bright lamp. Nosing the plane down even lower, I reached the lights and flew above them at some hundred feet. One could see the brilliantly-lit filling stations on the road below. It was surely the Great West Road. Now it would be easy, I thought and, as if to reward me for my patience, there appeared away to the north, dimly blinking its red cipher, the airport sign. With rejoicing heart I flew towards it and circled the aerodrome.

    The boundary lights then blinked on. At least someone had heard me. My ordeal was not yet over as I must land the plane, my first attempt at a night landing also. With such a slow old machine it should not be too difficult. Another circuit and I throttled back. Gliding smoothly towards the boundary lights, I could dimly see the ground approaching when there was a terrific bump and the whole plane leaped into the air, to again bump down and roll up to an almost complete standstill. With mixed feelings of guilt and relief I taxied over to the main hangar and climbed out.

    As my feet touched the ground I noticed that the sky seemed somehow much lighter than it had been up in the air. I felt inwardly ashamed and my shame was increased when the mechanic on duty, who seemed quite unconcerned, remarked to me, "We was wondering wot 'ad 'appened to you ... someone 'eard a plane circling so the boundary lights was put on!" How little did he know what had been my feelings during the last half-hour, flying alone in a darkening sky, unable to read the compass or airspeed indicator, without a radio or navigation lights, lost to the world below me. No one else seemed interested, the airport buildings were deserted. I was not bothered for landing after dark without navigation lights at a London airport, an incident that would not be treated lightly today. In one of those dark patches tonight, the floodlights of London Airport enable the transatlantic airplanes to land on long runways. Then there was a grass field with one hangar.

    As I sadly drove back to the West End up the same Great West Road that had so recently been my guiding light, i remembered the words printed in the booklet issued with the annual renewal of the amateur pilot's licence in the section of 'famous last words': "My Gawd ... it's getting dark."

    I have never forgotten them.


    From Great Britain, Royal Aero Club Aviators’ Certificates, 1910-1950
    Screen shot 2013-08-26 at 22.14.10.png


    Major James Knox Mathew, MBE, born 17 July 1906, London, died aged 79 on 6th July 1986 and was survived by his widow Marianne Mathew.


    [hr]

    *Brian O'Neill, Adjutant 1st Battalion Irish Guards, was killed in action onboard the Chrobry on 14th May 1940 during the campaign in Norway, and is remembered on the Brookwood Memorial.
    %5Burl="http://www.cwgc.org/find-war-dead/casualty/2147490/"]http://www.cwgc.org/find-war-dead/casualty/2147490/[/URL]


    [sharedmedia=gallery:images:3315]
    Photograph taken by Capt H.H. MAXWELL on the departure of the 1st Battalion from Wellington Barracks on 10th April, 1940, en route to Norway.
    Capt. B. O’NEILL, Lt-Col. W.D. Faulkner, M.C., Major C.L.J. BOWEN, Capt. T.H.H. GRAYSON.


    [sharedmedia=gallery:images:3409]
    HMT Chrobry

    [sharedmedia=gallery:images:3406]
    Brookwood Memorial Unveiling
     
    Last edited: Aug 28, 2021
  2. von Poop

    von Poop Adaministrator Admin

    I'm now trying to remember what real Linoleum smells like.
    Linseed rings a bell?
     
  3. dbf

    dbf Moderatrix MOD

    http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heston_Aerodrome
    [​IMG]
    Heston Aerodrome July 1935, central buildings, looking east

    http://www.theislandwiki.org/index.php/Heston
    http://www.britainfromabove.org.uk/asearch?search=heston aerodrome
    Screen shot 2013-08-27 at 10.19.16.png
    Screen shot 2013-08-27 at 10.20.00.png
     
  4. dbf

    dbf Moderatrix MOD

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