Volume 16 No 1 Feb 1965.pdf - Lakes Gliding Club

pimpled with straw bales, until I nearlyran down the glider, neatly deriggedand minus Hanno.I had visions of having to search forhim in every house in MOTeton when,to my relief, he materialised out of thedark, accompanied by a complete familyof enthusiastic ground crew.Hometrek uneventful-apart from asick distributor. Have you ever tried toborrow a screwdriver at two o'clock inthe morning? And then had to listen tothe owner's life history as well?Another retrieve, somewhere near Kettering.Hanno hadn't succeeded in enticingan extra crew, and strode purposefullydown a side str~t in search of anycitizen stupid enough to be interested. Ileaned against the parked trailer andsmiled sweetly at a couple of gentlemenwhiling away those quiet momentsbefore tea, digging in their front gardens.Ten minutes later Hanno returned,empty handed. I and my four stalwartaides were waiting, ready and eager.Inaccessible-maunderings-of-fa rm-lanesaway 999 nestled cosily agaiQst a hedge,her nose brushing a stout post. Hannoconceded that he'd had a little braketrouble. I didn't like to enouire further.My preliminary trammg now over, Iwas ready to tackle anything. Of course,Manna may not have considered me expertenough to crew in a competition,but willing crew are hard to come by.Hanno, already having achieved aname for himself, made me aware that,in the atmosphere of punditry surroundingthe Regionals, anly a taken·forgrantedefficiency would be tolerated.A run to Edgehill started the ball rolling.My feeling of Importance as I easedthe trailer down the slope from the30L.G.C. clubhouse was quickly dissipatedby my almost phenomenal lack of skillbacking the blasted contraption out of anarrow lane near Leighton, which turnedout to be a dead-end. It's bad enoughbacking a car, but when you have towork out the seeming illogicality ofturning the car in the opposite directionto where you want to go, down a lanethe corners of which you can't see round,the whole spiced with urgency becauseyour pilot's last radioed message was ablurred mumble, the blow to one's conceitis almost traumatic. Ten minutes ofterrified fumbling deflated my ego almostbeyond repair.It's taken me years to get over beingfearful of a telephone, and the radiodid nothing to ease my pains. I couldnever remember whether I'd twiddled allthe necessary knobs, and anyway,Hanno's car transmitter didn't work verywell.Things finally under semi-control againand Hanno obviously well on his way,I headed for Buckingham, stopping onthe outskirts for petrol. Wrapped inapathy, the garage attendant stood guidingthe glugging hose into the tank. Thetrailer apparently impressed him not atall-but Hanno, transmitting clear as abell, did. "999 to Mobile. 999 to Mobile.Am at Finmere. Four thousand andclimbing. Over."The attenrlant's eyes bugged slowly.Gratified by his attention, I rose to theoccasion with the aplomb of 007. Knowin",full well that Hanno couldn't hearme, I picked up the mike. "Mobile to999. Am reading you loud and clear.Roger and out."The attendant's jaw sagged gently tosnag on his Adam's apple. I picked myreceipt out of his limp palm. "KeeD the:~:·::·:.r~:·:;:·:--·-···· .,... "-