20.12.2009, 05:59
With the throttle lever moved to the 'full' position the engine picked up noise, a harsh roar and a buffetting backwash from the propellor. The biplane began to roll forward. It wobbled from side to side on the rough grass, bumping around and feeling a little unsteady. As it gained speed the controls felt more effective, and in particular the rudder came alive. To my great relief this was a forgiving aeroplane. Responsive but not overly sensitive. At first Valera had me performing circuits and bumps. The biplane was stable and an eagre flying machine, and whilst I couldn't describe it as a joy to fly, it certainly wasn't a chore.
It was either the seventh or eighth approach when I saw the red flare shoot up. I had been warned off from landing. Looking over side I saw no reason for such a warning. Following Valera's shouts and insistent gestures we flew to another landing strip some miles southeast, landing at the site of an abandoned country house.
Once the engine had been cut and it rattled to a halt, the silence was conspicuous. I'd become accustomed to the noise and after cutting the engine there was that odd sensation of pressure on the ears.
According to Valera, it looked as if the squadron was moving to this site and that may well have been the reason for the red flare. That annoyed me. I had no choice but to hope that Harry would pack my gear, and given he was sleeping off a bottle of booze I didn't hold out much hope.
Before long the Mosca's started arriving. I watched them approach, noting the tail up attitude that brought them in on the mainwheels, sometimes bouncing gently into the air again or drifting along barely above the grass, and the frantic rudder work was obvious.
My thoughts were disturbed by Valera. He ushered me toward the nearest Mosca which had rolled to a halt some yards from where the biplane was parked. The pilot jumped out of the cockpit and off the wing, looking askance at us as he removed his helmet. Valera gave him instructions which pleased the man not one bit, but ultimately he stood to attention and nodded before he walked away with a severe case of disapproval.
Valera had me step into the aeroplane. The cockpit was roomier than the snug open top suggested. Thanks to the barrel shaped fuselage, I was able to sit inside quite comfortably. It had a similar crude simplicity to the biplane. There was little to control other than the bare essentials.
"Maňana... You fly Mosca, si?.. Aha! Now, you listen? You have mucho speed when you land... You should not land with mucho speed in Mosca. Always keep wings level, or it turn. Always a Mosca turn, left, right, always want to spin around on wheels. Very short avione, si? So... Always mucho rudder. Mucho rudder! Fly by your trousers, si? Comprend
It was either the seventh or eighth approach when I saw the red flare shoot up. I had been warned off from landing. Looking over side I saw no reason for such a warning. Following Valera's shouts and insistent gestures we flew to another landing strip some miles southeast, landing at the site of an abandoned country house.
Once the engine had been cut and it rattled to a halt, the silence was conspicuous. I'd become accustomed to the noise and after cutting the engine there was that odd sensation of pressure on the ears.
According to Valera, it looked as if the squadron was moving to this site and that may well have been the reason for the red flare. That annoyed me. I had no choice but to hope that Harry would pack my gear, and given he was sleeping off a bottle of booze I didn't hold out much hope.
Before long the Mosca's started arriving. I watched them approach, noting the tail up attitude that brought them in on the mainwheels, sometimes bouncing gently into the air again or drifting along barely above the grass, and the frantic rudder work was obvious.
My thoughts were disturbed by Valera. He ushered me toward the nearest Mosca which had rolled to a halt some yards from where the biplane was parked. The pilot jumped out of the cockpit and off the wing, looking askance at us as he removed his helmet. Valera gave him instructions which pleased the man not one bit, but ultimately he stood to attention and nodded before he walked away with a severe case of disapproval.
Valera had me step into the aeroplane. The cockpit was roomier than the snug open top suggested. Thanks to the barrel shaped fuselage, I was able to sit inside quite comfortably. It had a similar crude simplicity to the biplane. There was little to control other than the bare essentials.
"Maňana... You fly Mosca, si?.. Aha! Now, you listen? You have mucho speed when you land... You should not land with mucho speed in Mosca. Always keep wings level, or it turn. Always a Mosca turn, left, right, always want to spin around on wheels. Very short avione, si? So... Always mucho rudder. Mucho rudder! Fly by your trousers, si? Comprend