Road to Recovery

Chapter 9

  George and Millie really enjoyed their cruise, and when it was finally over they went directly to their new home. They arrived tanned and relaxed at San Miguel del Mar for the very first time, and found a semi-usable airfield, a very nice ‘temporary’ living area, an exceptionally beautiful P51K parked in front of a rusty old hangar, and Marcus - their new P.A., Millie had found him ‘on line’.

  ‘He was perfect’ she had told George, ‘he can do all the things that you don’t want to do around the place’.

  ‘George thought that Marcus was going to be kept very busy’, and both of them were ecstatic, he because of the WW2 fighter, and she because the pool was much larger than she expected (she was still a feet and inches type of girl), and there were also about twenty people waiting to meet them. The Security Guards at the gate would keep out unwanted visitors so these, they correctly assumed, were wanted, and Millie put her foot down; important things first, toy last, so they met with the two people from the Mobile Home Company. George dutifully looked at all the rooms, the pool and the Jacuzzi with Millie, then signed the appropriate forms and they left (the Mobile Home people). Millie, with George sulkily in attendance then talked with three people from the Property Management Company. They would be looking after the cleaning, shopping and cooking for them. In fact two of them were their new cook/housekeepers (‘but George darling if we only have one we would have to give her days off, and think of my nails’), and so thirty minutes after arriving, with all the trivia out of the way, George walked over to his new baby, leaving Millie and Marcus to deal with the rest of moving into their new home. Woman’s work! Now down to the serious stuff.

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  On day five of their three week cruise (that George had booked on-line without telling Millie), the Cruise Liner ‘just happened’ to be passing Florida so George asked Millie, in an off-handed sort of way, if she would mind if he went for a quick spin in a dual control Mustang, that ‘just happened’ to be based close by.

  Sensing that she had been set up she enquired ‘and how long will that take?’

  ‘Oh only about five days’ he replied, and so that evening he went reluctantly on his way (well until he was out of sight of Millie anyway) and did a conversion course on duel control TF51’s at Kissimmee. For five exhilarating days he lived and breathed TF51’s. He spent every available hour either in a classroom, in the hangar, or in the air, and at the end of the fifth day he had his Letter of Authorization in his hand.

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  His new War bird was immaculate, and the other fifteen people were there to get him airborne. First he had to sign some papers (for the aircraft), which got rid of three of them, and then he signed for a large truck load of equipment and spares, another two were on their way. Another scribble, this time for a tanker full of fuel (no half measures here) and another two were gone, quickly followed by the man with the cans (of assorted oils and greases). That left seven people to help him get into the air, more than enough. It took them just over an hour but he then had the best forty minutes of his life, and that included his honeymoon. Three of the remainder had agreed to remain with him for three months, servicing the aircraft and generally sorting out the hangar and workshops. He was putting them up in the local hotel, which unfortunately was a bit run down, but George reckoned that if they didn’t like it then they could jolly well lump it - for the amount of money that he was paying them they were lucky that he didn’t have them sleeping in a tent under the aircrafts wing.

  Over the next few weeks Millie was happy ‘homebuilding’, doing her embroidery, and making new friends. A few of the neighbours, not used to the airfield being used as an airfield, had come over to investigate what the strange noise was all about, conveniently forgetting that they had all been willing to buy their properties at a reduced price because of its close proximity, but now they didn’t want it to reflect in the the selling price, but after some sweet talking and a cuppa, and then another, and another, everything was fine - and George blissfully continued making the noise. He also kept on pestering Millie to go up with him in that new passenger seat, but wisely she kept on repeating ‘when you get more experience, then I will’, so he got more experience, in fact he got quite a lot more experience over the ensuing weeks, and even devised his own aerobatic routine. It not only looked quite impressive from the ground, but it made him feel invincible in the air, so one day, after a particularly good flight he asked Millie to come outside and watch his routine. He, (or rather Marcus) had had an ‘Air Band’ radio fitted into his Toyota (now permanently minus the caravan) and this enabled Millie to chat to him as he taxied out to the end of the runway and take off. He did the display to perfection, and it suitably impressed Millie no end. After landing, as he taxied in, he had an idea, he checked the fuel contents, just about half full, ‘perfect’, so as he deplaned he told the mechanics that he might be going up again soon so to leave the machine outside for a while, and after they had a quick mug of coffee it took him only a few minutes to persuade Millie to go for that quick flight. As they walked hand in hand back to the aircraft I was boarding my 727 in New York, and Millie was clutching her brand new ‘bone dome’, and she was verily excited. He prised her into the rear seat and strapped her in. After connecting her intercom lead he quickly clambered into the front seat and prepared himself, and the Mustang for flight, but when he was ready to start the mighty Packard Merlin there was no sign of the mechanics, so against all the rules he started the engine, ‘that will bring them out’ he thought, and it did, at the run. First out was the junior mechanic, who he signalled to remove the chocks, and as he started to taxi out the senior mechanic (who must have been taking a comfort break) came out of the hangar, overalls around his ankles, frantically waving his arms. George was in no mood for an argument so he continued to taxi out to the end of the runway, but as he lined up for take-off the senior mechanic came onto the radio; and he was not a very happy little bunny.

  ‘There was no one on the fire extinguisher, I haven’t finished ‘pre-flighting’ the aircraft, .......’, halfway through the tirade George switched off the radio, he was in a happy mood and no one was going to spoil it. He had Millie on board and he was really going to impress her. ‘.......although I have refuelled her, and I hope that you have taken out the ballast weights from under the passenger seat’. The mechanic got no reply, he had tried his best, but after all it was George’s aircraft so the three of them stood watching as the sleek machine gracefully lifted off from the runway.

  Once airborne George set the Mustang up for the display routine, and he started it with a flourish. Millie was laughing and screaming alternately, she was having a ball, and George was really pleased that Millie was happy, but at the back of his mind he sensed that something was not feeling quite right, ‘it must be Millie’s extra weight’ he thought. As he came in for the grand finale they were inverted (upside down) and he eased the stick back slightly, and they started plummeting towards the ground in a half loop. He had done this manoeuvre multitudinous times before, and from the ground it was always spectacular to watch, especially when he came out of the bottom of the loop at what seemed like (but really wasn’t) feet from the ground, and roared off out to sea. George had mentally made allowances for Millie’s extra weight, and so started the manoeuvre slightly higher than usual, but half way down, and with the control column getting closer to his stomach George had a thought, ‘the ballast weights – damn’ (or words to that effect), not too big a problem he thought, the fuel tanks were only half full, ‘that would more than compensate’. He quickly glanced down at the fuel gauge, and there it was where it should be, only it was reading almost full - ‘oops’ (again ‘or words to that effect’). As he struggled to pull the stick back into his spine, the now not quite so nimble fighter slowly started to ease out of its dive, and agonisingly slowly it levelled out, this time with the propeller tips quite literally just a few feet above the ground, and then the beautiful fighter started to wall
ow about sickeningly; its centre of gravity was way out of limits. With the extra weight, and the increased ‘g’ force, it made the Mustang virtually un-flyable. Virtually, but not totally, and somehow George managed to claw the nose of the aircraft up slightly, and it started to climb, not a lot, but a little.

  In the middle of the airfield was a rusty old radio mast. It should have been painted with bright red and white bands to bring it to the attention of passing pilots, and about two metres shorter, for George and Millie’s sake. The gleaming P51K, with two very lovely people on board careered into the top of the mast, and it was instantly turned into a flaming ball of junk.

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