We were totting up the number of times Laura, who is 9, has flown in a plane. I think we worked out that, counting each way as a separate trip, she's done it 16 times and each time to/from a destination in Europe. I was 12 before I went abroad for the first time and in my late 20s before I flew.
Big Bro 2 has a flat at St Annes, on the seafront, but before that, prior to 1985, he had a house in Ansdell. My parents used to spend a lot of time there, especially as my dad did a lot of alterations to the house (he was a very good bricklayer for an optician), and we used to visit from our then home in Durham City. There was a very good chip shop in Ansdell and Les Dawson was often seen sitting outside it, in his Jag, while his kids got the chips and a brilliant café, that's name I have forgotten, where we often used to go for tea. The house had 3 bedrooms and a very long garden, it was lovely.
Anyway, one day we were all staying there and Big Bro 1 and his wife and children had also come along and we decided to go to Blackpool airport for a visit. The last flying Lancaster bomber was there and you could go in it - so off we went.
We all, duly, piled into this old warhorse of a plane. As we climbed the ladder, dad said to me, "It must have taken some courage to fly in one of these." I agreed and said how primitive the plane was, compared to modern ones. The owner was a bit upset with me and gave me a lecture on how up-to-date the Lancaster was when it was operational. I felt quite humbled.
B B 1 headed straight for the pilot's seat and sat there looking out of the windows while he gripped the joystick. I knew that, in his head, forget Blackpool! - he was flying a mission over Berlin. My husband was marvelling at the navigator's equipment; having been involved with computerised navigational bombing systems (NBS) on V Bombers in the RAF he was fascinated. Dad and I just stood there and got a bit misty-eyed over the brave young airmen who risked their lives, daily, so we could stand there where they had stood.
Anyway, that wasn't the flight I took, the Lancaster wasn't moving that day. As we went back through the airport we saw an advert for day trips to the Isle of Man so we decided we'd give it a go and booked a trip for 2 days time.
Dad was always pointing out the I.o.M planes, when we were at Ansdell. He even had a name for them, or so I thought, "Dark Harold". He said the Queen used to have a fleet of them; I did wonder why she'd got rid of them. They weren't very big and they had wings that went over the top of the fusilage. We often saw them circling over Ansdell.
We arrived at the airport, on the appointed day, at 7 a.m. Our flight was at 7:45. Dad and brothers had gone back to Blackburn but Mum was staying with us at BB2's house and we took her with us. She'd flown several times to Spain so it was no novelty to her. There had been a bit of IRA activity, recently, so Security at the airport was a bit higher than normal. Handbags were scrutinised - our Jo, my eldest who was then about 7 years old, had a shoulder bag which was searched and revealed nothing but a huge wad of toffee papers. We went out on to the tarmac and boarded our plane - a Dart Herald (Dad - don't mumble!). It was a 40 seater, resembled a bus, but still merited 2 stewardesses. We were served coffee and toast on the journey.
I loved the flight across St George's Channel and the sight of "RONALDSWAY" on the roof of the airport building. The flight took just under an hour. We had the morning in Douglas, hired a car and went round the island, then got the evening flight back.
Only once in my life have I seen Blackpool Tower's top platform from the outside - and this was it. We approached from the sea and headed, almost, straight for the tower. Our plane circled it twice, actually below the very top, then headed off to the airport where we landed smoothly after viewing the punters on the rides at the Pleasure Beach. We were back in BB2's house by 9 p.m.
I've flown many, many times since then. I quite enjoy flying, though it gets a bit boring, but that first time was "special". I don't know if there are still day-trips to the island, from Blackpool, and if there are they won't be in a Dart Herald.
Big Bro 2 has a flat at St Annes, on the seafront, but before that, prior to 1985, he had a house in Ansdell. My parents used to spend a lot of time there, especially as my dad did a lot of alterations to the house (he was a very good bricklayer for an optician), and we used to visit from our then home in Durham City. There was a very good chip shop in Ansdell and Les Dawson was often seen sitting outside it, in his Jag, while his kids got the chips and a brilliant café, that's name I have forgotten, where we often used to go for tea. The house had 3 bedrooms and a very long garden, it was lovely.
Anyway, one day we were all staying there and Big Bro 1 and his wife and children had also come along and we decided to go to Blackpool airport for a visit. The last flying Lancaster bomber was there and you could go in it - so off we went.
We all, duly, piled into this old warhorse of a plane. As we climbed the ladder, dad said to me, "It must have taken some courage to fly in one of these." I agreed and said how primitive the plane was, compared to modern ones. The owner was a bit upset with me and gave me a lecture on how up-to-date the Lancaster was when it was operational. I felt quite humbled.
B B 1 headed straight for the pilot's seat and sat there looking out of the windows while he gripped the joystick. I knew that, in his head, forget Blackpool! - he was flying a mission over Berlin. My husband was marvelling at the navigator's equipment; having been involved with computerised navigational bombing systems (NBS) on V Bombers in the RAF he was fascinated. Dad and I just stood there and got a bit misty-eyed over the brave young airmen who risked their lives, daily, so we could stand there where they had stood.
Anyway, that wasn't the flight I took, the Lancaster wasn't moving that day. As we went back through the airport we saw an advert for day trips to the Isle of Man so we decided we'd give it a go and booked a trip for 2 days time.
Dad was always pointing out the I.o.M planes, when we were at Ansdell. He even had a name for them, or so I thought, "Dark Harold". He said the Queen used to have a fleet of them; I did wonder why she'd got rid of them. They weren't very big and they had wings that went over the top of the fusilage. We often saw them circling over Ansdell.
We arrived at the airport, on the appointed day, at 7 a.m. Our flight was at 7:45. Dad and brothers had gone back to Blackburn but Mum was staying with us at BB2's house and we took her with us. She'd flown several times to Spain so it was no novelty to her. There had been a bit of IRA activity, recently, so Security at the airport was a bit higher than normal. Handbags were scrutinised - our Jo, my eldest who was then about 7 years old, had a shoulder bag which was searched and revealed nothing but a huge wad of toffee papers. We went out on to the tarmac and boarded our plane - a Dart Herald (Dad - don't mumble!). It was a 40 seater, resembled a bus, but still merited 2 stewardesses. We were served coffee and toast on the journey.
I loved the flight across St George's Channel and the sight of "RONALDSWAY" on the roof of the airport building. The flight took just under an hour. We had the morning in Douglas, hired a car and went round the island, then got the evening flight back.
Only once in my life have I seen Blackpool Tower's top platform from the outside - and this was it. We approached from the sea and headed, almost, straight for the tower. Our plane circled it twice, actually below the very top, then headed off to the airport where we landed smoothly after viewing the punters on the rides at the Pleasure Beach. We were back in BB2's house by 9 p.m.
I've flown many, many times since then. I quite enjoy flying, though it gets a bit boring, but that first time was "special". I don't know if there are still day-trips to the island, from Blackpool, and if there are they won't be in a Dart Herald.