A Short History of a Nearly Nobody

My 25 Years at Digital Equipment Corporation (1966–1991)

2026-07-25T01:20:40.970-07:00

I don't have many readers here, but some stories deserve to be written down anyway. I worked at Digital Equipment Corporation from 1966 to 1991 — a quarter century that took the company from a scrappy minicomputer maker in an old wool mill to the second-largest computer company on Earth, and then into the decline that eventually ended it.

Joining DEC: the minicomputer revolution

When I joined in 1966, DEC was already proving something IBM didn't want to hear: that smaller, cheaper machines you could actually sit down and work with beat room-sized mainframes fed by punch cards. The PDP-8 had just shown the world that a computer could fit on a workbench instead of behind glass walls. That was the spirit I walked into — engineers who cared more about getting the machine right than about the quarterly numbers.

The golden years: PDP-11 and VAX

The 1970s were, in hindsight, the best years. The PDP-11 reshaped software (Unix and C were both born on one), and then Gordon Bell's team built the VAX https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O89XmbCkeQ4&list=LL&index=1 — 32-bit machines that could go head-to-head with IBM mainframes at a fraction of the price. Revenue went from a few hundred million to over $14 billion. We were, for a while, unstoppable.

Cracks beneath the surface

But I also watched the cracks form from the inside. DEC's product groups competed against each other so fiercely that customers sometimes got contradictory advice from two DEC salespeople in the same week. And when Dave Cutler's team proposed Prism — a new RISC architecture and operating system meant to move DEC beyond the VAX — management killed it in 1988 to protect the existing VAX business. Cutler and most of his team left for Microsoft that same year. What they built there became the foundation of Windows NT. I remember the mood inside the company when that happened: frustration, but also a sense that leadership simply couldn't imagine betting against its own cash cow.

The decline, and my departure

By 1991, DEC posted its first full-year loss. Ken Olsen — the man whose name was inseparable from the company — was forced out the following year. I left in 1991, right as that chapter was closing, watching a company that had beaten IBM at its own game struggle to believe the same logic could be turned against itself.

DEC's real legacy

I still think about DEC's real legacy less in terms of stock price and more in terms of philosophy: the idea that the person doing the work should be able to touch the machine directly, not wait behind a priesthood of operators. That idea is now so basic to computing that nobody credits it anymore. But those of us who were there know where it came from.

If you also worked at DEC during those years, I'd love to hear your own memories in the comments.

Chris 1942

2025-08-27T02:20:00.000-07:00

On becoming a RAF Boy Entrant 1957 - Assesment

2021-12-14T05:22:00.001-08:00

I was not having a particularly special educational experience at Hardy's Grammar School, Dorchester. Having missed most of term due to glandular fever did not help, but academic I was not. Agricultural science was a great subject for me but the specialist teacher left and the subject was dropped by the school, so the end of my ambition to become a farm manager with it; Becoming a policeman was another dream, but a minimum height requirement of five foot ten inches certainly blocked that too (I maxed out at 5 ft 4in).

I think my parents realised that the RAF might offer me a career, so I set off to RAF Cosford for assessment sometime in early 1957. This was my first time away from home and so armed with a Rail pass I was dropped at Dorchester railway station to start what was an "eye opening" experience for a 15 year old country boy. Changing train at Bristol Temple Mead station was interesting then the next leg to Birmingham was mostly through beautiful English countryside. However, the next stage of the journey from Birmingham to Wolverhampton was for me "mind blowing". My memory is of a continuous journey through built up area of smoky factories and no countryside at all. This really was the "Black Country". Then on arriving at Wolverhampton, changing train for the local to Albrighton for the halt at RAF Cosford.

Then began the testing. Lots and lots of aptitude tests, and physical exams. This all took two days as my memory tells me. And eventually the meeting with a Squadron leader to tell me my result.

My uncle Sidney was an aircraft engineer and Chief engineer of "Aden Airways" having been invalided out of the RAF at the start of his career, but still going on to have a very interesting life working on all types of aircraft from the early 1930s to modern jets in the 1950s. This had captured my interest in aviation and so the RAF made sense for me.

My test results, the Squadron Leader indicated, showed that I should go for the trade of Radar Mechanic. "I want to do engines" I said. Can I do that instead of Radar. "Not the best fit for you" he said. This debate continued for a while and he finally agreed that if it was "engines or nothing, I could do that, but Radar was a better fit with my aptitude". So I agreed to enrol for 32nd Entry Air Radar Boy Entrant, starting October 1957. So set myself on an interesting life career.

Other Memories of Dewlish life.

2021-12-14T02:46:00.001-08:00

My dad had a motorbike and sidecar and one day he decided that it needed to have a de-coke and the valves needed to be reseated. So this turned into my first lesson in motor maintenance. Grinding in the valves meant having a sucker on a stick and some grinding paste. Keep grinding until the sound of the valve being set in its seat was a solid clunk, then it was done. This stood me in good stead in later years when I had my first ford van.

Snowdrops and other growing things.

2018-01-01T03:01:00.000-08:00

Helping my dad in the Bothy gardens went through a number of phases.

At first we wanted to clear a path from the house to the gate in the wall at what looked like the bottom of the garden. Clearing and having bonfires is my idea of having had fun.

The next task was to restore the health of the very many fruit trees in the garden. Dad had a book all about pruning fruit trees, so it was a job to be taken seriously. And slowly over a couple of years fruit began to appear. Apples, pears, plums, peaches of all varieties one could imagine. Coxes orange pipin apples are the best I can remember.

In the old house there were fruit storage shelves so we could keep some varieties of apples and pears for many months.

But the the best crop from the garden, down by the stream were the Snowdrops. Each Year we were living in the Bothy we (my sisters and me) picked snowdrops, put them into neat bunches of about 50 flowers each and backed with two Ivy leaves and tied neatly with rafia. Dad (or Mum) packed them into boxes ready for transport to London market by train from Dorchester. When I closed my eyes at night after a day of Snowdropping, there they were...

Dad got a good price for the snowdrops too and paid me 1p per finished bunch.

Life at The Bothy, Dewlish village.

2015-02-21T01:03:00.000-08:00

So we were to move from the modern council house in Charminster to a cottage on the estate of Dewlish House, in of course the village of Dewlish.

The cottage was attached to the kitchen garden for Dewlish house and in the corner of a large field. The gardens were for the most part walled and enclosed about 2.5 acres with a stream running through the part outside the wall.

The cottage had not been lived in for about 11 years, and had been occupied by troops during the war. So when my father lit the fire in the front room, it filled with smoke because of the remains of birds nests in the chimney. The electrics were in a poor state too. However the kitchen had a great Aga range for cooking and heating the water which came from a well in the back yard.

The garden was a magical place and a bit like a jungle when we arrived. It was of course totally neglected but had a great variety of fruit trees including peaches, plumbs of all sorts and every type of apple that you could think of.

It was fun helping my dad slowly clear the garden, prune the fruit trees and bring the place back to life.

Other Hardy's school experiences that stick in my menory.

2014-12-08T06:33:00.000-08:00

Other Hardy's school experiences that stick in my memory.

One was of the art teacher who did Lion head sculptures to head the Gate at the entrance of the School. It was quite interesting to follow his progress as he worked on them. I wonder what happened to his work when the school was demolished.

The school was also where I started to lean to sell. I took apples from the garden of the house where we lived after leaving Charminster. I sold them to some fellow students for a few pence each.

One thing that did not appeal to me at all was the school dinners. My mother gave me the school dinner money (one shilling and six pence, if my memory serves me right) each Monday, and I used this to buy "fish and chips" at a local shop in Dorchester. I could do this for three days then went hungry for the last two.

The school divinity teacher was a tall quiet man who had once represented England in high jump at the Olympic games in the 1920's. Nice chap as I recall. But the school rugby coach, a red haired welsh man made me do rugby tackles on all the other players one be one. As I was by far the smallest boy playing, this was a bit rough but probably did me good.

After Kingston Russel - Charminster

2014-10-26T11:33:00.000-07:00

Not quite sure when we left Kingston Russel, but I do remember being taken to Hardys Grammar School in Dorchester by my dad to meet the headmaster for an interview. It seems that although I had been accepted into Bridport Grammar it did not mean that I was automatically entitled to transfer to Hardys. However, I was allowed in and another chapter in my school life began.

As Hardys was a boys school and most of the teachers were former Army officers who had seen action in the second world war. The headmaster was a Major, the French teacher and most of the others were Captains as far a I can remember. The French teacher for my classes was nick named Calais (of course) and I did not learn much from him (but mostly my fault). As I have lived in French speaking Switzerland and France for many years now, I have paid a high price for my lack of interest as a student of the language. But I get by.

One of my happier school memories was of the CCF Combined cadet force. I was a radio operator and clearly recollect our camp on Bodmin moor one summer. We had a night exercise, with blank cartridges for our 303 guns and there were lots of Thunderflash explosions all over the place. As the radio operator I was to relay Calais's orders to other groups. But it was such a still night and he shouted his instructions, I felt a bit redundant. But all good fun nevertheless. The most exciting activity was live firing the 303 gun on the 300yard range. The kick of it was quite something for a 13 year old lad.

The subject I enjoyed most was "agricultural science". I though I might like becoming a farm manager as a career. However, after one year of the course, the teacher running it left the school, so that was the end of that.

School in the country.

2012-03-11T11:32:00.002-07:00

School in the country.

Moving from St. John's primary school in Weymouth to Long Bredy school was a big change. From one large class of about 30 children all in the same grade, to one class of about 20 kids from the age of 6 to 11. What a difference.

We even did country dancing and ringing hand bells as part of our weekly routine. Different, but certainly fun.

The school lunch was cooked at the school, and us larger boys took turns to go and collect water for the cook from a spring at the bottom of the lane where it met the village road. What a surprise.

I was only there for the end of the school year as I had taken the 11+ exam before leaving Weymouth. As I passed, next year saw me on the bus each day to Bridport Grammar. Another adventure on the road to adulthood.

If you have a photo of the school, please post it here.

Thanks

Visiting my Grandfather in Weymouth.

2011-03-07T00:22:00.000-08:00

Visiting my Grandfather in Weymouth was quite a trip. I traveled down on the bus from Kingston Russel which took about an hour and was usually a double decker so . could sit on top at the front. The route took us via country lanes through Martinstown and down through Upwey, finishing up at the old Bus Station behind King Street near the railway station.

As my Grandfather still lived in Derby Street it only took 2 minutes to get to his home where we used to chat. Some days I went fishing on the New Pier at Weymouth harbor. Even caught a fish sometimes too, a small bream or whiting. As I was walking back to catch the bus I passed the Pavilion theater and noticed a workman high up on the building with water in a bucket (which he was spilling) and a whisp of smoke coming out of the wall nearby. I walked on down to the bus station and was amazed when the bus home drove up to the esplanade to see the Pavilion burning like an enormous bonfire. As the building was wooden no real surprise I suppose. This happened when I was 12 years old in 1954.
Picture courtesy of BBC.

More of Life at Kingston Russel

2011-02-15T10:49:00.000-08:00

More of Life at Kingston Russel Farm.
I have been back in recent years with my parents (now sadly departed) and it brought back a flood of memories.
Learning to drive a tractor, going into the dairy and seeing the cows being milked, collecting our daily quart of milk straight from the cooler, fresh and creamy. All things that helped me grow up and understand how to get on with country folk. All things that would not be permitted these days I am sure, due to all sorts of rules and regulation.

Collecting birds eggs was also part of a normal boys life too.

The man who lived in the house next to us was a professional rabbit catcher! This was in the year before the dreaded mixamatosis hit the rabbit population. I went out with him some times as he set 120 traps each day, those rather cruel things. He also had some ferrets and I was allowed to borrow one some Sunday mornings and go out on my own adventure. It seemed very exciting to take his dog, a ferret and some nets and find a rabbit warren to hunt in. Once in a while I caught one, cleaned it, took it home to my mother and skinned for her. Mum would then stuff the rabbit and bake it for lunch. It was a great treat.

The two Baker brothers ran the farm and some evenings when it was dark they would take a tractor out into a field and zoom about with a powerful hand held light. This would allow them to dazzle rabbits so one of them could club the poor animal and that was that. Such was country life.

Leaving Weymouth for Kingston Russel Farm

2010-10-08T05:49:00.000-07:00

Well it was time to move. My parents decided that they had lived too long with Grandad Martin and needed their independence, so we were going to leave the seaside for the country. So off we went, all the family together to look at country cottages.

Winterborne Abas was the first village we visited but there was not much garden. The loo was a shed at the end of the garden too.
Eventually we found paradise on Kingston Russel farm. About half a mile from the main Dorchester to Bridport road and one of a pair of two story cottages. Ours was the left hand one of the pair as you look at it from the front and had about half an acre of land. Just what Dad and Mum (I hope) wanted.
It was a sort of dream land. Woods and fields for a young lad to explore, and a big dairy farm with friendly staff.

Just before we moved I had sat my 11+ exam at St. John's School in Weymouth, and while waiting for results went to the village school in LongBredy. An interesting little place with one classroom, one teacher, and perhaps twenty or less children all together. We had fun learning all sort of things in addition to the 3 Rs. I learned to make model aircraft with the teacher after school, and as the crow flies it was only about 2 miles over the hill to get home. So I got the habit of going on foot when I was ready.

The other rather surprising thing I found as a new boy from Weymouth (about ten miles away) was that there were a number of words and expressions in the local country dialect that I did not understand at first. Apart from that, country dancing and playing on hand bells were a couple of new experiences.

Well I will see if I can find any old photos that fit this topic. Be in touch later.

Small Boys in Weymouth 1949

2009-04-25T06:45:00.000-07:00

And what do small boys do in Weymouth in about 1949. Well we roamed around the harbour and went fishing on either the new pier or the old pier. I remember that just off to one side of the old pier there was a place where it was almost allways possible to catch small bream, and these were taken home where my mother filleted and fried them. Really good they were too. Otherwise the fish were often rass or what we called rock salmon, which we just threw back in the sea.

But best of all was going with my father in his boat to empty the lobster and crab pots or fish for conger eels by Portland Harbour wall. We would anchor just off the wall and try to catch these rather clever fish. They were tricky because they would take your bait and then back into the wall and hang on with their long bodies. To stop this happening it was necessary to strike and pull hard as soon as they took the hook and get them away from the wall before they could get a grip of it. My Dad was pretty good at it and the sight of a one to two meter long fish coming into the boat and then thrashing about all over the place was pretty exciting.

When we got home with our catch my Mother would prepare the lobsters and crabs for the fishmonger, and the whole catch would go to the shop. Fish from a local fish shop in Weymouth at that time was usually locally caught and very fresh. I wonder how it is today.

Another favorite playground was Radipole lake park. There was a long stainless steel slide that we used to polish with candle wax and the seat of out trousers to make it faster. Perhaps it is still there. But just a little way from the slide was a pool on which we could sail our toy boats, and there were all sorts there. Great sailing boats, model steam ships and paper boats that Dads would make. All together a very special place.

And of course there was the railway. Boy do things that are in hindsite certainly naughty and perhaps a little dangerouse. There was and perhaps still is a footbridge over the railway on the way to the park. And when the steam trains (and they were all steam trains then) passed under it the train would puff out clouds of steam and smoke. Us boys would take small stones and try to drop them into the train's funnel as it got close to the bridge. If we were successful they would be shot out under the bridge and clatter against it making a good old bang. There were also some shunting lines behind the park and if we had a halfpenny we would put it on the track where the shunted trucks were going to pass. As the trucks ran over the coin it would make a mark and move down the line. So after several trucks had run over it (and it was safe to take a look) there were several imprints of the coin on the metal railway line. I am sure they are all worn away by now and the line is inacessible too I expect. Perhaps I will take a look when next I am in Weymouth.

Recovery from heart Attack - Home again

2009-04-20T02:13:00.000-07:00

Back home after a total of nine day in the hospitals. I was transferred to From Vichy to Moulins only two KM from where I live on the Tuesday after the crisis.

Now I am taking six medications per day and feeling very well with non symptoms except for a very occasional pricking sensation in my chest. My main concerns now relate to the level of physical activity I should allow myself, and gaining a full understanding of the reasons for, and possible long term effect of the medications I am taking.

As my next consultation with the cardiologist is scheduled for early June, I want to bring it forward and get proper clarification on these matters.

Life begins again - After a Cardiac accident - Heart Attack.

2009-04-17T10:07:00.000-07:00

The 29th of March saw me with a blood pressure reading of 17/12 and my partner calling the French emergency service number 15.

A Dr. and nurse arrived very quickly hotly pursued by an ambulance. Yes it had happened, a partial blockage of one of the arteries that feed blood to a muscle of my heart was giving me some discomfort and needed urgent attention. So we rushed off, with all sirens going for a 45 minute ride to Vichy, the nearest hospital with the specialized facility to deal with me.

I have begun to tell the story more fully in a separate blog, but it has a small place here too I think. Suffice it to say, the hospital staff did a great job and a stent was inserted about half an hour after i arrived. The result was an almost immediate relief from the distress I was in and me on the road to recovery........

I have now been home for ten days and feel very good. Need to take it easy and allow the heart muscle to repair, but should be as good as new in a few months as long as I do not get over confident and disturb the healing process.

That First Day at Normal School

2009-03-24T14:10:00.000-07:00

1947.
Sitting in the front row right under the eagle eye of Mrs. X. The lesson was "learning to write!!
My writing book had lines to guide me so that I knew the correct height for each part of a letter as we started with learning proper script.
We had to copy the letters only as a first exercise and later full words. If we made a mistake then the dreaded "ruler" would come crashing down on our knuckles. This certainly helped with "attention".
To add to the excitement we were using pen and ink from the ink wells in our desks. All together lots of chances to make a mess and get bruised knuckles again. It worked!!!
And so began almost five years at St. John's School Weymouth.

Favorite Uncles

2009-03-07T10:24:00.000-08:00

Don't you remember that Uncle who was always pleased to see you, give you a sweet and tell you interesting stories. Well I was lucky enough to have a number of these.

The earliest of that I remember lived in The "George Inn" on Weymouth harbor quay. I recall there being a pool table in the bar and going there when it was closed to visit my Grandparents and coming across Uncle Pat. He was home from the Air Force I think and had a funny little hat on the side of his head and his blue uniform. The pub was closed so it was OK for me (about six I think) to be in the bar and I wanted to play pool. It needed a coin to get the balls out but Pat knew how to make it play for free!!! My Hero!!!

The second memorable Uncle was another of my Dad's brothers and I always called him Uncle Buster. And just up the street and around the corner from Derby Street by the railway he had a workshop and made wrought iron gates and things. I used to feel very grown up when I visited him as he would offer me a mug of tea, no milk but plenty of sugar. I would watch him heat the metal in his forge and he would let me use the bellows and hit some hot iron too. For a little six or seven year old lad, this was heaven. And I felt very grown up as I never seemed to be treated as a child, but a real person who could do things and be trusted.

My third special Uncle was my mother's brother, Uncle Sid. He is the one who became an aircraft engineer and lived in Africa. It was a very special occasion when he visited us. He always had great hire car, gifts and lots of interesting photos. His wife was very glamorous and, having been born and brought up in Egypt, would never accept that when you went into a shop in Weymouth it was not going to work when she tried to haggle about the price of what ever it was she wanted. I think it embarrassed my mother when she went shopping with her so she avoided it if she could.

A Favorite Uncle in Aviation

2009-02-19T01:47:00.000-08:00

Uncle Sid (Sidney Martin) was my aviation hero. An aircraft engineer who started on "Wood and String" aircraft and finished his career signing off on "VC10 and Boeing 707" aircraft. He was part of aviation history.

He qualified as an aircraft engineer in about 1932 and was then employed by Imperial Airways and posted to Africa. Getting there was quite and adventure as it took five days and included spending one night in an Egyptian jail!

The crashed aircraft "Hanno" was one of those in his care and the photos are those that he took while surveying it in preparation for its recovery and repair. I will add a few more including the aircraft successfully flying off once the job had been done.

In his file I found a few historically interesting photos that I thought you might like to see. I will comment on them later.

Here is a link to wikipedia giving details of this aircraft.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Handley_Page_H.P.42

A youngster in Weymouth - part 1.

2009-02-18T10:04:00.000-08:00

Waking up in what I was later told was an "Anderson Shelter" is the earliest memory I think I really had. It must have been toward the end of the Second World War as I was born in 1942. Apparently we took it in turns to be in the shelter as there was only room for four of us and we were a family of five. Even my baby sister had to take her turn in another bedroom. But we all survived.

Dad was away somewhere and my mother and two sisters and I lived with my Grandfather in Derby Street just near to the railway station. I also have a memory of the street party and sitting on a table looking at all the activity. Whether this is a real memory or something I have constructed from the things we talked about, I am not really sure. But I claim it as real anyway.

Weymouth was a great place for a youngster like me. I would wander off on my own, and had some favorite places. The Harbor wall was always exciting. There was a ledge about two feet wide along the side nearest the town, and this was where I liked to walk. I could look down into the water, and with a net on a bamboo pole, catch shrimps that were hiding in the seaweed. I am sure I was usually with a friend, but do not really remember.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/dorset/content/webcams/weymouth_harbour_webcam.shtml

Further down the harbor toward the bridge that opened like the London Tower bridge, was the dock where the Paddle Steamers used to be tied up. And of course there were boats of all sorts moored in the harbor too. My father had a boat when the war ended and sometimes I recall sitting on it at anchor and fishing for plaice. We caught some too.

On the beach front of Weymouth near to what was referred to as the "new pier" there were a number of sets of rowing boats and canoes. My dad had one of these, so as I got a little older, a friend and I would take the lightest rowing boat with two sets of oars, and race (so we thought) across the bay. It was exhilarating and we though we were heroes.

But Weymouth Bay at that time had its hazards. As a port and with its proximity to Portland Harbor it was bombed quite a lot during the war. In the shallow waters of the bay where the bathers swam, you could see red flags floating on buoys. These marked places where there were deep holes in the sandy bottom of the bay. One of my cousins accidentally stepped into one and though she was going to drown. I rescued her and become, for a while, her hero!

One of the great attractions for holiday makers in those days was to take a boat trip from Weymouth to Portland Harbor to see the War ships. There were aircraft carriers, destroyers, submarines and all manner of smaller vessels to see. In the summer I often went with one of these boats (which seated about twenty passengers), and while the captain collected the fares, I took over the helm. As I was about eight or nine years old at the time, and had my captains hat, I was a bit of a novelty for the vistors.

Going solo!!!

2009-02-12T06:25:00.000-08:00

Sunday 30 July was my fifth day at the Moonrakers Gliding club and I was looking forward to flying again. So far I had flown with four different instructors and they all seemed to have a magic touch. When I had to work hard all the time to keep the glider flying level or turning smoothly, they could take control and everything instantly become smooth and perfect.

Today I was back in the T31 and flying from the front seat with Dennis instructing from the rear.

One of the most exciting phases of flight when learning to fly a glider, is the take off. We were using a launching method whereby a cable is attached to the aircraft at a special hook point just under the front of the fuselage. Once this was attached and checked to ensure it would release correctly, a helper held one of the wings of the glider, and the cable (about 3 or 4 thousand feet of it) which was attached to a winch at the other end of the air field, was rapidly wound in, pulling the glider with it. This gave us the speed to fly and we climbed rapidly, rather like a Kite on a string to about 1000 feet where we released the cable and went on our way.

There are two main emergencies that as budding pilots we had to learn to cope with. One being the risk that the cable would break during the launch, and the other being the winch loosing power. Either of these events could lead to disaster if not properly handled. So part of my flying experience in the T31 included the instructor (JW) dropping the cable without warning at 300 feet into the launch. I do not remember this specific event, but must have handled it satisfactorily. For my next flight Dennis took the back seat, and so for my 24th flight I flew a normal circuit without any drama. I now had 3hours and 5 minutes total flying time in my log book.

We then prepared for our next launch with me in the front seat as usual. Dennis then went to the back seat and fiddled about with the seat harness, then said to me that he was not coming this time, and just to do a left hand circuit of the airfield and land in the normal way. So I did as I was told and completed my first solo flight!!!!
I remember being told when I landed that I should stop my side slip a little higher when coming in to land, and was sent off to to complete two more flights, so ending a most exciting day. Magical......

Learning to Fly?

2009-02-06T09:53:00.000-08:00

RAF Yatesbury was just down the road from Calne in Wiltshire. It has long since been returned to the farmers but I was there on an Air Radar Fitters course. The week ends were spent going back to Portland and getting into trouble for being late returning.

So for a change I accepted an invitation to go to RAF Upavon to visit a Gliding Club. Moonrakers it was called, and the Chief Flying instructor was a certain John Willi (Williamson).

We arrived at about 09:30 on a reasonably sunny Sunday morning, put our names on the flying list and were immediately asked to help wash and polish the wings of this rather nice fiber glass winged, single seater aircraft (Olympia 419 as it turned out). Always a willing helper, so no problem.

Job done.
Gliders were going up and down for rather short flights and everyone seemed to know what was goings on and were very chatty. Then a rather slim, not very tall man stood by a blackboard and had his photo taken. He then got into the machine we had been polishing and was winch launched to about 700 feet, (so i was told) and circling steadily drifted slowly off across the corn fields to the east of the airfield.

I remember hearing someone say "he's too low to get back now". But eventually he drifted away and seemed to get higher before he vanished. Then there was a buzz of activity and a ford van with a trailer drove off the field. When I asked where are they going the answer came back "Berwick-on-Tweed". Looking at the map it seemed that this was about 520 km from Upavon!!! At that moment I decided that this gliding lark must be rather serious and not just a matter of short flights around the airfield.

...to be continued...

This all happened on July 9th 1961...
When it was my turn to fly, the aircraft in which I had my first glider flight was a T31 trainer. Wooden construction with fabric covered wings. The instructor sat in the back seat with me in the front. I had two flights that day totaling eight minutes in all. A winch launch to about 1000 ft a couple of turns and a safe landing.

Later in the day we recieved news of John's flight. It covered some 500+ km but did not actually reach the precise location that he had declared. Impressed I was!

As for my own flying, well.
Two weeks later I was back for the whole of the weekend.
My first "official" training flight was really impressive. Still in a T31, we climbed up to 2600 feet just below the base of the summer cumulus clouds. It was rather exciting to be in this open cockpit thing, and trying to keep it going straight and then turning in the thermals. It felt very strange.
The landing was interesting as we had not air breaks or spoilers, so getting rid of height to land was achieved by "side slipping". I loved it. On the ground again after 20 minutes.

I was lucky that weekend as my next flight was 40 minutes. Lots of rough air and beginning to think that I might eventually get the hang of this flying lark.
The rest of my flights that weekend were short and focused on learning to handle the take off and landings.

Finally by flight number 11 I did the whole circuit from take off to landing. But my reactions were a bit slow coming into land. This was really fun, I actually felt that I was in control now and could not wait for the next weekend to arrive.

And arrive it did. The 29/30 July.
So far my log book shows that I had had 12 flights including the initial introduction "joy rides" as they are labeled.

Put my name down on the flying list as soon as I arrived at the airfield and was then busy helping to get the aircraft out of the hangar and lined up for light. They were checked to ensure that nothing was loose or damaged, and the controls all worked as they should. The days flying began.

My flying this weekend began with a flight in a new aircraft, for me. A T21. This is a wonderful high winged two seater, where the instructor and student sit side by side. The T21 can fly very slowly and is good for learning about stalls etc. My instructor for the day, as it turned out was John Willi the CFI (Chief Flying Instructor) I had five flights in all, mostly short but one of 21 minutes.

One thing that struck me about the Moonraker flying club was the discipline and the focus on safety. The aircraft had to be properly parked with the upwind wing always weighted down with a tyre. Any flying that was remotely dangerous was discussed and we all learned from that.

A Short History of a Nearly Nobody

2009-02-01T10:09:00.000-08:00

In No Particular Order!

Why, might you ask, would a young man like me be hanging on the wing of a "Gloster Javalin" all weather night fighter at 06:30 on a cold and frosty morning in the early nineteen sixties?

Well, it is simple really.
The Cold War was at its height, and I was a young Radar mechanic based at RAF Duxford (now famous for the Aircraft Museum).

My normal job was working in the warm Radar Repair workshop on the side of the airfield. However, everyone who had a cushy job like mine, also had to have an emergency reserve job that they could be called upon to carry out in an emergency should the "cold war" go hot.
The Cold War was real!

My reserve duty was that of an Armorer and I had to assist with the loading of the thirty millimeter cannon shells when the aircraft returned from a sortie. And on this particular morning we were practicing this task. As it happens, the aircraft had been flying, but the guns had not been fired. So we unloaded and loaded the shells again just to make sure we could really do it. They (the shells) were very cold and white with frost, and heavy too. Never mind, perhaps this would be the first, and last time that I would be called upon to play Armorer. As it happened it was.

My aircraft video