49 years of Scots – Jock was an old man of 31 years of age, and Red was a young rascal of 18 years, and I loved them. They were a couple of wild Scotsmen and they were my ground crew.
When I got into my (sorry, our) kite, the rudder pedals were always set at the correct distance for me, my helmet was on the control column and plugged into the RT and oxygen outlets, my left gauntlet was hung behind the throttle lever and the right one was on the landing-gear lever, the trims were set, they always helped to fasten my parachute and Sutton harnesses, and they started the engine more times than I did both day and night. One had to be careful not to mention the simplest of things wrong with the aeroplane as Jock and Red would ground the kite until it was 100 percent again; they were of the old school of conscientious craftsmanship, thank God.
If by chance I didn’t get back to the Flight during the day or night, they would sit up the complete time waiting for word as to how I made out during the sortie.
I had a BSA motorbike (motorcycle) which I used only to go from the cottage to the Flight and return. All other times, Jock and Red used the bike. They kept the bike in excellent working order even to a continuous supply of dubiously gotten petrol mixes. One early morning, upon leaving the cottage for the Flight, I went over the handlebars of the bike and landed in a ditch and a holly hedge. Right there and then I gave the motorbike to them outrightly.
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