Today the weather is stable and sunny.

Yesterday, the game of tennis in Haslemere was fun. As we were on court amongst the roses and lavender, an enormous, thundering Chinook, a double rotor RAF helicopter, passed overhead. They are majestic, enormous and make a loud bass ‘der, der, der’ sound at regular intervals.

On our last trip to Norfolk with the Barbers in 2002, my 40th year, we drove past RAF  Marnham near the coast, home to four squadrons of Tornado fighter jets. Some of the pilots were putting the flying beasts through their paces, just like in Top Gun, one of Tom Cruise’s first films.

I stopped the car and Anna, Hugo and I climbed up through the sun roof and sat on the roof to watch the show. The Tornados went overhead, just above us, towards the landing strip on the base. Just before they landed, they used their thrust reverse to take them to the skies again, with full acceleration and with flames bursting from their rear. As they climbed to a safe altitude, they rolled and climbed vertically and dipped vertically. It was thrilling. At their fastest, these jets can go twice the speed of sound (we often heard them breaking the sound barrier at the beach).

A few years back, I was visiting Mr and Mrs California in Los Angeles. They organised the greatest thrill of my life; it surpasses all others. I was admiring a photo of a Tucano, a stunning British fighter jet. Mr California caught me gazing at it, and he asked me if I’d like to go for a ride. My Dad, Stan, had died a couple of months before, and I thought, “Go on. You only live once.” Before I could change my mind, I agreed.

The next day, I went to the local airstrip and met Dwayne, an ex-fighter pilot with the US Marine Corps. He was my pilot. I was hardly going to be his ‘wing woman’.

I trusted him one hundred percent at first sight. He was a courteous, rangy Oklahoma man, but I knew that he had the right stuff – heroism, gutsiness and competency. I was told that he had seen action.

I was shuffled into a room where Dwayne took me through safety procedures. Afterwards, he said, “You didn’t take a word of that in.” He was right; I had not. Too nervous. He looked amused.

So out we went to the most beautiful flying bird you can imagine. Dwayne started checking bits and pieces on the plane. I was told to climb up onto the wing and climb in. Mr California put a skull cap on me, then a helmet, and then he strapped me in. He explained that the parachute had been disconnected. “Oh well,” I thought, “If I’m going to peg it, at least I’ll go in style.” At this point I had not told Geoff or the children of my flying plans.

Mr California then explained that the one thing that I was not to touch was a lever to my right hand, as it was the ejector mechanism. I was petrified that I would accidentally fall on it, so I held my hands most of the time whilst airborne. I kept on imagining that I would have an involuntary spasm and land on it.

Mrs California was taking photos and recording the whole thing. At one point she asked me how I was feeling. I could faintly hear her questions, but I couldn’t answer them as my heart was beating out of my chest. I just muttered without looking at her, “I feel strange.” Like I was in a dream, but I was not a dream. I was living the dream. Again, Mr and Mrs California proved to be dream makers.

 

Once airborne, all my fears disappeared. I felt like Meryl Streep in Out of Africa. Because of the transparent canopy I could see everywhere. We flew up the stunning Malibu coast line. The one thing I told Dwayne, through the walkie talkie, was that I did not want to do a roll! I felt like I was in heaven.

I shall never forget the beauty of the Tucano, nor Dwayne.

Today, I am going to a National Trust garden – Woolbeding – near Midhurst.

 

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