Our satellite airfield was Dunkeswell. It was inhabited by civilians but there was a small contingent of RAF personnel who manned the fire tenders which are necessary on any RAF airfield. Dunkeswell sits atop an escarpment at the edge of a deep valley. The approach to the main runway was over this valley, and the escarpment was subject to down-draughts. The first time I went there I was flying dual. I approached to land in what I thought was a normal manner after having completed the downwind leg of the circuit at 1000 feet above airfield level, as was routine. Caught in a down-draught, I realised that the runway threshold was level with me, and then above me; red Verey lights rose from the runway controller's caravan. It was not the best way to try to land. With air brakes in, throttle open wide, undercart up, and flaps up, I climbed out of the situation. I went round again, had another go and fared much better, but I reckoned I was still too low. At the third attempt, having started my 'finals' descent much later, I was satisfied and completed the landing. My instructor, during all this, never uttered a word until I had rolled to a stop. He then said that I had to watch out in the future because, like this one, not all airfields are as pilot friendly as Merryfield. He hadn't needed to say anything. I had just found out!
I must mention that by this time we were no longer flying rectangular circuits. There was no cross-wind leg to finals; the approach was done on a continuous descending 180° turn from the end of the downwind leg. In this way we were in the circuit less time and the circuit itself was much tighter. At this stage of training we reckoned only bombers had to fly long angular circuits. We were fighter boys now, and were expected to behave as such.
June 9th saw me make my first long distance dual cross-country at altitude, with Fg.Off. Bennett. The flight plan was to RAF Driffield via Penrith. The amount of pre-flight navigation was considerable and had to take account of wind changes with increased altitude on the climb, work out each change of heading to maintain track as we passed through each 5,000 ft height band, and then add them vectorially for an average course to steer throughout the climb. The descent, being faster, was less complicated, but the high altitude winds, sometimes up to 150 knots, had very much to be taken into consideration. The calculations took a long time so flight planning started over an hour before ETD.10 The flight itself was unremarkable. Where there was cloud we were well above it. Just for the exercise, rather than out of necessity, we called for radio fixes to confirm our position en-route. At no time were we in touch with any radar station.
We landed at Driffield in glorious sunshine, taxied to the visiting aircraft dispersal, and checked in at the Tower. While we were being refuelled we took a walk over to a group of pilots sitting on the grass outside a dispersal hut. I was instantly recognised by some of them. They had been with me on the course at Kirton-in-Lindsey from which I was chopped. None of them had expected to see me again, least of all in a flying role. It was then that I was told of the death of Acting Pilot Officer Sarner at an air base near Winnipeg in Canada - the person with whom my exam marks had been confused. I was able to explain what had happened from my point of view. They also told me of fatal Meteor flying accidents. We bade farewell and I never met any of them again.
The flight back to base was via Morecambe. We did no serious pre-flight planning beforehand, save to estimate a climbing course from an average of the forecast winds. We asked for more fixes but these, again, were for practice rather than necessity. It took us 55 minutes to get to Driffield, and exactly an hour to get back. Annoyingly, when flying over the Wirral peninsula, my home area, there was full cloud cover and I saw nothing of it.
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10 ETD = Estimated Time of Departure. 44