A flight to forget
Oh what a flight
Okuk's Last Flight
B707 Anecdotes
B707 Introduction
A Biblical Story
A Biblical Story 2
A Biblical Story 3
Forbidden Fruits
Joe's Jolly (Poem)
The Golfer
Suitably Restrained
PX Advertisment 1
PX Advertisment 2
PX Advertisment 3
PX Article 1
PX Article 2
PX Article 3
The Check Ride
First and Last Flt.
First Command
DC3 KOK - POM
The Holiday
Friends at Last
History of P2ANQ
Ferry Flight
Crayfish
FO Cassanova
Larry Blackman
Secret Revealed
Airbus A300
Cargo Capers
Doing it Differently
Side Slip
Larry Blackman
4th Floor Memo
International Arsonist
Office Works
Thru Eyes of a Hostie
Airline Anecdotes
GRAVE CONSEQUENCES OF FLYING AND EATING Posted by Alistair (Jasper) Maskelyne
In Goroka in 1962, I was trying to arouse interest in a local flying group. On notice boards in the hotels and post offices were placed offers of trial flights in a Tiger Moth. Price five pounds per flight.
My first candidate was the town baker, named Les. I buckled him in, and explained the use of the Gosport tube intercom. With a green light from the tower we departed on the grass strip to track to the west, where I would reveal to Les the delights of loops and spins.
Before attaining the needed height, there was a loud bang, and the aircraft was covered with oil. The prop windmilled and we had a strange lack of engine noise. "Dont worry about a thing!" I shouted to Les. For some reason this message did not re-assure him at all. Most fortunately we were still just within gliding distance of the grass strip, and following an arrival just inside the boundary, had a humiliating trudge up to the tower, to announce our arrival.
Fast track five years forward. At 6am in Wewak on the northwest coast of PNG, it was still quite dark and pouring with rain. Attired in raincoats and shielded by umbrellas, we decided that the Ansett DC3 was serviceable and climbed into the cockpit, to start the pre-flight checks.
Interrupting our drill, a traffic officer told us that he had a safe hand parcel for Les, the baker in Goroka. I cursorily shouted "Put in the right locker", and continued with the countdown.
After negotiating the bad weather in Wewak, we arrived at Madang, to be told by the port manager that our flight was changed: we would not continue the scheduled passenger service to Goroka, but would now take a cargo of 40 labour line recruits to Wakunai in Bougainville. This news did not please me. I instructed them to arrange for a fuel load of 400 gallons, and went to the tower to lodge a new flight plan.
The 40 labour line recruits were loaded, and we tracked out for Bougainville. Established on the cruise over Crown Island, I remembered the safe hand carton. Had it been transhipped? No! It was a former SP beer carton, now full of cray fish wrapped in copies of the Post courier. They were freshly cooked and quite delicious. Mindful of aviation security, I suggested to the first officer that we take our meals separately. He was a suspicious person and indicated that he believed I did this to eat more of them myself. So we each had three crays. There were 15 left in the carton.
We landed at Wakunai and unloaded our labour line recruits. Then to Buka for fuel. We gave the refueller 6 crays because we were sorry to have called him out on a Saturday.
Overnighting at Rabaul, we checked in at the Ascot Hotel, where we were followed by Larry Blackman and his TAA crew. We told him of our crayfish, and his crew joined us in eating the rest of them. None of us were very hungry for the evening meal.
Fast track another five years, I was most reluctantly spending a night in the Lamington Hotel at Popondetta on the north coast. Alcohol seemed the only consolation, and in the bar there was Les, now the town baker, late from Goroka. Being an honest person I had to confess to him the consumption of crayfish. For some reason, this made him very annoyed. Red in the face, he shouted "First you try to kill me and then you eat all my crays!"
This seemed to me to be an over reaction. He appeared to be mentally unstable. Most unreasonable. In future I would avoid bakers with crayfish.
In Goroka in 1962, I was trying to arouse interest in a local flying group. On notice boards in the hotels and post offices were placed offers of trial flights in a Tiger Moth. Price five pounds per flight.
My first candidate was the town baker, named Les. I buckled him in, and explained the use of the Gosport tube intercom. With a green light from the tower we departed on the grass strip to track to the west, where I would reveal to Les the delights of loops and spins.
Before attaining the needed height, there was a loud bang, and the aircraft was covered with oil. The prop windmilled and we had a strange lack of engine noise. "Dont worry about a thing!" I shouted to Les. For some reason this message did not re-assure him at all. Most fortunately we were still just within gliding distance of the grass strip, and following an arrival just inside the boundary, had a humiliating trudge up to the tower, to announce our arrival.
Fast track five years forward. At 6am in Wewak on the northwest coast of PNG, it was still quite dark and pouring with rain. Attired in raincoats and shielded by umbrellas, we decided that the Ansett DC3 was serviceable and climbed into the cockpit, to start the pre-flight checks.
Interrupting our drill, a traffic officer told us that he had a safe hand parcel for Les, the baker in Goroka. I cursorily shouted "Put in the right locker", and continued with the countdown.
After negotiating the bad weather in Wewak, we arrived at Madang, to be told by the port manager that our flight was changed: we would not continue the scheduled passenger service to Goroka, but would now take a cargo of 40 labour line recruits to Wakunai in Bougainville. This news did not please me. I instructed them to arrange for a fuel load of 400 gallons, and went to the tower to lodge a new flight plan.
The 40 labour line recruits were loaded, and we tracked out for Bougainville. Established on the cruise over Crown Island, I remembered the safe hand carton. Had it been transhipped? No! It was a former SP beer carton, now full of cray fish wrapped in copies of the Post courier. They were freshly cooked and quite delicious. Mindful of aviation security, I suggested to the first officer that we take our meals separately. He was a suspicious person and indicated that he believed I did this to eat more of them myself. So we each had three crays. There were 15 left in the carton.
We landed at Wakunai and unloaded our labour line recruits. Then to Buka for fuel. We gave the refueller 6 crays because we were sorry to have called him out on a Saturday.
Overnighting at Rabaul, we checked in at the Ascot Hotel, where we were followed by Larry Blackman and his TAA crew. We told him of our crayfish, and his crew joined us in eating the rest of them. None of us were very hungry for the evening meal.
Fast track another five years, I was most reluctantly spending a night in the Lamington Hotel at Popondetta on the north coast. Alcohol seemed the only consolation, and in the bar there was Les, now the town baker, late from Goroka. Being an honest person I had to confess to him the consumption of crayfish. For some reason, this made him very annoyed. Red in the face, he shouted "First you try to kill me and then you eat all my crays!"
This seemed to me to be an over reaction. He appeared to be mentally unstable. Most unreasonable. In future I would avoid bakers with crayfish.
