07 May 26 RAF Coningsby
Patrick and William were not uplifted by the RAF coffee in the officer’s mess. Truth be told Suzanne and I also felt a bit despondent. The Sea Otter would have to stay here in Coningsby, with it our first class spectator seats had vanished.
P & W as we had nicknamed them abruptly stood up and saluted as Wing Commander Warburton-Brown approached our table.
“At ease please. Not the best coffee in the world I know, but it’s wet, warm and sweet, if you like it that way.”
P & W sat down again.
“Our apologies for lumbering you with the Sea Otter Sir.” I wanted to get our apology in first, not knowing what his reaction would be.
“Not a problem. Suzanne and Mike isn’t it?”
“Yes”
“I’m sure we can accommodate the Otter for a while, it appears our Minister quite likes her. Since his photo shoot up in Leuchars his approval rating improved by 2.73 %.”
“That’s good news Sir, thank you.”
“Would you two like a brief tour of the base?”
“Yes that would be interesting.” Suzanne replied before I had a chance to form the words.
“We are not sure how to escort the spitfire on her way.” she added, putting on her biggest spanner eyes. I don’t know if his nuts tightened or not, but he smiled at her almost like a school kid with a crush on a new teacher.
“We might be able to help you there. Come let me show you one or two things we have.”
We followed as he marched for several minutes amongst a maze of hangers, maintenance buildings and assorted ground equipment.
“What do you think of her?” the BAE HS 125-700 stood amongst assorted trolleys:
“I thought they had all been decommissioned” I blurted out.
“it would take some work to get her airworthy I must admit.” the Commander agreed.
“Follow me.” he lead us to the main apron.
“I’m sure we could twist Transport Command’s arm, she would have no problem keeping up with your old Belgian Lady, and plenty of room for the four of you.”.
“Come, I have something else which might be more comfortable.” Johnny Warburton-Brown was smiling at Suzanne “Do you fly young lady?”
“Like a bird.” she replied smiling back.
Several minutes later we turned to a small apron hidden between a hanger and the perimeter fence.
“They don’t come more comfortable than this. Fit for a Queen!”
“You still have one?”
“Well, obviously” the Wing Commander replied.
“Actually, technically it was retired from the Queen’s flight back in 2022, but we were given the task of returning her to civilian speck; removing various little defensive gizmos.” he patted the chaff dispenser by the rear door.
“The MOD under pressure to make “efficiency savings” want to sell her but, as politicians would have it, the budget to complete the work never materialised. So we keep her in airworthy condition. When the budget materialises we can complete the work and sell her back to the civilian market.”
She certainly looked in tip top condition, the interior not too shabby:
“So you fly her regularly?” Suzanne asked.
I could see where she was going and kept quiet, she could charm the Wing Commander far better than I.
Johnny Warburton-Brown was on a love offensive: “Both the Hawker and this 146 really belong in Northolt but they have no space to store them.”
The Commander seemed to puff up: “As you can see we have ample space here, and are adept at looking after them. In fact we have patched this aircraft up once before. Our dear King was at the controls, well he was just The Prince Of Wales then, he somewhat misjudged his landing.”
He showed us the photo he had retrieved from his oversized leather wallet:
“He never took the controls again. But here she is, good as new!”
“And you have pilots trained on the type available?” Suzanne dropped the question almost casually.
“Yes my dear lady! I would be happy to accompany you as we escort your Spitfire around the UK.”
I guess everything has its price.
