The way home - Tony Cunnane's Life and Times

Day 5: 28 February 1975 - The long, long way home!

The next day we finally departed from Cecil Field. There was a large crowd out to watch – we had told them that with a calm wind, a full fuel load and an air temperature of about 30 degrees C, we would need 10,000 feet of runway to get airborne. Fortunately the runway was 12,000 feet long. The southbound flight from Goose Bay to Cecil Field in the face of 200 knots headwind for half of the route had taken 5 hours 15 minutes. Now those very unusual winds had abated and so our flight time to Goose Bay over the exact reciprocal route was only 3 hours 40 minutes. What a difference!

We were on the ground only about an hour at Goose Bay – the RAF staff there were as keen to get rid of us as we were to leave. We flight-planned to fly across the Atlantic at 41,000 feet because  that gave us the best air speed. Unfortunately, when we were climbing out of Goose Bay we got an ATC message from them ordering to us maintain 29,000 feet until further cleared by Oceanic Control. It was like trying to join the M1 in between junctions: it couldn’t be done. We never did get clearance and so we had to fly the entire way to UK airspace at the lower level, below the westerly jet stream, and that added about 40 minutes to our planned transit time.

On leaving Oceanic Control west of the Hebrides, we were cleared to leave the airways system and fly direct to our base as there was no known traffic. The weather at Marham was excellent: sky clear, unlimited visibility and we could see the blazing runway lights from about 40 miles as we approached from the west. I told the crew that I would do the approach and landing because I needed to fly an instrument approach from the right hand seat for my own currency – and it seemed a shame not to give the approach controller something to do.

But I really didn’t need to fly a right hand seat approach and landing. I had a sneaky VSU plan.

At about 7 miles from touch down I started deliberately slipping low on the glide path and edging off to the left of the centreline. The approach controller advised that we were getting low on the glide path. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the 1st Pilot glancing anxiously in my direction. I continued to deviate.

The GCA controller spoke again, urgently: “You are dropping further below the glide path – acknowledge!”

I said to the 1st pilot, “You have control”, pressed my press-to-transmit button and acknowledged the GCA controller’s call. “I’ll explain after landing,” I said on the radio.

It was a rotten thing to do – handing over control to the 1st pilot in an awkward position when he might have been relaxing after a testing few days and not concentrating on what I was doing. But he was right on the ball. He recovered the aircraft smoothly back to the correct glide path and made an excellent landing a few seconds later.

Pirate Trail A26 was finally successfully completed at about 1AM on the Saturday morning. We had flown 19 hrs 40 minutes – more than four times the length of a normal VSU flight check! I gave a quick debrief to my excellent crew, telling them they had passed the flight check with flying colours. They then went off to their homes. (The 1st pilot added later that as a junior captain and having been on the squadron only 9 months, he would have been more than happy just to pass the VSU check with every aspect graded ‘Satisfactory’. He was delighted that I had given him a ‘Highly Commendable’ for Contingency Planning especially as the Tanker Force prided itself on its ability to get the job done).I went to the Officers Mess – I urgently needed a pint of beer before retiring to my suite in the West Wing. I knew that the bar would still be open because I’d remembered that a formal Dining In Night was in progress. I went to a rear hatchway in the corridor at the back of the bar and silently gestured to the Barman, who happened to be looking my way, to bring me a pint. I downed it greedily in one and then, to my dismay, the AOC appeared in the hatch and told me to come through into the main bar. So, unshaven, unwashed, and embarrassed at my unkempt and probably smelly body still enclosed in the winter rubber immersion suit but now with the zips wide open to let some fresh air in thereby revealing my underclothes, I entered the bar. Initially there was a horrified silence from the assembled gentlemen as I clumped my way over to the AOC who was standing next to the Station Commander and various invited guests, all immaculately dressed in their Mess Kit or DJs.

“Barman, give Squadron Leader Cunnane, the Station Commander and me another pint each on my bill,” called the AOC cheerfully. “Now, Tony, I’m pleased to see you decided to come home at last but tell me, why did you double stage from Florida. We all expected you to spend the weekend in Goose Bay and fly home on Monday!” He paused, then grinned and said, “Congratulations to all your crew – and tell them well done from me. Never let it be said that we don’t help the Royal Navy – especially when they go around dropping expensive Buccaneers off the side of their carriers.”

The next day the Mess Barman buttonholed me and said, “The AOC doesn’t have a bar account so I put that last round on your bill – was that OK, sir?”

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