We sat through seemingly endless briefings on the European airspace system and its unique rules. Some of the European regulations were similar to the US but there were some important differences and we had to abide by their rules, no excuses accepted. Country borders had to be respected and navigating from one country to another had to be precise.
English is the universal language of aviation, and all controllers, regardless of country, were required to speak in English. That didn’t mean we understood them all the time. The controllers would switch back and forth from English to their native tongue depending on which aircraft they were talking to. Flying into Madrid, Spain for example, the controller would speak to us in English and then rapid fire some instructions to an Iberian airliner in Spanish. Sometimes when this happened, pilots would look at each other quizzically and say, “Was that for us?” The theory was, if it was important enough — and it was for ushe would call back.
European countries are very particular about their borders. Transiting their airspace had to be done according to precise navigation and heaven help those who violated them. France, for example, wouldn’t let us fly over their airspace most of the time. Looking at a map of Europe, you could see how this could make navigating from say, the UK to Spain, or Denmark to Portugal, difficult. Another major European hot spot was Berlin. Before the Wall fell, navigating in and out of Berlin had to be done along three tight corridors. Straying out of these corridors meant risking a shoot down from a Russian fighter.
We were very much aware of our individual responsibility for following our flight plan and keeping on track. The consequences could be severe. If, for example, our aircraft strayed off course and the controller wrote up a violation, it could have international complications. Countries could ban all military aircraft from their airspace for something we had done. When this type of incident happened, it usually required the head of USAFE (US Air Forces Europe), or even the State Department, to get involved in order to get our clearance reinstated.
Naturally, all this shit ran downhill until it reached the squadron commander who padded this giant, rolling ball and pushed it down the hill on top of the offending crew, squashing them like bugs. The offending crew could face anything from a nuclear ass chewing to being grounded.
The deadline for our departure to Mildenhall was fast approaching. Doreen and Krista were going to spend a month at her Mom’s in Philadelphia. Once they were safely in place there, I was ready to go.
Our proposed route was now familiar to me. The first stop was Lajes, Azores. I even knew what kind of wine to buy this time. Prior to leaving Pope, Irv had been briefed on his behavior by the Squadron Commander, Lt Col Shumer. Irv was extremely well behaved for our overnight in Lajes. I personally thought that he was saving all his energy for England. Time would prove me correct.
Mildenhall was a great base. It was small but all the essentials were there. Our home for the next two months was the Bachelor Officer Quarters (BOQ). These rooms were recently refurbished and we each had our own room with a nice bed, small refrigerator, private shower and plenty of storage (just in case we picked up some souvenirs). Right down the street was the Officers Club, our hangout location after every mission. The street in front of our BOQ ran to the front gate, and once through that, England awaited us.
Adjusting to Europe took a bit of time for me. Everything in the US was so large, roomy and pretty new. In England, all was shrunken down. Their houses were tiny, the streets narrow, the cars small and they drove on the wrong side of the road.
Since these C-130 rotations were ongoing, there were a dozen or so cars that were sold by the current squadron to the newcomers. None of these “Rote” cars would be found on the showroom floor. They all ran and were mostly reliable but all had issues.
My buds and I were going for style points so we opted for the big Jaguar. This car looked good but that was all. It had an on-going fuel leak that simply would not stay plugged and the fact that the gas gauge was not reliable meant even a normal journey became exciting. Toss a few beers into the mix, a steering wheel on the right, driving on the left while navigating a roundabout in the rain at night; well, you get the picture. It was an adventure.
And then there was the Lucas electrical system. Anyone who has ever owned an older English car: MG, TR-6, Jaguar, knows what I mean. Lucas, an English company, made the wiring on these cars. Their product was totally unreliable. You’d be riding down a country lane at night and hit a bump and all your lights would go out, both headlights and interior. Hit another bump and the headlights came back on. Another bump and now the interior lights worked. And so it went. Needless to say we all carried flashlights and kept spare ones in the car, along with the spare gas can.
The area around the base was a treasure trove for a history buff like myself. I spent many hours in the town of Ely where there is a magnificent cathedral built by the Benedictine community in 970 A.D. The original founder of Ely cathedral was St. Etheldreda who had quite an unusual marital arrangement. She married at an early age to Tondberht, but she remained a virgin. When her very understanding husband died, she retired to the Isle of Ely, her dowry. In 660, for political reasons, she married Egfrith, the young king of Northumbria who was then only 15 years old. He too, surprisingly agreed that she remain a virgin. Twelve years later, however, Egfrith figured he had waited long enough and demanded his marital rights. The queen refused, so Egfrith offered bribes, to no avail. The queen left him and became a nun. She might have thought about this 15 years earlier and saved this guy a lot of sleepless nights — just sayin’. She founded a monastery in Ely in 673 that became the basis for the Benedictine community.
All the churches in the area, especially Ely Cathedral, had beautiful brass plaques fashioned by medieval craftsmen. We used these plaques to make brass rubbings. One made a rubbing by laying a sheet of paper over the brass and rubbing the paper with various colored crayons. The image produced, if properly done, could be mounted and framed. By the mid 1970s the authorities decided that you could no longer rub the original brasses since careless tourists were wearing them away. Luckily, I got to do a couple of originals before the crackdown.
We flew on a regular basis and none of it was boring for me because it was all new. One trip that appeared regularly on the schedule was called a “Turkey Trot.” The US Air Force and Army had several operational bases in Turkey. This changed with the Turkey-Cypriot War in 1974. When this war broke out all but two bases, Incirlik and Izmir, were dramatically reduced. These outlying bases still had a small American presence and regularly needed resupply. A regular Turkey Trot had us hauling a load of engine parts or construction equipment non-stop from Mildenhall to Incirlik Air Base, near Adana, in southern Turkey.