Contrails: Our Vanishing Past
By Steve Weaver I watched as the Spitfire, a veteran of the Battle of Britain, gently touched the sod of the country it had fought for some 70 odd years ago. The roll out was straight, and the track was true and the beautiful craft had slowed to almost a taxi pace when suddenly the left wing went down. The big fighter slewed and started to go over. It poised with the tail high in the air, just at the tipping point, where an inch further would send it onto its back, then it settled back on the right main gear and the left wing tip, the tail still high above the ground. There was a collective moan from the watching crowd, mine probably one of the loudest.I was visiting England last month, and my host suggested a trip to Sywell Aerodrome, which was an RAF training field during the war and located about an hour from London. Dozens of these bases threatened to sink the island during the war, and this one
resembled the quintessential RAF aerodrome that we’ve seen in dozens of WWII movies. It shined in the slanting, early fall light, the brightest expanse of green that you can imagine, and on this Thursday afternoon, it was a beehive of activity. There was a large picnic area behind the low fence, and entire families were having a midweek lunch while watching the airplanes as they came and went. Besides the Spitfire, there was a DeHavland Chipmunk and a Tiger Moth giving rides to all comers, and there appeared to be plenty of customers. The local flying club was busy with students, and the restaurant in the terminal was bustling. Apparently, aviation is still special in England, as it was here in America almost a half century ago when I got into the flying business as a young man, and it cheered me to witness it.
There is also a Battle of Britain museum at the aerodrome, which was closed this particular day, but thanks to the kindness of the curator, the Yanks got a peek. It was overwhelming, and my plan is to go back and spend a day there. The smallest artifacts are shown and described with care, and there was lots of salvage from battle wreckage with a description of where and when the aircraft went down. Allied and German alike, all things were displayed with a reverence that bespoke the importance of the tiniest bit of England’s history during this epic time.The failure of the left gear on the Spitfire got me thinking about how old these survivors from the Big War are now and how incredibly difficult and scary it must be to maintain them. Year after year, there are fewer spares and fewer people who can work on them, and when something breaks, there is always the possibility that the needed part can’t be found. I was standing next to the wife of the gentleman flying the Spitfire when the accident happened, and I could see the hurt on her face as she saw the old aircraft damaged.
The surviving men who flew these aircraft are in their 90s now, and their ranks are thinning quickly. We are so blessed to still have a few to link us to the time these aircraft helped save the world. Sadly, there will soon come a time when the last warrior pilot is gone, and we have only their recorded words to connect us to their story.The aircraft though, live on for now, through the dedication of the men and women who keep them flying, and in doing so, they give us a living link to the past.It must be faced though, that someday the machines will follow their human pilots. There will come a day when one of these magnificent aircraft will be the last of its breed to fly. At the end of that flight, it will taxi to a rest, the mixture on the Merlin will be pulled, and the shining disc of it’s propeller will slow, dissolve into individual blades, then stop one final time.On that sad day, an important part of the past will be relegated to the museums, and we will have lost the living touchstone that brought an era alive for us. Until that day, don’t miss a chance to see these pieces of living history in action.
