RAF Leuchars Air Show 2008
Beth Jones
It was massive. It was vast. It was infinite. It was the RAF Leuchars air field where the annual, much anticipated Air Show of 2008 was about to commence.
As we trudged, hunched against the menacing autumn rain across the thick, overgrown grass of the make shift car park I couldn't help but feel excited. This was my first air show. My first ever air show. I didn't have a clue what to expect. Whilst we neared the base of the airfield, being shoved and shunted ahead by hundreds of other eager spectators, their eyes on the prize, my eyes were indeed as round as saucers. I had stepped into a myriad of colour, noise and action. Screaming children, dizzy with being thrown up and down, chucked from side to side and rotated high above ground lined the seats of amusement rides. Programmes were being sold from trolleys manned by smartly dressed teenagers, their 'Air Cadet' badges standing out from miles off. Queues of shivering yet smiling viewers wriggled and writhed from food huts as coffee was poured, clutched and drunk as though there was no tomorrow.
An aircraft loomed up in front of us out of the fog, it's fierce yet strangely beautiful frame filling half the horizon. The Vulcan B2 bomber. Old star of the skies, it had been rescued from its rotting retirement and would be showing off its new face lift later that afternoon.
As we neared our destination - premier class 'grandstand' seats - we passed by a seemingly endless row of static aircraft. The variation in size, colour and shape was overwhelming. Fragile, petite looking bodies with extensive, newly painted wings appeared as though they were just managing to keep their poses in the raging wind. Other muscular, brawny structures of sheer power, their elongated noses towering over us, stood their ground, guarding their territory. Some appeared so crumbled and ill looking in their dismal, faded hues of greys and greens that I felt positively sorry for them.
Finally we were sitting clumped together, icy cold hands dug deeply into jacket pockets, hoods up against the prevailing wind, eyes and ears fixed unflickering on the runway ahead. Suddenly, the air was ripped in two before my eyes as the Typhoon F2's serrated nose tip blasted into view as it tore into the sky, undefeated and undeafened by the constricting weather conditions. It twisted and turned in a series of impressive yet formidable manoeuvres, roaring in power to the vulnerable audience below. I was completely overawed. Never before had I seen anything so frightening, yet so enchanting.
Sadly however, this noisy, whiz kid couldn't bully the weather into submitting and allowing the sun to emerge, not even for a moment. Disappointment was high as the list of air displays being cancelled grew and grew. As the King Air B200 cruised past however, smiling benignly at its audience, the opaque mist seemed to struggle to obscure its little black and white body.
It was decided that it was the Apache helicopter's turn to brave the treacherous skies and it proved to be a real crowd pleaser (it even came with its own theme tune). Dipping and diving in time to the heavy rock beat its display of combat moves brought a smile to my face and as it bowed to the cheering audience, the mist appeared to have been persuaded slightly more to subside.
As I chomped hungrily on my tuna sarny, in the break between morning and afternoon displays, I sighted the famous Nimrod MR2. Its unblinking, keen eye sights out any possible threat, although today its eyes appeared rather dreamlike as it slumbered peacefully, warm and cosy in the sheltered hangar, oblivious to all the attention it was receiving from admirers.
Suddenly, an excited, crackling voice exclaiming 'Back to your seats ladies and gentleman, the Red Arrows have affirmed their decision to fly today!' boomed out of the distant loudspeakers.
I just escaped the crowded mass and reached my seat in time.
Nine sparkling rubies left the runway in perfect unison and released their separate streams of coloured smoke, bringing life to the dullness of the day. My heart leapt and the hairs stood up on the back of my neck as I craned it in exhilaration to follow their faded forms as they sped through the mist. They were stunning. They wove their magic yet again as they tumbled and twisted with the utmost precision and style. It was as though God himself was watching them in their element as they gently persuaded him to let slip a subtle beam of sunshine as the grey skies parted and a clear chasm of bright blue became visible. It was a performance that an Olympic gymnast would have been envious of.
The adrenalin was pumping therefore when it was the turn of the long awaited Vulcan B2 bomber to take to the stage. This gargantuan magnificent plane, orphaned and alone in the world, howled its sorrows to the crowd as it bolted up and down the runway. Its newly painted, rejuvenated delta wings waving to the crowd as our cheers at finally seeing our prized possession in action reached its colossal ears. It truly is the people's plane.
As the twilight of evening began to shine down from the blue hole in the mist, a rattling, familiar sound reached our ears. The Spitfire captured my heart as it slowly but surely circulated the field, its wise and rhythmic chant combining with the words of Winston Churchill, echoing from the loudspeakers. The almost moustached and blunt nose made me grin as I thought of it as an old WWII veteran, chuckling at the 'good old days' as it gently turned its head for home.
As we waited in the ten mile queue to leave Leuchars air field, I couldn't help feeling the desperate urge to be up in the sky among the birds. Roaring and rattling though, instead of chirping and cheeping.
