Air/Ground Radio Airfields with A/G Radio offer an information service with a radio operator who are not licensed and not under close CAA supervision. They identify themselves by saying the airfield name followed by the word radio. It could just be a guy on a mobile radio with no other support. They will offer a basic information service and report known traffic to you.

“Enstone, this is November 666 Echo X-ray.”

No response. I frowned.

“Enstone Radio, this is November 666 Echo X-ray, radio check.”

It had been a chaotic day and we were late leaving. And now that finally everyone was bundled up into the plane and ready to go, the youngster on the radio wasn’t responding. Technically, I didn’t have to request permission to start but it’s generally the polite thing to do. The last time I flew from this airfield, the chap called me just as I was entering the runway to let my know my son had left his bookbag in the cafeteria. Service like that is invaluable and so I didn’t like to risk upsetting anyone but it was frustrating to be sitting here waiting on someone who’d walked away from the mike.

I called a third time, no response. Had he gone for a cup of tea or what? Cliff frowned at me and I shrugged. I decided to try once more. This fourth call elicited a response: a confused voice came back over the radio.

“Are you talking to me?”

I winced. Who was playing with the radio, for god’s sake? That’s when Cliff’s mum piped up from the backseat.

“I don’t understand why you are saying Enstone Radio,” she said.

I started to snap back an answer when it sunk in. We were at Bembridge on the Isle of Wight. I’d been flying in and out of Enstone the previous week and we’d be landing there today but right now? We weren’t talking to them.

“Bembridge, this is November 666 Echo X-ray, request, uh … geography check.”

I could hear the relieved laughter as he responded. “November 666 Echo X-ray, confirmed, you are parked just outside of my window.”

“Thanks for that. Request start.”

“Nothing to affect,” he told me and we were finally on our way.

Flight Information Service Airfields with FIS are an information air traffic support unit staffed by licensed Flight Information Service Officers. They identify themselves by saying the airfield name followed by the word Information. Their function is to assist pilots to operate safely by offering a traffice service and helping with information regarding weather and aerodrome details.

The tricky thing about Information stations is how they let you know what you should be doing without ever actually telling you what to do.

“Shobdon, this is November 666 Echo X-ray, inbound to you.”

“November 666 Echo X-ray, this is Shobdon Information, go ahead.”

“November 666 Echo X-ray is a PA32 inbound to you, I’m looking to join the circuit downwind for runway 09, right hand.”

The response was immediate. “November 666 Echo X-ray we have three in the circuit, recommend an overhead join.”

I had already descended to 1,300 feet, too low for the manoeuvre that he was referring to, flying over the runway and then descending on the dead side. I also couldn’t see the point, I was perfectly set up to simply turn right and join the circuit in another mile.

He repeated the call. “November 666 Echo X-ray, recommend an overhead join.”

As I continued towards the airfield, I felt frustrated and confused: the advice that the Officer was giving me didn’t make sense. I didn’t like to argue with him, however, and I had to admit it wouldn’t make that much difference to me.

“November 666 Echo X-ray is climbing to 2,300 feet for overhead join.”

A moment later, it suddenly clicked. I was saying Runway 09 but I had been heading for the join for Runway 27, that is, the same runway going the opposite direction. I couldn’t possibly join downwind from my present position which is why he wanted me up and out of the way of his traffic.

I went overhead and joined downwind from a sensible position, much to the relief of Shobdon Information.

Air Traffic Control Airfields with an ATC service have an active control tower staffed by air traffic controllers and are under close CAA supervision. Only ATC are authorised to issue clearances. They identify themselves by saying the airfield name followed by their function (Ground, Tower, Approach, Director, Radar). They offer a variety of services including control, flight information and traffic.

The flight from Guernsey to Alderney was only notable in its simplicity: it took longer to get everyone into the plane than it did to make the journey. Only as we landed did it get hectic.

“Backtrack and exit at Alpha.”

I always feel a faint Top Gun thrill at phrases like that which sound so complicated but I now know are simple. “Wilco” I said with a knowing nod.

Except that having spun the plane around, I couldn’t find Alpha. There was a bit of a turn-in on my right but it disappeared into grass and with the wet weather I was worried about taking a wrong turn and getting stuck in the mud. I grabbed for my plate with a map of the airfield.

“Turn right,” said an impatient voice on the radio. “And expedite, I’ve got another one coming in.” Two planes at the airfield at once, this must be a veritable traffic jam by Alderney standards. I bit my lip and turned the plane right onto the grass and paused.

“Carry on,” said the voice again. “Straight ahead, between the two markers. I take it you’ve never been here before?”

“Affirm,” I said in my best professional pilot voice. Followed by “Sorry,” blowing away any semblance of radio competence.

“Just carry on straight. And expedite!”

Finally the map and the ground in front of me clicked into place, I wondered if the air traffic controller could see the small light bulb appearing over the cockpit as I made my way to the parking area. I had just chosen a nice easy spot to park when the voice came back.

“Pull forward to the blue markers, then face south and then west.”

I frowned as I pulled forward, was he trying to make it difficult?

“Which way is south,” I hissed at Cliff as I fumbled to get the map out again.

“Turn left,” he said. I turned then tried to picture a map in my head. If I am facing south then I’m looking towards Texas. California is west and on my right. Got it! I opened my eyes and looked around. “So west is to the right now, right?”

Cliff sighed at me. “Just use the Directional Indicator?”

I blushed and turned the plane until the DI pointed west.

“Just park there,” said the voice. The other plane had landed and radio silence descended. It would probably be at least an hour before they see any further traffic. I shut the engine down.

Military Air Traffic Zones It goes without saying that you should be unfailingly polite to any controller who has fighter jets to back him up. In the UK, the pilot should contact the controller either 15 nautical miles or 5 minutes flying time from a military boundary, whichever is sooner, requesting penetration. To enter the central area (Aerodrome Traffic Zone) you must receive permission and comply with the controller’s instructions.

My first run-in with the military was actually in France.

We had landed at an airfield for refuelling but they were having technical difficulties and informed us that they would not be able to offer fuel for the rest of the day. A quick glance at book showed us another airfield on route that listed AVGAS 100L and so we jumped into the plane and went straight there, plotting the route as we went.

“Cognac, this is November 666 Echo X-ray.”

“November 666 Echo X-ray, pass your message.”

“November 666 Echo X-ray is a PA32 inbound to you, currently 20 miles to your NW at 4,000 feet, request airfield information and joining instructions.”

There was a brief pause.

“November 666 Echo X-ray can you state your intentions.”

“We’re inbound to you for refuelling.”

“November 666 Echo X-ray are you aware that this is a military airfield?”

“Oh. Uh, no. Negative. I was not aware.”

“November 666 Echo X-ray I say again, can you state your intentions?”

I bit my lip but silence seemed likely to get a missile aimed in my direction.

“Er, I intend to ask your advice on where we could go for refuelling in the local area?”

The controller was perfectly friendly about it, verifying that I was not in an emergency before recommending that I fly direct to Angouleme and even offering me a heading and a flight information service directly to the airfield. Anything, I guess, to keep me out of his zone.

Using the radio professionally has become an essential requirement in the modern aviation environment. Radio provides the interface between you and others, especially the Air Traffic Service Unit (ATSU) whose frequency you are using. You will make life more comfortable for yourself (and others) if you can use the radio efficiently.

When I first started my PPL, I was told that I had a real knack for using the radio. Getting my radio licence was the easiest part of the entire training. Little did I know that in the meantime, I would manage to mess up speaking to every different type of Air Traffic Service Unit in existence.

An old friend of mine, also a pilot, mailed me recently saying:

Hey, how about you tell me a tale of the day you really learnt to fly, you know - not when you got your licence, but an occasion, when you really learnt to fly, come on, I’ve got some, I’ll tell you if you tell me. :) And don’t tell me you don’t have one, cos every PPL does - promise not to tell!

I immediately remembered my screw-up the first time I flew in IMC. As I started to write it down, Sylvia said, “That’s a great story for Fear of Landing” and insisted I share my failures with the world.

Many years ago when VFR on top was legal and I had about 10 hours post qualification, I hired a C182 from Leicester to fly my new girlfriend to Paris for the weekend. In those days, you had to land at a customs airport on the way out, so I planned Southend.

Weather at Southend was clear, at Leicester was overcast at 1000′. We sat at Leicester for hours waiting for a break in the clouds; Brigitte was not known as the most patient of people. Finally a break appeared and I rushed off, without checking Southend again.

Arriving at Southend, it’s totally overcast between 700′ and 1200′, also for miles around. “What are your intentions?”

“Request half-mile radar to final,” I reply, fully confident after my four hours’ “Instrument Appreciation” that was part of my PPL. No autopilot so I’m about to hand-fly in IMC.

ATC are unfazed and give me headings and descent. I’m trying out that scan I was taught and all seems to be going well. “Fly 260 degrees and descend to 700′.”

A few moments later, I get a call, “Please confirm current heading.”

I look. It’s drifted to 250 degrees but I respond, “260 degrees” and adjust my heading.

ATC assume my DI is 10 degrees out and come back immediately with “Turn right, heading 270 degrees”. Now it’s too late to come clean and tell them that, actually, it was I who was 10 degrees off, not the instrument.

So I’m flying in IMC, trying to keep the scan up and having to add 10 degrees to all further headings. Or is it subtract? My work-load just doubled!

Breaking through at 700′ and seeing the runway ahead was an exhilaration I remember nearly 25 years later. If that didn’t teach me anything else, I learnt not to lie to ATC!

I was going to write a long post about the different types of Air Traffic Service Units in the UK but I got distracted by the Internet. Somehow I’ve ended up spending hours reading about military planes from the past - important research if you want to discuss the difference between A/G Radio and ATC services, to be sure!

First I watched this great clip on YouTube. The 526th Fighter Interceptor Squadron made this video in Germany in the 1950s:

Then I found myself on the Royal Air Force site, looking at an astounding collection of photographs in the RAF Timeline starting from the 1st of April 1918 when the Royal Air Force and Women’s Royal Air Force were formed. How can I resist bits of trivia like this:

6 Sep 1939 - South Africa declares war on Germany. Also on this day is the Battle of Barking Creek, when a error in identification in the Chain Home Radar system led to RAF aircraft engaging each other over the Thames Estuary. Blenheims, Hurricanes and Spitfires, not physically unlike the German Ju 88 and Bf 109, reported seeing enemy aircraft and several claims were made.

And photographs like this:

I might have managed to get something done but a so-called “friend” chose that moment to send me a link to a recent Popular Mechanics special: The 6 Most Lethal Aircraft in History

The article includes photographs and descriptions of amazing fighter planes: Fokker Eindecker, A6M Zero, B-29 Superfortress, AC-130 Spectre, A-10 Thunderbolt, and the AH-64 Apache. And another half an hour was gone.

In an attempt to get back on track, I scanned through the Professional Pilots Rumour Network and found a thread in their private flying forum entitled Don’t call mayday over the radio…! with some responses that had me laughing out loud:

Actually I have long thought that the mayday call would be much more pithy as:

“F**K, F**K, F**K”!! Summarises the situation when the donk has quit at 100 feet quite nicely I think.

The Pan call could similarly be replaced by:

“Bugg*r, Bugg*r, Bugg*r”, as it carries a degree of irritation without quite as much immediate concern as the former.

On my first night circuit in a Wessex 5 helicopter some 30 years ago, we suffered a hydraulic failure, a “land asap, running landing” emergency.

I called “(Callsign) Wessex, PAN PAN PAN, hydraulic failure downwind, request priority running landing on the runway” (rather than a hover landing on the normal helicopter T night landing spots inside the runway) .

ATC said: “Stand by - I have a simulated engine failure joining shortly”.

My instructor said on the radio: “He didn’t say “Practice PAN…..it’s a real one”.

ATC: Oh, er…Ooops sorry, clear land on the runway.

And this informative post from a marine point of view:

I was taught by the RNLI that:-
Mayday (3times) should be used to declare an emergency which endangers the vessel and/or its passengers/crew.
Pan Pan (3 times) should be used to indicate an urgent transmission, taking precedence over everything except Mayday calls to report a threat to life or major problem short of a threat to the entire hull. (Note it is NOT a Pan call - it is a Pan-Pan call)
ie,One of 2 engines out in flight is a threat to the hull therefore a Mayday (even if you can continue on one engine since loss of the remaining engine could be a bad thing! just ask Ryanair) a heart attack passenger is regretable but no threat to the hull therefore a Pan Pan call if you want to off load them at the nearest airport.

Of passing interest - until about the mid 80s a man overboard (marine style) was just a Pan Pan and not a Mayday since there was no threat to the hull!!

The next thing I knew, it was dinner time and I had forgotten to put the roast in the oven! Luckily, I live with an understanding man who is happy to take me out for a quick Chinese meal … I hope!

I’ll be more organised next week…

Kidlington Airfield, now known as Oxford Airport, has been in use since the 1930s. Their training history began in World War II when it was used as a training centre for Royal Air Force pilots. Today, even with a downturn in new pilots, 73% of their traffic is training flights. Their circuit can get very full. I once ended up in the circuit with half a dozen planes of different speeds, desperately trying to stay ahead of the jet and not overtake the Cessnas. Regardless of the stresses, I’ve found that Oxford ATC remains consistently pleasant, helpful and actively on the look-out for problems so that they can help the pilots avoid them.

I know the airfield well because Oxford is where I did my conversion to complex, soon after completing my PPL. At the time, every circuit was a struggle as I tried to comprehend the speed and weight of the Saratoga after learning in Cessna 172s. But it was back on the ground where I had the most trouble.

After a few hours in the air, my instructor said he was happy for me to take the Saratoga up on my own after a break. Circuits still felt a rush, much like when I started flying, but I was starting to feel like it might be just about under control.

We stopped at the pumps to fill her up. The instructor had another student waiting, so was in a rush. “You can taxi it back OK, right?”

Having just agreed to take the beast out solo I could hardly claim that I needed help moving it from the fuel tanks to my parking spot. I gave him a brave grin. “I’ll be fine, you go!”

He bounded away while I glared at the plane, daring it to embarrass me in public. I went through the complete start-up checks, as if I were about to take it to Japan. Then I took a deep breath and started the engine. So far, so good. My transit across the airfield was approved and I drove at a slow speed, feeling in control for the first time that day.

Except that someone had parked next to my parking space. Not in it but next to it, in such a way that I had to navigate behind it, between the other plane’s tail and a large fence, to get to my spot.

I looked around hopefully: maybe that somebody was about to leave. No such luck, no pilot near. I had just about decided to swing around and park over by the flying school planes, when I noticed three young guys looking at my plane. Watching me, as I vacillated and blocked up the taxi way trying to work out what to do, no doubt wondering what such a little girl was doing in so much Saratoga.

I looked at my parking space again. It was totally accessible if I slipped in between the plane and the fence and then did a hard right; I couldn’t fault the pilot’s parking. I looked at the young guys again and felt an irrational surge of pride. I’ll swing it right in, park it perfectly, that’ll show them!

That’ll show them, indeed. I pulled around, keeping extra far from the other plane, worried about my low wing clipping his tail. Then I realised that I had overcompensated: the left wing was dangerously close to the corner of the fence. I pondered for a moment, should I just go for it and hope? Even I wasn’t that fool-hardy: I cut the engine and got out to look.

I couldn’t carry on: my left wing was clearly going to clip the fence. I needed to push back but I knew there was no chance I could budge it on my own: I’d taken the engine to over 2000 RPM just to get it to roll forward on the grass.

I glanced at the guys but they were now deep in conversation. Did they really not notice my problem? Or were they sniggering quietly? I looked around again in desperation. At that moment, a good looking, dark-haired man came towards me.

He called out. “Need me to move my plane?”

I waited until he reached me to shake my head, no. “That’s not going to help at this stage.”

He grinned. “No, it won’t. What are you going to do?”

Various pitiful answers went through my head but I simply said, “I’m going to have to push it back,” like this were within the realms of possibility.

He nodded; I felt like I’d passed some sort of test.

“I’ll help you,” he told me. We positioned ourselves either side of the propeller and I was about to push for all I was worth when he shouted at the young guys still standing in the car park.

“Hey, give us a hand here.”

They dashed over. “Anything for a damsel in distress,” said my new friend with a wink. With a single heave the plane rolled back. I was clear for another go.

“I’ll marshal you in,” he said as I climbed into the cockpit. The three guys smiled and waved and retreated back to the parking lot. I started up and he guided me straight through the gap and into my spot.

“Nice parking,” said my instructor as I walked into the school. He’d watched it all through the picture window.

“One word about women drivers and I’ll kill you,” I snapped, making a bee-line for the coffee machine. “I said I could do circuits solo, I never said a word about taxiing.”

An hour later, the guys were still in the car park, chatting away. Not a snigger in sight.

I climbed into the plane and wondered why I was so quick to sabotage myself. If I’d asked one of them to guide me in when I saw them glancing at the plane, it would have looked professional and competent - as opposed to having to push the plane by brute force.

I considered that maybe I was my own worst enemy and taxied away.

Of course these days, I don’t have that problem. I simply make a point of hanging out at airfields with bigger parking spaces: