Following their retirement, both my mother’s brother, Frank Palmer, and my father, wrote their memoirs.
From the manuscripts left to me, when they passed away, I was able to extract sufficient material to publish two books and pursue my own interest in local and social history. Frank’s memories, of life in Stourton Caundle from 1920 to 1945, included the following reference to the visit of a Flying Circus to Stalbridge in the mid1930s. A flying circus, made up of a small outfit of three biplanes and about half a dozen men, moved into a field adjoining Station Road.
That evening, along with several other village lads, I threw my bike down under a hedge and entered the field. We immediately decided to book our seats for a short flight on a biplane. We joined the queue to await our turn to climb aboard the three seater aircraft.
We were informed a short while later that there would be a slight delay. I then noticed a mechanic carrying out minor adjustments to the plane’s oil bespattered engine. I was already feeling somewhat apprehensive and this did nothing to inspire my confidence. Given the go-ahead, we squeezed ourselves into an open cockpit, which was to the rear of the pilot. The flight lasted for about 10 minutes and cost half a crown. I have an abiding memory of the slipstream once airborne, making it extremely difficult to look over the side and view the countryside below. Nevertheless, I did find the short flight a most enjoyable experience.
“Baint ever gwoin to goo up agin, cos tis too bloody draughty vor the likes ov I,” said one local character who had lost his best trilby hat on a flight.
That evening, along with several other village lads, I threw my bike down under a hedge and entered the field. We immediately decided to book our seats for a short flight on a biplane. We joined the queue to await our turn to climb aboard the three seater aircraft.
We were informed a short while later that there would be a slight delay. I then noticed a mechanic carrying out minor adjustments to the plane’s oil bespattered engine. I was already feeling somewhat apprehensive and this did nothing to inspire my confidence. Given the go-ahead, we squeezed ourselves into an open cockpit, which was to the rear of the pilot. The flight lasted for about 10 minutes and cost half a crown. I have an abiding memory of the slipstream once airborne, making it extremely difficult to look over the side and view the countryside below. Nevertheless, I did find the short flight a most enjoyable experience.
“Baint ever gwoin to goo up agin, cos tis too bloody draughty vor the likes ov I,” said one local character who had lost his best trilby hat on a flight.
Philip Knott 2021
