Edgar Jessop plus next issue preview
The hue of Sir Carruthers’ face exactly matched the magnificent Carmine leather settee that sat under the family portrait in his sumptuous office. He turned progressively redder as he shuffled the papers in his hand. Stabbing a finger at the buzzer on his desk, his secretary’s quivering voice was immediately on the line. “Please have Mr Jessop step in here,” ordered the guvnor.
Shortly after, with his star rider seated nonchalantly on the settee, Sir Carruthers paced up and down, brandishing the papers. “This budget of yours for shipment to the TT races. It is outrageous. Why, I could fly an aircraft there and back for less than this!” “Then why don’t you sir? That would be fine with me,” was Edgar’s taciturn reply as he glanced slyly at his watch. He had a dinner date for which he was keen not to be late.
Amongst the virtually limitless real estate in the Spagforth empire was an ex-WW2 airfield at Upton Thyroid, which contained a short grass airstrip and a hanger complete with various former RAF aircraft. In very short order, the guvnor ordered that the largest aircraft, a Bristol Badger, be stripped of its interior and made ready to transport equipment and personnel to Ronaldsway Airport on the Isle of Man. The inventory included three of the Spagforth Snapdragon works machines, work benches, a lathe, tools, an air compressor, Edgar’s riding gear and personal effects (including several dinner suits and dancing shoes), a refrigerator, three cartons of Boodles Gin, and numerous accoutrements.
“I think it was the refrigerator that did it,” mused Edgar some years later. As the heavily laden Badger lumbered down the saturated strip, the wheels carved deep furrows in the sod, and the instrument needle hovered well below the take off velocity. Edgar could clearly make out startled faces behind the windows of the office building at the end of the strip as the pilot, WW1 veteran Smudger Staines, calmly pulled back on the stick and the wheels extracted themselves from the mud. As the Badger struggled into the sky and soared over the admin building, Edgar detected a calamitous noise which Staines dismissed as “the undercarriage locking up into the wheel wells.”
One hour later, as the Badger circled over Ronaldsway, an urgent message from air traffic control crackled over the radio, to the effect that the aforementioned undercarriage was, in fact, still in Upton Thyroid. “Not a problem,” answered Staines with the sang-froid of a combat veteran, ”It’s low tide”. With that, he swung the aircraft towards Douglas, did a low pass over the dark sand of the beach which quickly scattered the sunbathers, winkle sellers and donkey riders, circled again, then brought the Badger in for a perfect belly landing. As sirens began to wail and several ambulances arrived, Staines spoke sagely to Edgar, “I think you’d be wise to alert the guvnor that we have experienced a slight technical problem sir, then you’d better see to the unloading. Practice starts in two hours and you would not want to be late for that, would you sir.”