I was a travel writer who was afraid to fly

After years in the air, the fear came out of the blue for Hugh Morris, but a British Airways course helped him to come to terms with it

How can anyone sleep? We’re 37,000 feet above the plains of central Asia, hurtling along at 500mph in a giant alloy bullet with wings. It’s a night flight so the cabin lights were dimmed shortly after take-off from Bangkok but my eyes have adjusted enough to see that all my neighbours are in a state of deep slumber. Do they not know that nothing but intangible physics prevents us from plunging catastrophically into the ground?

Why are they not, like me, haunted by a collective vulnerability, a blind hopelessness, that tortures their consciousness and keeps it from peace?

We landed without incident and I tried to think nothing more of my unease; but these questions continued to haunt me following that flight from Thailand that I blame for awakening my fear of flying. Why was it only me on that A380 who was gripped by anxiety? I was tired, alone and unable to sleep, but until then had generally been fine with air travel.

The extent of my new-found aerophobia became apparent the next time I flew, a month or so later, to

Valencia. And though I perhaps thought more about the flight in the weeks running up to it, I was not prepared for the crippling surges of discomfort I felt once in the air. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think. My mind and heart were racing. I swirled in a state of all-consuming agitation. We touched down two hours later and I realised, soaked in sweat and overwhelmed with relief, that I had to come to terms with this new monkey on my back. I was a travel journalist with a fear of flying.

And so I found myself at Manchester Airport on a warm Saturday in July, with 100-something fellow sufferers. “You are the brave ones,” said Captain Steve Allright, introducing himself to the latest participants in the British Airways Flying with Confidence course. “What you are doing is life-changing.”

There was a palpable sense of anxiety in the room – some nervous laughter, some dabbing of eyes – as Captain Allright, who has been a pilot for 29 years and running these courses for 24, explored the different reasons why we might be there. The audience was split between those who had never flown, those who had not done so for years, regular business fliers and some who had gained a greater awareness of their own mortality since having children. Sitting on my row was a mother with her two teenage children.

The day-long course is structured in three sections. The final element would be a 30-minute flight in the skies above Manchester, and when it was first mentioned the room fell silent. I realised at this point that my own phobia paled in comparison to that of my fellow attendees. One man, who must have been 60, said he had always been so scared that he had never flown in his life.

But before the flight, there was much to learn. First, Captain Allright and his fellow BA pilot, First Officer

Jai Dillon, ran through the basic mechanics, demystifying the sounds, sensations and science of air travel and offering statistical evidence as to why flying is safer than crossing the road. “No one leaves today with a question left unanswered,” said Allright, confident and affable. And this was clearly a huge part of the experience.

I know now, for example, that the falling sensation one feels half a minute after take-off is not because the plane’s engines have failed, but because the huge thrust required for the aircraft to leave the ground has done its job and now, with the plane climbing gradually, it can be tempered.

Next up was Simon Petrie, a clinical psychologist of 20 years, who broke down the mental side of what he calls the Rolls-Royce of phobias (“so complex and diverse”) and asserted that it is easier than one thinks to “calm your chimp”.

The day passed in surprisingly high spirits. There was question after question, and a sense of shared confidence grew, not least after a collective chant reassuring us of the harmlessness of turbulence: “Turbulence is uncomfortable but not dangerous”.

So we were all quite relaxed by the time we moved from our Radisson hotel base and into departures for our flight to nowhere. Once we were through security, we saw that our

I learned that the falling sensation one feels is not because the plane’s engines have failed

ON THE UP British Airways has been helping nervous fliers over their fears for years