Menonautical [men-oh-knot-ickul]; the condition of messing about with wings and sails

Bit of a tomboy, I was.  My younger sister, Mac1, also tended that way.  Our parents had no barriers about what girls should be playing at.  This meant one of those childhoods of adventure and interest, many a scraped knee and damaged elbow and lots of useful things learned early.

One day, dad decided it was time to buy a dinghy.   Mirror, I think was the name - about nine or ten feet in length, manageable for solo sailing (mum was never quite so keen) - or for training the kids.  Mac1 and I were often in it.  We could both swim well by this time.  Younger sister Mac2 would come occasionally, but was really rather young and preferred mother's company and being with baby brother, Mac3.  Mostly it was Mac1 and me donning the buoyancy vests and helping sort the sails. 

There are many happy memories of dotting about on the River Orwell, dodging the motor launches and watching for tidal treachery.  At about this time Mac1 and I had read Swallows and Amazons and this of course added to the fun.

I did not have the opportunity for any greater water adventure until I went to Australia.  There, of course, life is not being lived unless you use the sea in some way.  I happily fell in with a crowd that did twilight racing within Sydney Harbour and for about two years managed to get crew spots on one or other of the yachts.  It was here, too, that I discovered a strong ability to row - kayaks or 'tinnies' I didn't care.  I just loved rowing - particularly early morning along the shoreline, finding many a creature of interest and enjoying Nature at its best.

Despite many, many, many attempts though, and in spite of owning a wet suit so as to look like I belonged, I never managed to surf!  Body-surf yes.  No worries.  But stand on that board?  You gotta be kidding me.

At least I have had more involvement with that love than with my original desire.  I wanted to fly aeroplanes.  Specifically, Harrier Jump Jets!  WHAT? 

Yes.  Due to dad's work, we were based in Suffolk throughout my school years and this is a place of many an airfield.  American and British.  This meant lots of air shows.  My father had wanted to be in the Air Force, but had failed the fitness test due to being blind in his left eye.  Even their engineers need to be fully functional.  He never lost his love of 'planes though and that love passed on to me.  I think I was about 10 when we went to my first open day. 

How to explain the thrill I can still feel of seeing all those different machines with wheels and wings?  When I got to sit in the cockpit of a Supermarine Spitfire I was almost breathless with excitement.  Dad saw my genuine interest, so for my 11th birthday I got my very first model kit - a Hawker Hunter!  There was a kit for each birthday and Christmas after that. He also ensured we got to every available air show for the next five years.  That was a lot. 

By the time I was 14 I had pretty much made up my mind I wanted to try for pilot training in the Air Force.  I devoured every book I could find on flying and pilots of note - particularly female pilots.  They were few, but left their mark! For my 10th grade History exam, I submitted a history of flying. When I was 16 too, the school had a careers day.  Naturally, all the services were represented.  Of course I talked with the officers present and took the application forms, but I met with something that was new for me.  Sexual discrimination.  I was being actively discouraged from applying for flying and instead pointed towards the administrative and catering branches.

Undeterred, I eventually got along to the forces recruitment office in town.  Here again, though, I was being dissuaded.  There was one - and one only - reason given that I couldn't argue against.  I fell half an inch below minimum height of 4'11".  This requirement was wavered for the admin section.

I left the office deflated.  When I got home I declared that if I couldn't fly, what was the point of being in the Air Force?! 

Life took an entirely different direction as a result and I think matters were being 'looked after' by the Great Plan.  But I never lost my love or interest in aircraft so, again in Australia, when opportunities came my way to fly in seaplanes, or single-engine Cessnas or Douglas 'Dakota' DC-3s, they were never passed up!

Now I see that lad Branson is getting a space plane up and going….

(I would like to acknowledge blogging pal, Goldenoldenlady, for having prompted this 'menory'… she put up a real purrtty plane piccie the other day!)